Harry dashed to his room and slammed the door behind him. He pulled the small dresser to partially block the door, hoping it would buy him some time. He hurried over to Hedwig’s cage and opened it as fast as possible, fumbling with the key in his haste and fear. He eventually got it open and he threw his window open.

“Go, Hedwig!” he said loudly. She hooted quietly and hopped to the door of her cage, but stopped, cocking her head at him as though asking what he meant. “Fly! Please!”

Harry’s eyes snapped fearfully to the bedroom door when it was shoved hard, skidding the dresser a little. Vernon wasn’t in the room yet, but it wouldn’t be long. He looked back at his beloved owl who was startled by the noise, but hesitant to leave her human.

“Hedwig!” Harry cried again and, this time, she spread her wings and flew through the open window. Harry spun to watch her go, relieved she had escaped. No sooner had she disappeared into the night than Vernon burst into the room, his face a reddish-purple with rage. Harry jumped as the dresser went crashing into the wall, the corner putting a small hole in the wall.

He honestly had no idea what to do as he pressed himself against the desk beneath the window. He stared at his uncle with wide eyes as the man stalked towards him, growling. This seemed different to every other beating at the hands of his uncle. He didn’t know what was different, but there was something and it terrified him.

He gasped and clawed at his uncle’s hand as it wrapped around his throat. His uncle said nothing. He just squeezed and pulled Harry up so he was no longer touching the ground. Harry gasped for air, tears leaking out the corner of his eyes. He was starting to get lightheaded and had small, black spots appearing in his vision when Vernon threw him across the room. He slid across the floor and cried out when he crashed into the door frame. He was gulping in air and coughing harshly only to shout in pain as Vernon grabbed a fistful of his hair and started dragging him down the hall.

Crying out, Harry struggled, not caring if he lost chunks of his scalp if it meant he could get away. It was to no avail, however, as Harry was viciously kicked at the top of the stairs. Yelping at the internal crack he felt from the kick, he went tumbling down the stairs, landing in a pained heap at the bottom.

A sob fell from his lips. He shakily pressed his fingertips to his forehead only for them to come back covered in blood. He’d smashed his head on the way down the stairs, causing a large gash. He ignored the blood quickly coating his face and started to drag himself across the floor in a hopeless attempt to escape.

He screamed when Vernon viciously stomped on his left leg, effectively snapping his tibia.

“You’re not going anywhere, boy,” Vernon spat.

Harry sucked in a breath as Vernon kicked him in the stomach, flinging him against the door to his old cupboard. His shoulder blade hit the small doorknob and he felt yet another small crack in the bone. He let out a choked sob and curled up, wrapping an arm around his stomach. He looked up at his uncle through blood and tears, his entire body shaking in pain and fear.

“You have brought trouble and misery to my home for the last time,” Vernon growled. “I will no longer tolerate your freakiness.”

Harry’s eyes widened as the belt was held high in the air and covered his head with his arms as it was brought down. He screamed and whimpered as the belt tore into his arm, side, and back. He felt his shirt and skin rip and blood begin to flow freely.

He wanted so badly to move, to fight back, to run away, but he couldn’t do anything. Even if he wasn’t too injured to move, he was paralyzed with the fear and hopelessness that he always felt in the face of his uncle’s beatings. He’d never been brave or strong enough to fight back. He was too weak to do anything; that had been proven in the graveyard.

He had no idea how long Vernon had been bringing the belt down on him, but by the time he realized it had stopped, he was barely conscious. He vaguely heard a click behind him and groaned at the door that was slammed against the back of his head as it was opened. He could do nothing as he was roughly shoved into the cupboard under the stairs, releasing a silent cry as his shattered leg was jostled and knocked against the door frame uncaringly. The door was slammed shut and locked, leaving Harry in darkness.

He stared through heavily lidded eyes, one blinded by blood, at the wooden floor under his outstretched, limp hand. He could see something dark spreading slowly but steadily under his hand and he knew it was blood pouring from his shredded arm. He twitched his fingers, letting them ghost over the blood pool. It was warm and sticky and coated his fingertips. Dust hovered around him as his breathing disturbed it on the floor. His shaky breaths echoed in his ears and in the silence of the cupboard.

He wanted it to end, something to change. He couldn’t handle it anymore; the pain, the fear, the loneliness. Was this really what he deserved, what his life was meant to be, what he was worth? For all he’d been through in and for the magical world to protect it as had been implied was his responsibility, was this meant to be his reward? Was he meant to lose everything, be alone for the sake of the wizarding world? Why was pain all he could have? Everyone had someone, had a place. Where was his? Where did he belong? Would anyone ever want him for him, not for what he’d done or could do?

He forced his eyes back open as they fluttered closed, but was unable to keep them open. He felt his consciousness spiralling and he had no more strength to stay awake.

I want a real home, he thought absently.

He was unaware of the impact his words had on the tentative power that surrounded the home, on the wards around another, and on a prophecy hidden deep in the Ministry of Magic. He did feel a pressure in his chest but attributed it to his injuries as he succumbed to the unconsciousness inviting him to leave behind his pain and despair, at least for a time. He had no idea that the moment he was unconscious, the pressure in his chest grew and he disappeared from Privet Drive with a crack, appearing, astonishingly, on a cold, stone floor.

Draco stood straight but stiff with his head held high, his lip stinging and bloody from his father’s backhand. He stared at Lucius with hard eyes and a clenched jaw. His father’s eyes flashed with angry betrayal. His stomach tightened with every clunk of the man’s sleek cane on the wooden floor.

“You would defy me, my son?” Lucius drawled in a dangerously low and even tone.

Draco said nothing, knowing anything out of his mouth would make his father angrier. He balled his hands into fists at his sides, holding in his building emotions. He kept his gasp as quiet as possible as his head snapped to the side again with the second backhand. He calmly turned his head back to face his father, his tongue automatically touching his bottom lip where the split had grown larger. He inwardly grimaced at the taste of the blood seeping into his mouth and the feeling of it trailing down his chin.

“You will answer me when I ask you a question, Draco,” Lucius ordered.

“Yes, Father,” Draco said in a flat tone.

“Tell me, are you defying me?” Lucius repeated.

“Yes, Father,” Draco said, keeping his tone monotonous. “I do not wish to serve the Dark Lord.”

Draco did his best not to react when his father’s eyes narrowed at him and his grip tightened on the snake head of his cane.

“To serve him is the highest of honours,” Lucius said, his voice tight.

“To you, sir,” Draco retorted, knowing instantly he’d made a mistake.

He couldn’t help but let out a surprised and pained yelp when Lucius swung his cane, and caught him in the side of his head and corner of his eye. His hand flew to the injury and he stumbled a few steps. His heart pounded with growing fear as his father fisted the front of his button-up shirt and yanked him back to his lost position.

“You insolent, ungrateful little bastard,” Lucius spat, pulling Draco so close their noses were nearly touching. “You are a Malfoy and you will do what is expected of you. This is what we have been waiting for your entire life.”

“I’m sorry, Father, but I won’t,” Draco said, trying not to panic as his father’s grip tightened, causing his collar to restrict around his throat.

“You have been promised to the Dark Lord and you will join him,” Lucius demanded. “You will report on Potter and Dumbledore come your return to that infernal school.”

“Father…” Draco gasped out as he began to lose access to oxygen.

Lucius threw him hard to the floor. “You will do as I command. You will not disgrace your father or our name.”

“I won’t,” Draco said firmly, gazing up at his enraged father.

“I will not have a traitor for a son,” Lucius said and pulled his wand, flicking it at his son.

Draco fell against the floor, writhing and screaming as the Cruciatus ripped through his nerves. It ended after what seemed like an hour and he drew in a shaky breath only to fall under the curse again. Tears leaked from his eyes and his throat grew pained from his screams. The agony came to an end again and he fell limp against the hardwood.

“You will obey me,” Lucius demanded.

“I…I can’t,” Draco gasped.

Lucius growled and violently kicked Draco in the abdomen before immediately following it up with a third Cruciatus. Draco’s screams echoed throughout the room, replaced by whimpers when he was released from the curse. He coughed, spraying blood across the floor. He hissed when Lucius took a fistful of his hair and painfully pulled his head back, forcing Draco to look at him.

“Will you walk the path I have given you and serve our Dark Lord?” Lucius said quietly.

Despite knowing what the consequence would be, Draco narrowed his eyes in determination. “I will not be his slave to torture.”

“You are no son of mine,” Lucius spat and threw Draco’s head away from him, hard enough to make it bounce off the floor.

Draco groaned at the pounding in his head and the black spots in front of his eyes. He cleared his vision just enough in time to see his father’s black cane come down on him like a switch. He cried out as the cane bruised and broke skin everywhere it landed, calling forth rivulets of blood that soaked into his white shirt. Lucius was hitting wherever he could though it ended up mostly being Draco’s back as he curled up to protect vital organs.

Eventually, Lucius seemed to tire of physically assaulting his son and switched to magical methods. The Cruciatus was the most common, eventually causing blood to pour from Draco’s ears and nose. Cutting Curses, Burning Curses, and Oxygen Restricting Curses were interspersed in the Cruciatus, adding agonizing variation to the boy’s torture. Draco’s throat officially tore itself apart when he was hit in the right shoulder with a Bone-Breaking Curse. His shoulder and collarbone shattered.

He didn’t know how long it went on for, but he was breathing hard and shaking when it ended. He laid on his back despite how torn up it was. His vision was tunnelling as he stared up at the crystal chandelier hanging from the tall ceiling, glinting in the light of the flickering fire. His barely open eyes slid to Lucius as his father stood over him. One would hardly know the man had just spent the last however long beating and torturing his supposedly beloved son.

“You will join the Dark Lord,” Lucius said. “You will do as the Malfoy name commands. You will not betray the life I have gifted you.”

Draco wanted to respond or even just glare, but he was unable to do anything. With a sneer, Lucius swept from the room. Draco moved his gaze back to the chandelier as he laid in a puddle of his own blood.

He couldn’t do it anymore. He couldn’t live in the Dark. He couldn’t stay on the path his parents had set him on at birth. He wanted to be more than his name. He wanted his life and choices to be his own. He was tired of pretending, tired of hurting…just tired.

Was this what he was destined for, a life of pain and death? Was this all he was good for, ordered around and controlled? Could he be more than the Malfoy name and all that came with it? Would he ever have the chance to try?

His fingers twitched against the floor and he felt the blood they sat in. He slowly dragged one finger in a tiny circle absently, feeling the warm, sticky blood build up against his finger as it was swirled around. He could feel his consciousness leaving him, making his thoughts light and fuzzy.

It would have been nice to experience a real family, people who actually cared about him and wanted him around. A family that didn’t care about their name or status, and didn’t want to sell him off to the Dark Lord. He’d never had that and he wondered what it was like. He just wanted to be himself and wanted for the same thing, not what he could do for people.

His breathing hitched and his entire body jerked, jostling his shattered shoulder. He gasped in pain and felt a pressure build in his chest as he quickly lost the fight to stay awake.

I want a real home, was his last thought before everything went black. He was unaware of the impact his words had in conjunction with another’s on a special place and a relatively unknown prophecy sat deep inside the Ministry of Magic.

He was unconscious as the pressure in his chest peaked and he disappeared from Malfoy Manor with a crack. He appeared, impossibly, on a well-known stone floor beside another

Severus looked up from his correspondence when his fireplace flared green and an envelope popped out. He put his letter down and gazed at the floating one as it opened itself.

“Severus, could you come to Hogwarts, please? There is an urgent matter in the Hospital Wing that could use your assistance. Albus,” the voice of Albus Dumbledore said, reciting the letter before it fell to the floor in front of the fireplace.

Severus sighed, irritated. What could possibly be at Hogwarts that would require his attention? Summer break had started a week earlier, Order meetings were taking place elsewhere, and he had not been summoned since the end of the Triwizard Tournament. He wanted to be left alone, only forced to interact with anyone at meetings.

Shaking his head, he put his letters aside to continue later and Flooed to the headmaster’s office at Hogwarts. Dumbledore was sat at his desk, a serious look on his face that made Severus frown.

“Ah, Severus, thank you for coming,” Dumbledore said, giving him a smile that, for once, didn’t reach his eyes.

What was going on?

“Of course, Albus,” Severus said. “What is this matter you mentioned?”

Dumbledore stood and rounded his desk. “Come to the Hospital Wing, my boy.”

Severus rolled his eyes slightly at not just being told what was going on, but inclined his head and walked with the headmaster.

“There are several unanswered questions, but they will have to wait until the boys awake.”

Severus frowned deeply again, confused. “Boys?”

“Yes. It would seem that sometime in the night, two Hogwarts students somehow arrived at the school,” Dumbledore said casually as though it were common for students to randomly show up at Hogwarts during summer holidays.

Severus raised an eyebrow, silently asking the necessary question.

“As I said, there are many unanswered questions,” Dumbledore repeated. “Early this morning, Hagrid discovered Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy unconscious in the Entrance Hall, both terribly injured.”

Severus looked at the headmaster sharply at the revelation. A dozen questions swirled in his mind, but he kept them to himself as they entered the Hospital Wing. Hagrid was hovering nearby as Madam Pomfrey fluttered between two occupied beds next to each other, working on her unexpected patients. Both boys had been stripped down to their undergarments, revealing the horrific extent of their injuries. Severus stepped up to the foot of Potter’s bed and examined both boys with his eyes.

Both were covered in blood and bruises. Potter had a huge gash on his forehead and large tears in his skin all along his right side. His right forearm was in tatters, skin hanging off and straight up missing in spots. It was clear the same kind of injuries would be found on the boy’s back and was the cause of the blood seeping into the white bedding beneath him. There was deep purple bruising on Potter’s abdomen, indicating severe damage of some kind to the ribs. Severus couldn’t help but wince at the boy’s leg. It was also covered in blood, having poured from his shin where the snapped bone had torn through the skin. His entire lower leg was black, blue, and purple under the blood and was terribly swollen. That would be a long healing process.

He moved his gaze to Malfoy. The blonde was in no better condition. His eye was swollen and black with a deep cut extending from the outer corner to his hairline. His lip was split and still trickling blood. Just like Potter, there were vicious tears in his skin all over his body, though clearly made by a different instrument. Shallow but still bleeding cuts were everywhere as well as several burns. The boy was twitching, a side effect of the Cruciatus that he knew well. Like Potter, Severus couldn’t help but wince at Malfoy’s shoulder. While no bones were sticking out, it was completely black and blue, and was oddly misshapen. It would also be a long healing process.

“Severus, would you be able to assist me?” Pomfrey asked, looking up from treating Malfoy’s lip. Severus sighed quietly. He really didn’t want anything to do with either boy during the summer, but he also couldn’t leave them in their current conditions. So, he nodded once, rolled up his sleeves, and stepped up to Potter’s bedside. He steadfastly ignored exactly who it was he was treating.

It took some time, even between both Severus and Pomfrey, to completely treat every injury on both boys. Nothing was healed to the extent that the injury was no longer there, but they were no longer as severe. The more mild of injuries would heal on their own in just a few days while others would take longer.

Malfoy would continue to tremble from the Cruciatus for at least one more day. They both also had one injury that would take weeks and physical therapy. Malfoy’s right shoulder and collarbone had been completely shattered. He and Pomfrey had done what they could with magic and potions to put the bones and fragments back in place, but the shoulder still had to be heavily bandaged and put in a sling to allow the bones to fully stitch themselves back together. Even with magic and potions, it would likely be at least three weeks before the shoulder would be healed, and, even after that, some physical therapy would be necessary.

Potter was in a similar situation with his leg. His tibia had been snapped and his fibula shattered. They’d put bones back in place, but a Muggle-like cast was still needed for about two weeks, possibly longer. He would need some physical therapy to walk properly and would need a crutch until the cast was removed.

The type and extent of injuries to each boy was alarming. Severus pulled the blanket up to Potter’s chest, pulling out the broken leg to rest on top, then turned to the headmaster.

“Were they attacked?” Severus asked even though he was sure he knew the cause of such injuries. It was just impossible to imagine in relation to these two particular children.

“I honestly do not know, Severus,” Dumbledore said, clasping his hands in front of him. “I do not even know how they got here. I’m afraid we will have no answers until they wake up and can tell us.”

“And what will happen to them then?” Severus asked, crossing his arms. If he was correct in his theory, he knew what the headmaster’s standard response was and he wasn’t sure he could accept it.

“We will see when we know what’s happened,” Dumbledore said.

Severus said nothing as he turned back to the sleeping students. He knew the cause of such injuries, but he was struggling to understand and reconcile that Potter and Malfoy could be victims of such a thing. There was also the curious fact that they had both somehow left their homes and gotten into Hogwarts while unconscious and with no one noticing.

He frowned at the two boys.

What were they hiding?

Severus glanced up from the potions he was organizing and separating for Potter and Malfoy to watch Dumbledore enter the Hospital Wing. The headmaster walked over to the boys' beds, standing between them. Potter and Malfoy had finally woken, a little over twenty-four hours after they had been found. They'd both seemed confused about where they were before blanching, obviously recalling whatever had happened to them. When they'd spotted Severus, their eyes had widened and they'd tensed, though with fear or hatred, he hadn't been able to discern. Severus hadn't said anything, choosing to organize the potions and let the boys wake and settle a bit before calling for Dumbledore. While he wanted to know both of their stories, beyond potions, they were not his responsibility and he wasn't there to comfort.

"Harry, Draco," Dumbledore said when both sets of eyes snapped to him. "I am very happy to see you awake. You both had us worried."

Potter and Malfoy didn't respond, just staring at the headmaster. Severus picked up a couple of potions and went to each boy respectively, giving each a Pain Reliever. They both gave him a suspicious look, but took the potion willingly when they recognized what it was and the pain they were feeling. He returned to the tray of potions and stood behind it while he waited for Dumbledore to start trying to get explanations. He would be monitoring the boys in case any of the other potions were needed.

"Would either of you care to tell us what happened and how you came to be here at Hogwarts?" Dumbledore asked, looking between the boys expectantly.

Green and grey eyes flicked around, finding Severus and each other. Their jaws clenched and Severus knew they were going to refuse to speak. He wasn't surprised. If his theory about what happened to them was correct, it would be extremely unlikely that they would be able to get them to speak. Yet he knew Dumbledore would push them, determined to have answers though likely to ignore any that he didn't particularly like or feel fit into his expectations.

"Boys, we need to know what caused you such injuries so we know how to help," Dumbledore said.

Severus watched the boys' eyes narrow at the headmaster. They clearly didn't trust anyone, even the headmaster, to help them. He was slightly surprised even Potter seemed to distrust his beloved headmaster, but he imagined they had both tried to get help at some point in their lives and it had failed. Such failure quickly turned into never trying again in his experience.

"Well then, can you tell me how you got here?" Dumbledore asked, switching issues.

"I don't know," Potter said stiffly, obviously choosing to give them something likely in hopes they would leave him alone. "I…fell asleep in Privet Drive."

"Mr. Malfoy?" Dumbledore turned to the blonde.

"I was at home as well last I knew," Malfoy said just as guardedly and trying to pull up his usual haughtiness though it was less than sincere.

Dumbledore gazed at them intently and Severus knew he was attempting to use Legilimency on the boys. "Did anything happen before you were unconscious?"

The boys stayed silent again. Severus noticed an increase in Malfoy's trembling and swept over with another potion, raising an eyebrow when Malfoy looked like he was going to refuse the potion. His stern look convinced the blonde to take the potion, making him nod at the boy, satisfied. He returned to his place behind the potion tray.

Dumbledore sighed. "Boys, I need to know what happened before you came here so that I know if the castle is at risk of other infiltrations."

"Last thing I remember is there was a pressure in my chest," Potter said, sounding annoyed at Dumbledore's minor manipulation.

"I felt the same," Malfoy added, also sounding irritated.

Dumbledore hummed. "Intriguing. I will continue to investigate. Now, tell me what caused you both to be in such states."

Severus watched the boys shut down once again.

"Was it Death Eaters?" Dumbledore pushed.

Potter and Malfoy shook their heads though Severus noticed an odd twitch in Malfoy's eye that made Severus wonder what technicality the blonde was noticing in the wording. Dumbledore looked at Potter intently, making the Gryffindor shift uncomfortably.

"Harry," Dumbledore said in a firm tone, clearly done with their lack of answers.

"It was nothing, sir," Potter said shortly, clearly not appreciating Dumbledore's prying. "Things got out of hand with my cousin."

Severus' eyes narrowed. The boy was lying.

Dumbledore gazed at the Gryffindor over his glasses before moving his hard blue eyes to Malfoy. "Draco?"

The blonde shrugged his uninjured shoulder, his own expression morphing into a glare. Malfoy didn't like or trust Dumbledore, Severus knew. The headmaster would get nothing from the Slytherin. Severus could see the fatigue setting in in the boys and decided to stop any further interrogation.

"Headmaster, perhaps this can be continued at another time," he said, drawing all three sets of eyes to himself. "Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy have only just woken and need some more rest."

Dumbledore inclined his head. "Of course, Severus. We will continue this chat tomorrow, my boys. Severus, if you would come with me for a short while."

"Yes, Headmaster. I will be right there once these two are settled," Severus said.

Dumbledore left the Hospital Wing and Severus approached the boys. He started with Potter.

"Lean forward, Potter," Severus instructed. "I must see to your back."

Potter's eyes met his with a hateful glare. "Don't touch me," he spat.

Severus rolled his eyes, wishing the boy was still unconscious so he didn't have to actually speak to the arrogant brat.

"Just do what I say, Potter. If I wanted to do anything to you, I would not have waited until you were awake," Severus said, sending Potter his own glare. "Now, lean forward."

Tense and the glare still on his face, Potter slowly and carefully sat up, leaning forward. Severus lightly pushed the boy's shoulder to help him lean, ignoring the flinch Potter couldn't hold back at his touch. He gently pulled the back of the boy's hospital gown apart and carefully removed the bandages covering the whole of the boy's back. He opened the jar of Murtlap Essence and dripped a single drop into each deep laceration, watching another couple layers of skin stitch back together. It would take another treatment or two before the cuts were fully healed, though they would leave behind scars. Nothing new for the boy given the state of his back under the lacerations. White, pink, and red lines, raised and not, crisscrossed the boy's back, indicating years of similar injuries.

He reapplied the bandages to the boy's back and moved on to his other injuries and then to Malfoy, ensuring both boys were on their way to healing come the next few days and weeks.

"I must speak with the headmaster. You two need to rest. Would either of you like a potion to sleep?" Severus asked.

"No, sir," they both said quietly.

"Very well," Severus said. "I will be back. Go to sleep."

Not expecting or waiting for a response, Severus swept from the infirmary to join Dumbledore who was waiting just outside.

"How are they?" Dumbledore asked as they started walking.

"They will heal," Severus said shortly, "slowly."

"Do you have any ideas about what happened to them?" Dumbledore asked, sounding genuinely curious, but it was that tone that just made a small touch of anger bubble inside of Severus.

He glared at the headmaster slightly. The man had to know. He'd seen it with Severus, even if he had refused to do anything about it. "I have a theory, though it is difficult to believe in regards to those two in particular," he said vaguely.

Dumbledore hummed, but said nothing more on the matter. They walked into the Entrance Hall with Dumbledore stopping them about halfway to the front doors.

"This is where Hagrid found the boys," Dumbledore said and Severus looked at the floor, noting the small blood pools.

He watched as Dumbledore raised his hands, palms out, and closed his eyes. Light appeared in his palms and the air above the blood spatters shimmered. After about a minute, Dumbledore dropped his hands and opened his eyes. There was a small frown on the man's face. Severus just crossed his arms and waited for an explanation.

"It would seem that our Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy Apparated here," Dumbledore said, his tone casual but his expression a mix of confusion and concern.

"Inside the castle?" Severus clarified, also confused. Dumbledore nodded. "How is that possible? Are the wards intact?"

"Stronger than ever," Dumbledore said. "I am unsure how they managed such a feat. They are only just turning fifteen after all."

"Do you believe they are hiding something?" Severus asked.

"It is unclear," Dumbledore said. "There is something strange about their magical signatures here. Something seems to have changed in their magic. It is possible they have power they were unaware of, or maybe kept hidden."

"Given what the prophecy says about Potter, surely you already knew he had a power not yet fully realized," Severus said, ignoring the tightness in his chest as he thought of the damned prophecy. "However, I do not believe Malfoy has any secret power. No such thing has ever been apparent in the boy or any of his family."

"Perhaps not, but how else do you explain his ability to Apparate into Hogwarts at fifteen while unconscious?" Dumbledore said, peering at Severus with a raised eyebrow.

Severus stared at the bloodied floor, unsure how to respond. He had no other explanations for how the boys could have gotten into the castle.

"Perhaps you could find out," Dumbledore said and Severus looked at him sharply.

"What?" he growled.

"We need to know what they are hiding and they do not seem keen on speaking with me," Dumbledore explained.

"And you think they'll speak to me?" Severus said, incredulous. "I do not particularly like either of them and the feeling is mutual."

"You simply need to learn about their magical abilities," Dumbledore said. "Once we know how they managed their Apparation, they will return to their homes. I will handle their magical abilities come September."

"And the cause of their injuries?" Severus asked, thinking about what the boys could be getting sent back to.

"No need to concern yourself with that," Dumbledore said and Severus' eyes narrowed at the man's voluntary ignorance. "Unfortunately, even if your theory is correct, there is little I can do."

"Really?" Severus said deadpanned, not sure he believed the headmaster.

"Harry must remain within his mother's protection at Privet Drive and, unless you are willing to go up against Lucius Malfoy, Draco will have to return to his parents."

"If it is so dangerous for them to be away from their homes, how could they possibly come to mine?" Severus said.

"The Malfoys will believe Draco simply ran away for a couple of weeks and, as long as Harry is in Privet Drive on his birthday, he can strengthen the wards in the second half of the summer, rather than the first as has been the case the last few summers," Dumbledore explained. "Additionally, your home is well protected and they can be safe there for at least some time."

Severus stared at the man, annoyed by the suggestion. He absolutely did not want to spend any more of his summer with Malfoy or Potter than he had to. His days were hard enough since Voldemort's return, let alone adding two hated students into the mix that he would have to provide a semblance of care for. Not to mention the hatred that existed between Malfoy and Potter themselves. They became menaces when confronting each other. The three of them could not possibly exist in the same house together, even for just three weeks. They could barely manage in a huge castle.

"Albus, I do not believe this is a wise choice," Severus said, needing to find a way out. "What am I to do with them during meetings?" he asked, referring to both Order and Death Eater meetings, both of which had to be kept secret from people like Malfoy and Potter.

"Whatever you need to," Dumbledore said almost flippantly. "It is important we learn what those boys are capable of, particularly Harry. He must be trained up properly if he does have a power we did not know of before."

Severus couldn't help but stare at the man with furrowed eyebrows. The headmaster was acting oddly cold towards the two boys, as though nothing mattered except if they had secret power. A muscle in his jaw twitched as he considered the headmaster's proposition. He really didn't want anything to do with those boys or have any kind of responsibility for them, and he hated the idea of having his summer disturbed by the cretins.

"It is only three weeks," Dumbledore said, placating. "Less if you discover their powers before then."

Severus let out a deep breath of irritation. He hated the idea of sending the boys back to what he knew was abuse, but he hated the idea of them staying with him even more. He would just have to force the truth out of the boys as quickly as he could so they could be free of each other. They would be fine back in their homes. It would only be for a few more weeks until September. They'd be fine. He studiously ignored how 'fine' he would be come September at their age.

"I'm not going anywhere with him!" Harry said angrily, glaring at Dumbledore and Snape.

He couldn't believe what Dumbledore was suggesting. He wanted Harry to go to Snape's house with Malfoy? Was the headmaster officially out of his mind? The three of them despised each other!

"Harry, what you and Mr. Malfoy accomplished is remarkable," Dumbledore said, referring to his theory that Harry and Malfoy had somehow Apparated—whatever that was—inside the school.

"Professor Snape will simply help you two discover your full abilities."

"Like hell he will," Harry spat. "I'm not going with them."

"Then you will return to your relatives'," Dumbledore said and Harry's stomach dropped.

He couldn't go back there, not after what had just happened. He couldn't take another summer there and, if he went back now, he was sure Vernon would kill him. He'd be furious he'd failed.

"Can't I stay here or with the Weasleys?" Harry asked, desperate to stay away from Privet Drive.

"No staff will be here during the summer and the Weasleys are not at the Burrow this summer," Dumbledore said and Harry frowned.

"Where are they staying?" Harry asked, confused. He always got to spend at least half the summer with the Weasleys. What was different that summer?

"I will tell you about that at a later date," Dumbledore said vaguely and Harry's frown deepened. What was the headmaster keeping from him? "I fear these are your only options, and the same goes for you Mr. Malfoy."

Harry turned a glare on Malfoy before looking back at his broken leg. He couldn't go back to the Dursleys', but could he really stay with Snape and Malfoy for the summer? What would they do to him? Would it be better or worse than the Dursleys'? He knew what they were both capable of while at Hogwarts so what would they be like outside without the prying eyes of others?

His eyes burned as he stared at his leg, his bandaged arm, felt his back sting. Could anything be worse than his uncle? He let his eyes close, willing the memories of the other day to go away.

What if Snape found out the truth? He'd spent his whole life keeping his life with the Dursleys to himself. There was no way he could risk Snape and Malfoy finding out. He could only imagine the torment they would inflict on him with such knowledge. Plus, what if Snape believed in the same type of punishment and decided to finish what his uncle started?

"Harry?" Dumbledore pressed and Harry looked at the man again, hating him for putting him in this position.

"What do you think you're going to find?" Harry asked, stalling having to make a decision.

"If you did, indeed, Apparate into Hogwarts, it would indicate extraordinary latent power within you," Dumbledore said. "If we know about this power, we could train you up on how to use and control it, particularly in your fight against Voldemort."

Harry couldn't help the downturn of his lips, sighing silently at Dumbledore's insinuation that finding out about this power was more important than anything else. It was always that way, how he could be useful against Voldemort. It's all he was; a soldier for Dumbledore's use.

He glanced at Snape, noticing a strange flicker in the dark eyes as they briefly looked at Dumbledore. He had no idea what the expression was, Snape impossible to read as always. He could see annoyance though, one of the only emotions he could identify in the man as it was one of the most common emotions aimed at him throughout their years together. Snape obviously wasn't thrilled about the situation either.

Harry dropped his eyes to his lap again, reluctantly making his choice.

"Fine," he muttered. "I'll go with Snape."

Meeting Snape's hard, dark eyes, he hoped he wasn't putting himself in an even worse situation.

"Alright, my boys," Dumbledore said, clapping his hands together and smiling at them, an expression only he had. "Get well and work hard. You only have three weeks before you get to return home."

Both Harry's and Malfoy's eyes snapped to the headmaster. They had to go back at the end of July? He hadn't mentioned that yesterday! He'd implied they would be with Snape for the summer! Harry's stomach twisted. Sure, he was terrified to be trapped in a house with Snape and Malfoy, but just because he didn't know what to expect. He'd chosen Snape because he thought it was his escape from the Dursleys for one summer. If he had to go back, he knew what would happen. He couldn't go back there.

"Off you go," Dumbledore said, gesturing for them to go through the Floo and either not noticing or choosing to ignore the very obvious ramp up in anxiety in the two boys.

"Mr. Malfoy," Snape said. "Prince Manor."

Malfoy gave a small nod and stepped into the fireplace, Floo Powder in his uninjured left hand. "Prince Manor!"

Harry watched the blonde spin away and looked down at his leg, wondering how he'd manage. He was leaning heavily on a crutch, hardly able to walk.

"Come on, Potter," Snape said, drawing his attention. The professor was standing by the fireplace, holding Floo Powder. "We will be required to go through together due to your leg."

Harry couldn't help the grimace that crossed his face at having to be in close physical contact with Snape. Wanting to stall, he suddenly thought of something and turned to the headmaster.

"Sir, what about my things? They're still in Privet Drive," Harry said, realizing he didn't have his wand. He'd be helpless against Malfoy and Snape without his wand. He also wondered where Hedwig had ended up, desperately hoping she was safe.

"I will retrieve what you'll need for your time with the professor," Dumbledore said.

Harry just nodded, unsure what else to say.

"Potter," Snape snapped, making Harry jump slightly. He turned back to the professor. "Let's go."

Harry sighed and hobbled into the fireplace, tensing when Snape's arm wrapped around his shoulders.

"Prince Manor!" Snape said loudly and Harry shut his eyes as the headmaster's office spun away in ash. Snape's arm tightened on his shoulders, keeping him close and steady.

Eventually the spinning stopped and Snape helped him step out of the fireplace. The second he had his balance, he pushed away from Snape, refusing to accept touch from the man any more than he had to. He'd agreed to stay with Malfoy and Snape because he'd had no other option; he would never be happy or comfortable there with them.

He gazed around the room he'd been brought to. It was a study with a couple desks, a sofa, a few chairs, and a small bookcase with a few books on it. It was a nice room, comfortable with the earth tones that coloured it. Malfoy was leaning against one of the desks, looking drained. Harry was doing his best not to succumb to his own exhaustion. It had only been three days since he very nearly died at the hands of his uncle; he was still healing and, sadly, had a long way to go. He had to try and stay alert, though, while he was in a house with the Slytherins that hated him more than anything.

"Come, I'll show you your rooms and you'll both rest," Snape said stiffly and swept out of the study.

Harry glanced at Malfoy, receiving a sneer in return. Sighing, he slowly followed Malfoy from the study. They walked down a hallway, and found a huge foyer-type space and a set of stairs, Snape waiting at the bottom of them. There were a couple of open doorways to the left of the staircase as well as one behind them that appeared to lead to a sitting room. There was also a hallway that seemed to lead somewhere behind the staircase.

"Your rooms are upstairs," Snape said.

Harry gazed up the long staircase that Malfoy had already started climbing and then looked down at his leg, frustrated. Did Snape really think he could get up the stairs?

"Take the left side," Snape said and Harry frowned, confused. The man rolled his eyes. "Just do it."

Glaring, Harry limped to the stairs. He stepped onto the bottom stair and as soon as his hand landed on the railing, a small portion of the stairs started moving like an escalator. Harry was shocked that such a thing could be done. Were the stairs always like that or had Snape charmed them because of Harry?

Pushing the thought aside for now, he stepped off the stairs, finding himself in yet another open area with a few doors, a hallway leading around a corner, and a second set of stairs heading to a third floor looping up behind him.

"Potter, your room will be the second on the left. Malfoy, across from Potter's, first on the right," Snape instructed. "My room is beside Potter's. it is off limits. No exceptions. Now, get to your rooms. I will call you for lunch and we will discuss these few weeks then."

Harry and Malfoy watched Snape descend the stairs. Their eyes met as they turned to head to their newly assigned rooms and they glowered at each other, willing pain on the other just by sight. Malfoy broke contact first and stalked into his room, nearly slamming the door behind him.

Wondering if he'd made a mistake, Harry sighed and slipped into his new room, also closing the door behind him.

Harry stared hard at his chicken salad sandwich and tomato soup, steadfastly refusing to let his eyes wander anywhere lest he looked at Malfoy or Snape. He wasn’t sure he’d ever been more uncomfortable in his entire life. The three of them were sitting in a suffocating silence as Harry and Malfoy picked at their lunches. They had both rested in their rooms for a couple of hours before Snape called them down to lunch. The kitchen and dining room were connected in a long, open-concept room, the doors to the left of the staircase Harry had previously noticed being the entrances. There were several windows that let the sunlight pour into the room. They were sat at a smaller rectangle dining table with space enough for six people, eight if they squeezed.

He and Malfoy had glared at each other as they left their rooms and met at the top of the stairs. Malfoy had stalked down the stairs while Harry took the charmed section. Snape had said nothing when they entered the dining room, but just gestured for them to sit. Snape was on the end of the table and they sat in the two spots adjacent to him, across from each other. Once they were settled, Snape had tapped the table and their lunches had appeared in front of them.

The quiet had only grown more and more tense and uncomfortable. Harry was convinced the entire arrangement would never work.

“It is time to go over the expectations for the next three weeks,” Snape said and both boys looked at him, hesitantly but still with light glares. “You are here to heal and for us to discover how you Apparated inside the castle. Once these things are completed, you will return to your homes.”

Harry swallowed thickly at the thought of returning to Privet Drive. His eyebrows furrowed very slightly when he saw Malfoy’s hand clench around his spoon. What was Malfoy’s problem with going home?

“Be aware, you will tell me what happened to cause you to be able to Apparate into Hogwarts, even if I have to rip it from your minds myself,” Snape threatened.

Harry felt panic at the idea of Snape of all people learning about his life with the Dursleys, but also anger at the man’s threat.

“You can’t do that!” Malfoy argued, looking just as angry as Harry felt.

Snape turned a dangerous glare on the blonde. It seemed like Malfoy wanted to flinch away at the look, but managed to hold his ground and meet the man’s eyes.

“You can always tell me freely, Mr. Malfoy, then it will not be necessary for me to do so,” Snape said in a low tone.

“I don’t know what Dumbledore thinks you’re going to find,” Harry said, drawing Snape’s hard eyes to himself. “I’m not hiding any secret power.”

“Have some respect, Potter,” Snape snapped. “While I agree there is nothing remotely remarkable about you and you have only ever proven to be completely useless in all magical areas, the headmaster is a hopeless optimist and there is something that has allowed you to break the castle wards.”

Harry felt rage fill him and he clenched his fists. Dumbledore was insane if he thought Harry would tell Snape anything. The professor didn’t want to help them. The entire arrangement would just give Snape the chance to torture them, maybe even give Harry over to Voldemort like the Death Eater he was.

“I do not want to see you outside of meals, treating your injuries, or questioning you about what you’re hiding. Additionally, I cannot trust you to not cause utter destruction in my home,” Snape said. “As such, you will remain in your rooms at all times except for these instances.”

Harry couldn’t help but gape while Malfoy was the one to grow outraged.

“You can’t keep us locked away!” Malfoy said angrily, almost shouting. Harry had noticed the way the Slytherin’s voice cracked and turned hoarse quickly over the last few days, and absently wondered what had happened. He’d hardly taken the time to wonder what had happened to Malfoy and why he’d also appeared at Hogwarts, not that he truly cared.

“Mr. Malfoy, do not presume to have any liberties. This is my home and you will follow my orders,” Snape said, glaring at the Slytherin again. “If you do not follow my instructions, you will not enjoy the consequences.”

Harry’s stomach twisted, wondering what Snape considered appropriate punishment outside of Hogwarts.

“But—”

“You do not have a place here, either of you,” Snape growled. “Do not be so arrogant as to think you are wanted here. This arrangement is at the behest of the headmaster, nothing more, and I will rid myself of you as soon as I possibly can.”

Harry was filled with hate and he could tell the feeling was mutual in the others. He tried to ignore the sting in his chest at hearing how unwanted he was. He couldn’t have expected anything else from Snape.

“Now, would either of you care to tell me anything about what happened three days ago?” Snape asked, looking at them both pointedly.

Harry clenched his jaw, adamant in never speaking of the Dursleys to anyone. He looked at Malfoy who had done the same thing, his grey eyes flashing. What was the Slytherin hiding? Surely he’d want to brag if he was secretly powerful. It would add to all the things he believed made him better than anyone else. What could possibly be so wrong in the precious life of Draco Malfoy that he felt the need to keep a secret from his Head of House?

“Very well,” Snape said after several minutes of defiant silence. “Get out, to your rooms.”

Malfoy shoved away from the table and stomped out of the dining room. Harry huffed, wishing he could do the same thing. Instead, he pushed his chair back, wincing at the pull of his healing skin on his bandaged arm, and shuffled out of the room on his crutch.

Malfoy was already ensconced in his room as Harry slipped into his. He sat heavily on the bed, breathing a little harder from the exertion. He glared at his leg, cursing his uncle, before sighing. He gazed around the room. It was fairly large and comfortable with an en suite bathroom. Across from the bathroom door on the far wall was a large, dark wood wardrobe and matching dresser. Across from the bedroom door was a large double window with a cushioned window seat and a few small pillows. Beside the window seat was a wooden desk and cushioned desk chair. The wall above the desk had shelves built into it, all empty. There was a small beside table with a little lamp. The bed was quite soft and comfortable with a deep blue comforter and several cushy pillows with different shades of blue pillowcases. The floor was covered with a soft, fluffy deep red carpet. It was quite a nice room and he actually liked it.

He sighed and carefully pulled his broken leg up onto the bed so he could lay down, sinking into the pillows. He danced his fingers over the bandages covering his right forearm as he stared up at the ceiling, allowing his thoughts to wander.

How had he ended up there?

Would he ever find a place he belonged? A home?

“Severus, might I come through?”

Severus sighed, irritated, but cleared his emotions. “If you must.”

The fireplace flared and Dumbledore stepped out gracefully. Severus looked up from the correspondence he’d had to abandon several days earlier and raised an eyebrow, hoping the headmaster would get on with it quickly.

“I must speak with Harry,” Dumbledore said.

“Upstairs, second on the left,” Severus said and waved the man off, returning to his task. He scrawled his response, giving the details of the books and ingredients he needed to order. Given the new situation with Voldemort’s return, he was going to need certain potions on hand again, but his personal stores were fairly depleted. He paused when he thought he heard a raised voice from upstairs, but shrugged it off when he heard nothing more.

“No!” 

His head flew up at the shout and he hurried up the stairs. Malfoy had stepped out of his room, curious about the yelling, but stopped where he was at Severus’ glare. Severus entered the open doorway of Potter’s room and quickly took in the situation. Dumbledore was looking at Potter over his glasses, somewhat sternly, while Potter was holding himself up on the bed on his hands. The boy’s face was twisted in a glare though there was something else in the green eyes behind the anger.

“What, may I ask, has happened that requires such a tone?” Severus asked, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow when Potter shot daggers at him.

“Harry and I were simply discussing his home in Privet Drive,” Dumbledore said casually. “I went there to retrieve Harry’s wand and discovered something curious.”

Severus looked at the headmaster questioningly.

“It would appear something has caused the protective wards to weaken severely,” Dumbledore said. “Harry must return to ensure they remain intact.”

“I’m not going back,” Potter ground out.

“Harry, you must. The wards must remain if you are to be safe,” Dumbledore said.

Potter shook his head. “I don’t care. I’m not going back there.”

Severus furrowed his eyebrows slightly at Potter’s blatant refusal. He turned to the headmaster. “What has caused the wards to weaken?”

“I had hoped Harry could explain,” Dumbledore said, looking at Potter calmly in the face of the boy’s anger.

“How the hell should I know?” Potter snapped.

“Potter, watch your tone,” Severus snapped back at him.

“Screw off, Snape,” Potter spat and Severus grew hot at the boy’s rude insolence.

“Harry, please, mind your tone and show Professor Snape some respect,” Dumbledore said, bringing Potter’s glare back to him. “I have a theory about what happened to the wards and I hope you can confirm it for me.”

Potter just kept glowering, waiting to hear the theory.

“Have you expressed a feeling that Privet Drive is not your home?” Dumbledore asked.

An emotion flashed across the boy’s face, disappearing in an instant.

“So what if I did?” Potter said guardedly and Severus frowned at the boy’s apparent apathy towards the home and family he’d grown up in for fourteen years.

Dumbledore’s face gained disappointment as he gazed at Potter. “By expressing such a thing, the wards will lose their ties to the home. Your mother’s protection is meant to protect you at home, but it will not work if you do not believe the place to be your home.”

Potter’s face hardened. “Yeah, well, it’s not my home. It never has been.”

“Harry, why would you say that?” Dumbledore asked, his disappointment growing.

“Because it’s true,” Potter said stiffly. “I’m not going back.”

“This is not negotiable, my boy, you must keep the wards strong to be safe,” Dumbledore said.

“It obviously is negotiable considering you were going to keep me here for three weeks,” Potter said and Severus silently commended the boy for identifying the headmaster’s confusing hypocrisy and calling him out.

“That was before the wards had grown so weak. Your mother’s love is within you and powers the wards,” Dumbledore explained. “You must return home.”

“It’s not my home!” Potter said loudly, almost shouting. “And I am never going back.”

“Harry—” Dumbledore said, his tone turning disapproving.

“No!” Potter shouted, cowing only slightly at Severus’ sharp look. “I’ll stay anywhere else. I’ll go back to Hogwarts.”

Severus couldn’t help but roll his eyes at Potter’s repeated suggestions that had failed only the previous day.

“The school is closed for the summer,” Dumbledore said. “All the staff have left.”

“The Weasleys,” Potter said.

“The Burrow has very little protection around it and they are staying somewhere else this summer,” Dumbledore explained.

“Sirius.”

“He is still in hiding and cannot adequately protect you.”

Severus could see the boy getting desperate. His forehead wrinkled slightly when the green eyes turned to him.

“Here then,” Potter said and Severus’ eyebrows jumped. “It’s obviously safe enough for three weeks, so it’s safe enough for the summer.”

Dumbledore was clearly just as surprised at Potter’s final suggestion, his final attempt to get removed from his relatives’.

“Harry, you were welcome here temporarily. You cannot expect Professor Snape to house you for the entire summer, especially not without his consideration,” Dumbledore said.

Severus rolled his eyes again. It wasn’t as though he had truly been considered when Dumbledore decided he would be the one to take the two boys for the initial three weeks.

“Please, sir,” Potter said, his eyes intent. “I promise to listen to you and stay out of your way. Just, please, don’t send me back.”

Severus held the boy’s eyes, replicas of his mother’s, as he contemplated his decision. He certainly had no desire to have Potter in his home for the entire summer, but the boy’s adamant refusal to return to his relatives’ combined with his injuries had him one hundred percent convinced that his theory was correct and Harry Potter was abused. The extent of it, whether it had been a solitary incident or not, he didn’t know or particularly care. However, he could not justify sending the boy back to abuse now he was aware.

He couldn’t stand the child and he doubted Potter’s promise to follow the rules, but, as he kept eye contact, he knew he had to do what the headmaster was unwilling to do. So, he turned to Dumbledore with a sigh.

“Potter can stay here for the summer,” he said, meeting Dumbledore’s raised eyebrow with a steady stare. “You know perfectly well the manor is very well protected. The boy will be safe here.”

Dumbledore still appeared disappointed, but he inclined his head, acquiescing on the matter. “Very well. Severus, you can take the summer to assist Harry with his magic as you will now have the time. Harry, you are to behave and respect Professor Snape at all times. If he reports any issues, you will return to Privet Drive.”

Potter appeared to go through multiple emotions within seconds, ending with a clenched jaw and hard eyes. “Fine.”

“I will retrieve your belongings from your relatives’,” Dumbledore said.

“Thank you, sir,” Potter said tightly.

“Severus, can I have a word before I take my leave?” Dumbledore said, trying to bring the usual lightness back to his voice.

“Of course, Headmaster. I will be there in a moment. Potter is in need of some treatment,” Severus said and he looked pointedly at the boy’s arm when Potter frowned at him. He watched the boy’s eyes grow wide when he noticed the red bandages on his arm. He had clearly reopened some of his lacerations by straining to keep himself elevated all this time.

“Yes, of course,” Dumbledore said. “I will be in the downstairs study. Harry, I will return with your belongings.”

“Yes, sir,” Potter said with little emotion.

Severus allowed the headmaster to leave before pulling over the desk chair to sit beside the bed. He waved his hand and some supplies popped onto the bedside table. He grasped Potter’s arm, ignoring the flinch, and swiftly unwrapped the bloodied bandages. He dripped Murtlap Essence onto the reopened wounds, watching them stitch themselves closed.

“Thank you, sir, for letting me stay,” Potter said after a time.

Severus sneered. “Trust me, Potter, it is not out of the kindness of my heart. It is the only arrangement we can all tolerate.”

“Right,” Potter said shortly.

Severus finished bandaging the boy’s arm and dropped it. “I expect you to do as you promised. I will only see you when necessary. No need to disturb me more than you already have.”

“Yes, sir,” Potter said, his tone stiff.

Severus returned the chair and stalked from the room, casting a final look at Potter who just tracked him with his green eyes.

Harry cried out and covered his face as Vernon’s belt snapped across his back. The pain radiated throughout his body and he whimpered. Vernon cackled above him, bringing his belt down again and again, making Harry scream louder with every strike. 

“Please, stop!” Harry yelled. He looked up to watch his uncle, his eyes widening at the belt coming down on him yet again. “Someone, help me!” 

Just as the belt was about to hit him, it transformed into a streak of well-known green light that travelled over his head. He spun around, his surroundings morphing as he did. 

“Cedric!” he cried as the light struck and Cedric fell to the ground, his eyes wide and empty. Sobbing, he gazed up at Vernon to find he had changed into Voldemort, the red snake-like eyes glinting down at him accompanied by the twisted, evil smirk. 

“I want to see the life leave the great Boy Who Lived!” Voldemort yelled, whipping his wand through the air. 

Harry screamed again, the white-hot pain ripping through him, making him writhe. 

“Potter!”

The torture continued. He was sure he was going to die. He couldn’t be what they all thought. He couldn’t stop any of them, couldn’t save anyone. 

“Potter, wake up, damn it!”

Who was that? He opened his eyes and, through blurry vision, Voldemort changed. He frowned as the figure transformed into Snape. 

“Potter!”

His eyes flew open and he gasped. He pulled away from the touch he felt on his arms, hissing at the pain from his roughly jostled injuries. His eyes jumped around as he recognized the bedroom at Snape’s and that he wasn’t at the Dursleys’ or in the graveyard. The memories washed over him and he snapped his eyes shut again, willing the images away.

“Potter, enough of this foolishness.”

He opened his eyes, blinking away the tears as he looked at his company. His eyes narrowed into a glare.

“Get away from me,” he spat at the professor, overwhelmed with his memories and embarrassment.

“Potter, you were screaming loud enough for the entire country to hear you,” Snape snapped. “I had to wake you.”

“Fine, you did, now get out,” Harry said angrily, hating that Snape and Malfoy would know about his nightmares, adding more fuel to their taunts. He held his glare even as Snape’s face twisted into anger as well.

“Do not speak to me like that, boy,” Snape growled and Harry couldn’t help his flinch at the use of ‘boy’. “You are an unwelcome guest in my home and you have now disturbed my sleep. Show some respect.”

Harry knew the man was right, but he couldn’t concede to Snape. It would be used against him like a weakness. Instead, he just glowered, refusing to say anything else.

“Go to sleep and do not make me come in here again,” Snape snapped and stormed from the room, closing the door hard behind him.

Harry let out a breath and sunk back into his pillows, overcome by painful memories of Vernon, Voldemort, and Cedric.

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.

Harry poked at his breakfast, his eyes down and his mouth shut. The only sounds were cutlery on plates, the crinkling of the Daily Prophet, and birds outside. The early morning sun and the birdsong could do nothing to ease the suffocating atmosphere inside the manor.

It had been one week since he and Malfoy had begun their stay at Prince Manor. Only one week; it had felt like a year. Snape had been true to his word; they only saw each other at meals. The other twenty-one hours, he and Malfoy stayed hidden in their rooms. Snape hadn’t spoken to them about their curious appearance at Hogwarts since the first day, obviously determining he had the answer.

Dumbledore had brought him his belongings from Privet Drive the other day, but, other than to confirm everything had been retrieved, he hadn’t bothered with his trunk. Snape had disappeared for several hours three times, twice for what they both knew were Death Eater meetings and once for something unknown to them. They were locked in their rooms each time, only released many hours later or the next morning for breakfast.

He hated it. It felt just like the Dursleys’ but without the daily beatings. He supposed he could concede it was moderately better since it was just being ignored and locked away rather than that and beatings and starvation on top.

When Snape had returned from the second Death Eater meeting that week and had removed the Locking Charms, Harry had peeked out to see the professor. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe he’d hoped to learn if the man was a true Death Eater or a spy just by sight. Whatever he’d subconsciously hoped to see or learn, he found something else. The robes and upgraded silver mask had terrified him, briefly sending him back to the graveyard. He’d almost gone back into his room, but then he’d noticed the shaking hand that clenched into a fist. The man had stopped outside of his bedroom, bowed his head, and viciously punched the wall beside his door. Harry had jumped at the aggression and shrunk back. Snape had stood there for a time, his head down and fist against the wall. He thought he saw something drip form the professor’s fist, but it was dark and he couldn’t be sure. Eventually Snape had quietly slipped into his room and Harry returned to his, unsure what to think.

He'd found himself looking at Snape surreptitiously a lot since that night as though trying to figure out a mystery. If the professor had noticed his looks, he hadn’t shown any reaction.

“To your rooms,” Snape ordered as they cleared their plates.

Harry looked at the man again, making tiny, slow moves to make it seem like he was getting up to leave. Snape had been…off since that night. He seemed angrier, but it hadn’t actually come out. Something was bothering the professor and he wondered if it had anything to do with the meeting.

He pushed himself to his feet and settled on his crutch. He was about to head up to his room when Malfoy spoke, making him spin around.

“Sir, could we spend some time outside?” Malfoy asked quietly.

Harry’s eyes flicked between Malfoy and Snape as a tense silence grew in response to Malfoy’s question. Malfoy wasn’t looking at Snape, but had a determined expression on his face. Harry thought he could also see some desperation and he found himself relating to the blonde. He was losing his mind being stuck in his room, remembering the month he’d been locked in his room at Privet Drive after first year. He and Malfoy obviously had the same longing to feel more than a breeze through their windows and to see more than the same four walls.

Snape’s expression was completely unreadable as his dark eyes considered both Malfoy and Harry. The silence seemed to go on forever and Harry was going to resume his exit, assuming the man wasn’t going to answer, when Snape finally spoke.

“The fence that lines the property is also the edge of the wards. Do not pass the fencing,” Snape said and Harry couldn’t help but gape at the man. Even Malfoy had raised his head to look at Snape, his eyes wide, obviously surprised his request had been approved. Seeming to ignore Harry’s and Malfoy’s reactions, Snape swept from the dining room.

It took a few minutes for either Harry or Malfoy to move. Once they did, they both headed to the front double doors. Harry was nearly there when Dumbledore exited a room to Harry’s left, what he thought was a sitting room, and approached him, Snape hovering in the room’s doorway.

“Harry, might I speak with you for a moment?” the headmaster asked pleasantly.

Harry frowned slightly. “Uh, sure, I guess.”

“There is something I must tell you, my boy,” Dumbledore said. “Something has happened.”

“Headmaster,” Snape said quietly and Harry thought it almost sounded like a warning. There was something he couldn’t identify in the man’s face and Harry immediately tensed, readying himself for whatever he was about to hear.

“Last night, there was an attack,” Dumbledore said and Harry’s heart rate sped up. “Due to the weak wards, there was no longer any protection.”

Harry could feel his breathing change, coming shorter and sharper.

“Headmaster,” Snape said again, this time his tone hard as he glared at Dumbledore.

“I’m sorry, my boy, but your relatives were killed by Death Eaters last night,” Dumbledore finished and Harry felt like the world had disappeared from around him.

Harry found his eyes slide from Dumbledore’s to the hardwood of the foyer, his vision tunnelling and blurring. His heart was about to explode, and its beats were deafening him. His breaths were fast and short, making his chest hitch and rise unevenly. He felt both hot and cold at the same time.

“Harry?” Dumbledore said. “Do you understand what I’ve told you?”

Weak wards…no protection…weak wards…no protection…killed by Death Eaters…weak wards…weak wards… 

“Yes, sir,” Harry heard himself say. “Excuse me.”

He finished the distance to the front door and pulled one open. He limped out onto the front porch, unable to register what it looked like or that Malfoy was sitting in a porch swing. He didn’t notice the blonde look at him with a confused frown or hear the blonde call for him. He walked down the couple small steps and limped across the grass. He stopped a few meters from the porch and just stood, swaying slightly as he stared nowhere in particular, unseeing. His eyes were burning, but he didn’t realize the tears that had begun to streak his face. His hand clenched around his crutch and his other fisted at his side. He was still breathing quickly and sporadically, and his heart was still pounding. However, alongside these feelings, there was something else: a pressure in his chest. If he hadn’t been so lost in the news and his overwhelming guilt, he may have recognized the pressure.

Weak wards…no protection…weak wards…no protection… 

He couldn’t stop repeating the words in his head. He couldn’t think of anything except what he’d done. It was his fault. If he had gone back, the wards would have still been there and the Dursleys would’ve been safe. He should’ve gone back. He should’ve just dealt with it; he had his whole life. They had died because of him. He was pathetic and selfish. He should’ve gone back.

Weak wards…no protection…weak wards…no protection… 

It was his fault. He killed them, just like he killed Cedric. He killed everyone.

“Potter?”

He barely heard the call, Malfoy’s voice muffled and far away. He couldn’t focus.

Weak wards…no protection…weak wards…my fault…I killed them…my fault… 

“What’s your fault? Potter?”

He heard Malfoy a little more clearly. He frowned. Why was Malfoy there? He shouldn’t be there. He’d die if he was near Harry. Everyone did.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Get away,” Harry muttered. He had to protect everyone. They had to get away from him. He had to be alone. He didn’t want to be, but it was how it had to be. He couldn’t kill anyone else.

“Potter, you haven’t killed anyone. The hell is wrong with you?”

“Get away,” Harry said a bit louder, the pressure in his chest growing.

“Potter, stop being an idiot. Look at me.”

Malfoy’s hand landing on his arm broke Harry’s daze.

“Get away!” he shouted and the pressure in his chest exploded outwards in a blast of heat.

“Bloody hell!” he heard Malfoy yell. He moved his gaze to the blonde, assuming the shout meant Malfoy was leaving. His eyebrows furrowed as his foggy mind tried to understand what he was seeing.

Malfoy was cursing and staring at his left arm, the one not in a sling. His shirt sleeve was incomplete with black edges. The skin underneath was red and an odd texture.

“Oh, God,” Harry breathed as he realized what was wrong with Malfoy’s arm.

It had been badly burned.

But, how?

“Potter,” another voice said, but it was weird. The tone didn’t belong with the voice. A black button-up shirt entered his line of sight and he looked up at Snape.

“I…I’m…I’m sorry, I…I don’t…” he stuttered.

“Potter…”

“I’m sorry, it’s my fault. I should have gone back. It’s my fault. I killed them. I—” Harry could feel his breath coming in gasps again.

“No, it is not your fault,” Snape said.

Harry shook his head. “The wards. If I’d gone back, the wards would’ve been there. If I’d gone back—”

“Your relatives would have likely killed you,” Snape said.

“They should have, then I wouldn’t get everyone killed,” Harry said, choking on a sob as he saw Cedric’s body fall.

“No, Potter, you deserve to live and you have killed no one,” Snape said firmly.

Harry just shook his head again. “It’s my fault. It’s always my fault.” He dropped his eyes to his feet and he frowned when he didn’t see green grass. Instead, it was black and dead. “What did I do?” he whispered.

“It would seem a further investigation of your magical abilities is warranted,” Snape said. “That is for another time. Come, Potter, to your room.”

“Not my room. I have no room…no home,” Harry mumbled, hardly aware he was speaking aloud. “I have no one.”

Draco waited in the foyer awkwardly as instructed by Snape who had swept off down the hall past the kitchen. He gritted his teeth as his burned forearm continued to sting and ache. He still wasn’t sure how it had happened, what Potter had done. He glanced to his right at the headmaster, frowning at Dumbledore’s odd expression. He didn’t seem terribly distressed given the news he’d just given to his beloved Potter and he was staring at Draco’s burn with an odd glint in his eye.

He was getting uncomfortable when Snape finally returned with a jar and bandages. They were all silent as Snape carefully applied a gel to his burn before wrapping it in the bandages, though Draco did wince at the slight pain the actions caused. Snape offered a Pain Reliever, but Draco declined. It didn’t hurt too badly.

Snape nodded his head at Draco’s refusal and banished his supplies back to wherever he had gotten them from. “Upstairs, Mr. Malfoy,” he said.

“Yes, sir,” Draco said and started up the stairs as Snape and Dumbledore disappeared down the hall, presumably to the study.

At the top of the stairs, he chewed his lip as he glanced at Potter’s closed door. He wasn’t sure why he was considering checking on Potter. He certainly didn’t care about or like the Gryffindor, but he also couldn’t ignore Potter’s reaction to the news about his relatives. With a small sigh as he silently acknowledged how badly this could go, he walked over and slowly opened Potter’s door.

“Potter?” he said quietly, looking at the Gryffindor sitting on the edge of the bed, head bowed. However, once Potter heard Draco, his head snapped up and his green eyes narrowed into a hateful glare as they fell on Draco. He couldn’t help but notice the redness in the green eyes.

“Get lost, Malfoy,” Potter spat.

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Not a very nice greeting for someone that’s come to check on you.”

“I don’t care and neither do you, so get out,” Potter said angrily.

“Considering you’ve just added a new injury to the ones I’ve already got, I’d say I care a little,” Draco said, holding up his newly bandaged arm. Potter’s eyes flicked to his hidden burn and he was sure he saw embarrassment or guilt flash in the green eyes. “Do you actually care that your relatives are dead?”

Potter’s face twisted into anger again, but it seemed to be to mask something else. “I actually have emotions and don’t hate Muggles just because they’re Muggles.”

Draco ignored the jab at his well-built persona. “And what about Muggles that beat you?”

Potter’s glare was deadly. Quite frankly, Draco was surprised the glare didn’t kill him where he stood.

“Shut the hell up.”

“Oh, so, that uncle of yours doesn’t abuse you?” Draco said lightly, knowing he was treading on dangerous territory. He just couldn’t understand how Potter could be upset that his horrid relatives were dead. He blinked in shock when Potter hopped off his bed, balancing precariously on his one good leg.

“You don’t know anything, Malfoy,” Potter snapped.

Draco narrowed his eyes, feeling his own anger flare at the assumptions he knew Potter made about him. It was the assumptions he always wanted people to make to help him hide the truth, but now, in this moment with Potter, he couldn’t allow the assumptions to persist.

“I know more than you think,” he said tightly.

Potter sneered. “Somehow, I seriously doubt that.”

“I’m here too, aren’t I?” Draco shot back and saw a brief flash of understanding in the other boy’s eyes. He saw Potter clench his jaw.

“Whatever,” the Gryffindor said. “You still don’t get it.”

“Then tell me,” Draco said. “How could you possibly care about what happened to them?”

Potter kept his stare hard. “Just get the hell out.”

“No.” Draco matched the Gryffindor’s stare.

“Get out,” Potter said through gritted teeth.

Draco straightened, standing his ground even though he still had no idea why he was pushing. He flinched, but stayed where he was as Potter limped over to him, standing nose to nose with him.

“You want to know why I care?” Potter said in a low voice filled with rage, but also something else. “I don’t care about them, but it’s my fault! Happy? Now, get out!” 

Draco was startled when Potter shoved him hard, making him stumble and gasp at the pain in his still healing shoulder. He held it with his other hand, grinding his teeth at the pain.

“The hell is wrong with you? How is it your fault?” Draco asked.

“Because I didn’t go back,” Potter said, the anger leaving his voice slightly.

“And what would have happened if you went back? What would they have done to you?” Draco asked, thinking about what would likely happen to him once he returned to Malfoy Manor in two weeks.

He saw the rapid changes in Potter’s face. His rage gave way to fear and hurt only to quickly morph back into rage when he remembered who he was talking to.

“No worse than what your bastard of a father does to you, I assume,” Potter snapped hatefully.

Draco’s own anger boiled up again. “Shut up, Potter.”

“Don’t pretend to understand anything about me,” Potter said. “You’re just as pathetic as you think I am, letting your own father hit you.”

“At least he’s not a disgusting Muggle,” Draco fired back.

“You should just go back there. I say you deserve it,” Potter said. “You’re no better than him.”

Draco saw red and he snarled. “You know what? It is your fault, just like Diggory.”

He knew it was a low blow, but he didn’t care. He would not accept being compared to Lucius any longer.

“Don’t you dare talk about Cedric,” Potter growled, clenching his hands into fists.

“Some chosen one you are,” Draco sneered.

He was shocked at the magic that suddenly pulsed through the room, radiating out from Potter. His eyes widened when he saw flames fly toward him and he threw his hand up, knowing it would do nothing. He waited to receive another burn, but, when it never happened, he opened his eyes and stared in shock. The flames were hovering just in front of his palm, wrapped around a ball of silver and white light. Going by instinct, he closed his fingers and the light and fire were extinguished.

He stared at his hand and then at Potter, his eyebrows furrowed. What in the hell had just happened?

“Well, Severus, I do believe your determination that these two boys Apparated by use of accidental magic may be incorrect.”

Draco turned to the doorway with Potter, finding Snape and Dumbledore standing there. He became nervous, wondering how angry Snape would be at him and Potter fighting when Draco was meant to be in his room.

“Indeed,” Snape said. “A matter for later. Mr. Malfoy, to your room.”

Hoping it meant he was escaping punishment, Draco nodded. “Yes sir.” He glanced at Potter once more before hurrying across the hall.

Severus watched Malfoy slip into his room before turning back to Potter. The Gryffindor was flushed with obvious anger, but also with exertion. He swayed on his one leg and, after the two bouts of unexplained magical outbursts, was likely experiencing magical exhaustion. He sighed and walked over to the boy, ignoring the way he flinched.

“Sit down, Potter, before you fall down,” Severus said and he gently pushed Potter’s shoulder before the boy could argue. Potter allowed it and fell onto the edge of the bed, clearly trying to hide his heavy breathing. He pulled the desk chair over to sit by the bed and be on a more even level with Potter.

“Harry, I wanted to apologize for distressing you,” Dumbledore said.

Severus just barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. He was sure it had been the headmaster’s intent to upset Potter in hopes of making the boy reveal his secret power. Whether the headmaster had intended to make Potter feel guilty or not was unclear.

“Now that your relatives are gone, you will be unable to return to Surrey,” Dumbledore said.

Severus watched the Gryffindor’s eyes fall. The boy was clearly conflicted, hating the home he grew up in but knowing no other.

“Where will I go?” Potter asked quietly, despondently.

“You will remain here with Professor Snape for the summer, as arranged,” Dumbledore told him. “Next summer, however, it is likely you will have to remain in an Order safe house.”

Potter looked at the headmaster, confused. “Order?”

“The Order of the Phoenix. Professor Snape will explain it to you.”

Severus glared at the man for not taking the time to explain things to the boy properly and leaving it to him.

“A safe house?” Potter repeated. “Alone?”

“You will have a rotating guard, but, for your safety and the safety of others, yes, you will be there alone,” Dumbledore said and Potter’s eyes dropped again. “I am sorry, my boy.”

“Right,” was all Potter muttered in response.

“I must take my leave,” Dumbledore said. “Harry, ensure you listen to the professor and work hard on your newfound magic.”

Potter said nothing and Severus couldn’t help the slight glare he gave the headmaster for treating Potter so coldly.

“Severus,” Dumbledore said, nodding at him.

“Headmaster,” Severus said stiffly and watched Dumbledore leave. He sighed as he looked at Potter, the boy’s head bowed.

“Potter—” he started to say.

“Just leave me alone,” Potter interrupted quietly. “Please, sir.”

He knew he shouldn’t given the boy’s state of mind, but he also had no idea how to comfort Potter. If the Gryffindor wanted to wallow in self-pity then so be it. He wasn’t going to lower himself to arguing with teenagers and coddling Harry Potter. He ignored the slight pull he felt in his chest as he looked at the depressed boy and thought of the guilt he was likely feeling.

“Very well, Potter,” Severus said, getting to his feet. “We will speak tomorrow.”

“Sir, I—”

“It is not negotiable,” Severus said firmly. “There are things you must know and things you must understand.”

Potter glanced up at him. “Yes, sir.”

“Rest. I will call you for dinner,” Severus said. He watched Potter shuffle around until he was laying down and then left the room.

He sighed again as he looked at Malfoy’s closed door. How was he meant to deal with two abused teenage boys that apparently had secret powers?

Severus sat at the dining table contemplatively as he awaited Potter and Malfoy for dinner. He would have to address their fighting and their magic, but especially Potter’s guilt. It was astonishing that the boy seemed to have any care about the Muggles dying, but he understood. His relatives were his only home, good or bad, and now he was being told they were dead because of him and he was to be sent away. He cursed Dumbledore for being so callous.

He watched as Malfoy entered the room, head bowed as he slid into his usual seat to Severus’ left. He frowned when, after a couple minutes, Potter did not appear.

“Mr. Malfoy, do you know where Mr. Potter is?” he asked casually despite being irritated that the Gryffindor seemed to be ignoring him.

“In his room, I think,” Malfoy said.

Severus nodded and tapped the table, making the dinner items appear. “Help yourself, Mr. Malfoy. I will be back momentarily.”

He left the dining room and swept upstairs, feeling his annoyance grow. He understood the boy had just received tragic news, but that was no excuse to ignore Severus’ instructions. He knocked on Potter’s door, but opened it without waiting for an answer. He stepped in and walked to the side of the bed, staring down at Potter with his arms crossed.

“Were my instructions unclear?” Severus said, watching Potter’s angry green eyes move to him.

“No, sir,” Potter said shortly.

“Then I do not recall making dinner optional,” Severus said, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m not hungry,” Potter said dully.

Severus rolled his eyes, sighing as he realized what Potter was doing. “You cannot hide in here forever.”

Potter glared. “I’m not hiding and watch me. It’s what you want anyway, isn’t it?”

Severus scowled as the boy threw his own words back at him in a fashion. He grabbed the desk chair and pulled it over to sit. Apparently, they were dealing with this now.

“Potter, their deaths are not your fault,” Severus said.

“Sure it is. Dumbledore said—”

“I know what he said, but I also know wards,” Severus said. “Wards take time to get their strength back. Even if you’d gone back, they would not have strengthened in time.”

“I shouldn’t have left in the first place,” Potter said, his volume dropping. “Shouldn’t have said it wasn’t home.”

“But that is the truth, is it not?” Severus said pointedly. Potter glanced at him, but said nothing. “Do you honestly care that they are dead, the people who abused you?”

Potter’s eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. “I’m not heartless. I don’t want anyone to die. And that’s not what it was.”

Severus raised an eyebrow again. “No? What would you call it?”

Potter shrugged a shoulder. “Punishment.”

“For what exactly?”

“Just…whenever I was bad. You’ve seen the things I do.”

“I have seen a reckless child act like rules don’t apply to him and could use more discipline at school, but I have never seen anything that would justify what they did to you,” Severus said, gesturing at the broken leg.

“Why do you care? You said you didn’t,” Potter said snappishly.

“I do not condone child abuse and I will not allow you to feel guilty over them after what they did to you,” Severus said. He refused to allow the boy to diminish what was done to him or blame himself.

“Whatever,” Potter said, returning his eyes to the ceiling.

Severus sighed, frustrated, though he understood the boy’s reaction. He’d done the same thing as a child. He was suddenly glad he had the summer with the boy. He was determined to cease Potter’s guilt and blame by September. Why, he didn’t know. He certainly didn’t like Potter, but there were…uncomfortable similarities between them that he’d never allowed himself or been allowed to see.

His thoughts turned to the blonde waiting for them downstairs. Similar circumstances had clearly brought Malfoy to him. Did he hold the same ridiculous beliefs as Potter in regards to his own abuse at the hands of his bastard father? He sighed again. It was likely. Lucius was extremely…persuasive and he could only imagine how that had translated into parenting the son he was rearing for Marking. Unfortunately, he would not have the same kind of time to work with the Malfoy heir. Dumbledore would return him to Malfoy Manor in just two weeks.

How was he meant to help them? Why did he want to?

He studiously ignored the mental flash of a little boy curled up in a dark corner, wishing for someone to help him.

He cleared his throat and refocused on Potter. “Will you come down to dinner? There are some things I wish to discuss with you and Mr. Malfoy, and I would prefer to only have to say it once.”

Potter’s eyes flicked to him and he could tell the boy wanted to argue. He was impressed when Potter managed to hold back.

“Fine,” Potter muttered and swung his legs off the bed, snatching his crutch from where it leaned against the bedside table.

Severus followed the boy downstairs and retook his seat while Potter sat to his right and across from Malfoy. He didn’t miss the glares the two sent each other and he was reminded of the fight they’d had earlier. If they wanted to survive the next two weeks until Malfoy left, they would all have to find a way to tolerate each other. Some things would have to change and he inwardly cringed at the idea of having these two particular boys roaming his home. Though, he couldn’t deny that, aside from their attitudes, both boys were not acting as he was used to seeing at Hogwarts. Perhaps they could continue to keep their destructive natures at bay and he could attempt to reign in his temper. They would get nothing productive done if they couldn’t even speak without descending into insults and fights.

He let them slowly eat in silence, watching both boys stare hard at their food to avoid looking at each other or him. He finished his dinner and sat back to sip his wine as he watched his students. As Potter and Malfoy came to the end of their dinners, he figured it was as good a time as any to speak with them, so he cleared his throat to get their attention. Grey and green eyes moved to him hesitantly.

“Some changes will be made to our arrangement to accommodate recent developments,” Severus said, keeping his tone neutral.

“Can I ask a question?” Potter said and Severus looked at him with an arched eyebrow, slightly surprised at the boy’s willingness to talk.

“You may,” Severus said with a nod.

“What’s the Order?” Potter asked, meeting his eye.

He could see the determination in the boy’s stare and knew Potter was desperate for information. He cursed Dumbledore once again for expecting Potter to just accept the dark he was continuously left in. Even he thought Potter should be told more of what was happening, given his central role in the conflict. He also caught Malfoy’s curious look.

“The Order is a secret organization created by Albus Dumbledore during the First Wizarding War to combat Riddle,” Severus explained. “It was disbanded after his defeat, but has been re-established upon his return.”

“An army?” Potter said.

Severus nodded.

“Dumbledore said the Weasleys are staying at the Order headquarters,” Potter said and Severus sighed, knowing what he was going to have to reveal. “Where’s headquarters?”

Severus met the green eyes steadily. “It is at the childhood home of Sirius Black.”

He watched Potter’s eyes shine with puzzlement and hurt. “Sirius? He’s okay?”

Not wanting to discuss Black any more than he had to, he just nodded. The mutt was irritating and mopey about being confined to Grimmauld Place, but he was alive and not in Azkaban, so he figured ‘okay’ was a fair description.

“If a secret army can meet there, why couldn’t I stay there?” Potter asked, his forehead creasing.

“I do not pretend to understand the headmaster’s decision, but I trust he has his reasons,” Severus said. Potter did not seem satisfied, but there wasn’t much else he could say. “However, be assured, you are safer here than you would be anywhere else. Riddle will be searching for you and Lucius will be searching for Mr. Malfoy, but you will not be found here.”

“Why would they be looking for Malfoy?” Potter asked, glancing at Malfoy who sneered at him.

Severus glanced at the blonde, briefly wondering if he should reveal Malfoy’s story. It could help settle things between the two teens. “Because Lucius was meant to give up Mr. Malfoy for Marking, but Mr. Malfoy has turned his back on his predestined path.”

He watched Potter shoot a look of shock and confusion at the blonde who stared back with his typical guarded expression.

“Along those same lines, you are both aware of my role?” Severus said, bringing their attention back to him. He received hesitant nods, implying they knew but weren’t sure. “I am a spy for the Order. As such, it is imperative no one knows you are here with me. When you write your friends, do not speak of where you are staying.”

Potter’s eyes widened while Malfoy’s fell to the table.

“I can write Ron and Hermione?” Potter said, more animated than Severus had seen him for the last week.

“Yes, with caution,” Severus said. “Mr. Potter, I will be able to deliver your post directly. Mr. Malfoy—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Malfoy interrupted. “I’ve got no one to write.”

He saw Potter give his rival yet another confused glance before turning back to Severus.

“Won’t it be weird that you’re delivering my post?” Potter said and Severus silently commended the boy’s observation.

“I will come up with an adequate explanation,” Severus said. “That is the first change. The second is you are free to go where you like in the manor. Unless a door is locked, explore as you wish. I expect you to be able to share the manor’s ample space without fighting.”

He stared pointedly at them until they both flushed and their eyes darted away.

“Yes, sir,” they said together, scowling at each other for speaking at the same time.

“You can spend time outside, but do not go beyond the fence, as I’ve said,” Severus said. “Mr. Potter, your cast will be removed in about a week and a half. Once it is removed, I expect you to walk the grounds once a day to help rebuild your strength and mobility.”

“Yes, sir,” Potter said.

“You will join him, Mr. Malfoy,” he said, gaining the looks of outrage he’d expected.

“What?” they said loudly together, shooting each other glares once again.

“You need fresh air before you are confined to Malfoy Manor once again. You may also learn a bit about how to get along,” Severus said and both teens tried to argue. “You are not so different from each other.”

They both fell silent but sent each other hateful glares. Severus just rolled his eyes at their childish attitude toward each other.

“The final change is we will be having…sessions to discover what kind of magic you both have,” Severus said. “Unfortunately for Mr. Malfoy, we will not have as much time to work, but we will achieve what we can in these two weeks.”

“I don’t have my wand, sir,” Malfoy said, his eyes downcast and Severus frowned at the admission.

“That magic earlier was wandless?” Severus asked and Malfoy nodded. He looked at Potter. “And you? Have you used your wand?”

Potter shook his head. “It’s been on my bedside table. I didn’t think I could use magic since it’s summer and I’m underage.”

“Do not concern yourself with that,” Severus said almost absently as his mind raced. “No magic can be detected here.”

He realized the boys were looking at him curiously. It was astonishing that both of them had performed unintentional, but still powerful wandless magic. It wasn’t just wandless magic, though. They both had some specific type of magic that utilized wandless magic. Such magic types were rare, some never seen for centuries. It would seem he was likely wrong all these years, and Potter and Malfoy could truly be something special.

He refocused on them. “You may go. Do what you wish until bedtime. Be in your rooms by ten.”

Potter and Malfoy nodded, and he watched them leave the dining room, his thoughts heavy with theories and growing amazement.

Harry was sat on the sofa by the unlit fireplace in the library reading when Snape walked in. He tensed automatically at the man’s presence and watched him sit in the wingback chair to the left of the sofa. He didn’t know how to feel about Snape. The man was confounding, to say the least.

It was only two days since he’d been told of the deaths of the Dursleys and Snape’s ‘changes’ to their accommodations. The manor was still filled with tension and they all avoided each other as much as possible. They certainly didn’t speak unless required, yet Snape seemed almost tolerant of having him and Malfoy there. The temper and dislike were still there, he could see and feel them, but Snape seemed to be keeping them toned down. It was strange and confusing as he had no idea what could have caused such a change.

“Mr. Potter,” Snape said and Harry looked at him. “I thought we might explore your magic.”

Harry closed his book with a frown of confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Only wizards with certain types of magic can become proficient at wandless magic without training,” Snape told him.

“But Dumbledore does wandless magic and so do you,” Harry said.

“Both through ample training and innate power,” Snape said. “However, our wandless magic is limited to spells we know. We cannot do whatever we wish unless there is a spell for it and it is a spell we know. As for you and Mr. Malfoy, I believe you may each possess a type of magic that utilizes wandless magic. These types of magic are very rare.”

Harry’s frown deepened. Him, rare magic? “I think you’re mistaken, Professor. I could hardly do a Summoning Charm this last year. I definitely don’t have any special power.”

I also couldn’t stop my uncle or save Cedric, he unwillingly thought and mentally shook away the painful memories that threatened to distract him. He darted his eyes away when Snape gave him a piercing stare. It was like the man knew what he was thinking and wanted to comment. Thankfully, he didn’t and moved past the moment.

“There is a way to find out. It is possible you have both suppressed these powers subconsciously for…various reasons,” Snape said, and Harry was certain the man was referring to how he and Malfoy had been treated by their families.

“How do we find out?” Harry asked, hoping Snape wouldn’t mention the Dursleys.

“We can look at your magical core,” Snape said and Harry looked at him curiously. “There is a form of Mind Magic called Legilimency. It is typically used for exploring the mind, but it can also be used to explore one’s magic. Your core will tell us if you have different magic.”

“How?”

“All typical cores look the same. Different types of magic make a core look different. The visual differences are dependent on the type of magic,” Snape explained.

Harry chewed his lip. “You won’t go through my mind?”

“No, I will not,” Snape said.

He didn’t know if he could trust Snape’s word, but discovering this magic was something Dumbledore had requested be done. He supposed he didn’t have much choice. If he caused problems, who knew where Dumbledore would send him. But, what if Snape was lying and was going to go into his head? It was bad enough the man seemed to have guessed at what his uncle did to him, he didn’t want Snape seeing anything. Either Snape would pity him or laugh, and he wasn’t sure which would be worse.

“They are separate spells, Potter,” Snape said as though recognizing Harry’s distrust.

Harry wished he could read Snape. The man was so blank and it frustrated him. Eventually, he sighed, knowing he still really didn’t have a choice.

“Fine,” he said shortly, hating that he had to do this with Snape. Spy or not, he was still a bastard that had tormented him the last four years for seemingly no good reason.

Snape nodded once in acknowledgement of Harry’s acquiescence before moving to the sofa, startling Harry. He tensed even more when Snape drew his wand.

“You need to relax,” Snape said.

Harry couldn’t help the narrowing of his eyes. Relax around Snape? “Not bloody likely,” he snapped.

Snape’s eyes also narrowed. “I would watch the attitude, Mr. Potter.”

“Or what?” Harry taunted, ignoring the tightening in his stomach that was telling him to back down. He didn’t know what Snape was capable of yet. He could be just like Vernon or worse. Again, spy or not, he was a Death Eater at some point. He could only imagine the horrible things Snape was willing to do to anyone he hated.

“Or I’ll have you scrubbing cauldrons for the duration of your stay,” Snape said angrily.

Harry couldn’t help but blink owlishly. That was it? That was Snape’s big threat? Maybe it was a cover. Maybe he didn’t want to say what the real punishment would be in case Harry went running to Dumbledore. His mouth turned into a frown as he filled with confusion.

“Now, take a few deep breaths and try to relax,” Snape said, no longer sounding angry which confused Harry even more. “I understand your hesitation in believing me, but I will not harm you.”

Inexplicably, Harry found himself relaxing somewhat, some part of him believing the professor. He considered his four years of interactions with Snape. The man had hurt him verbally, had threatened bodily harm, but no physical damage had ever come to him at the hands of Professor Snape. In fact, he’d often found the man protecting him. He had no idea what to make of the man before him.

“Are you calm?” Snape asked.

Confused as all hell is what I am. “Yes, sir,” was all he said.

“Very good. Now, the spell is going to pull us into your magical system. I will direct it to your core and we will be able to examine your magic,” Snape explained, raising his wand.

Harry stiffened slightly again at having Snape’s wand trained on him and no means to defend himself, but he did his best to stay as calm as possible. “Okay,” he said though it lacked confidence.

“Just relax,” Snape said quietly and raised his wand to the center of Harry’s chest while maintaining steady eye contact. “Legilimens magica.”

It was the strangest feeling, as though his consciousness had been pulled from his mind and placed somewhere completely different inside of him. It was like looking through his eyes, but inwards. He could almost swear he even had form and was able to physically walk around while also feeling like he was nothing but his consciousness, simply able to only observe.

He gazed around and found wispy gold strands drifting on the air all around him. He reached out to touch one and it was warm as it briefly wrapped around his finger. He quickly realized it was his magic. Before he could think about it more, he was being pulled in no apparent direction since he seemed to be in a void of sorts.

With no sense of time or distance, he had no idea how long it was before his movement stopped and he was left staring at a huge golden ball. It was made of the golden strands he’d seen before, tangling together to create the bright, swirling sphere before him. Threads were constantly ebbing and flowing from the sphere, filling the space around it as they floated to unclear destinations in the abyss.

As he stared, he started noticing different strands mixed in with the gold that would occasionally break away to flutter off. These threads were a bit larger than the gold ones and appeared to be four coloured strands twisting and braiding together. The strands were red, green, blue, and yellow.

He reached out to one as it wriggled free of the ball and floated by him. It wrapped around his entire hand, tangling almost playfully through his fingers. He was overcome with warmth and sheer power at its touch and watched in awe when it left his hand to drift away with all the other golden strings.

“Every witches’ and wizards’ core looks as yours does; golden threads,” Snape’s voice said, sounding like he was standing directly beside Harry. “The number of threads floating around and the size of the core indicates one’s magical power. A core can change when exposed to dark magic.”

Harry frowned. “What happens?”

“Some strands turn black,” Snape said and Harry thought he could hear a stiffness in the man’s voice. “It is irreversible and can become all black with consistent use of dark magic.”

Harry wasn’t sure what to say. He wondered how black Snape’s core was for surely there was some given his role as a Death Eater. He didn’t dare ask, though, and remained quiet.

“You have noticed the strands that are not gold?” Snape asked after a moment of uncomfortable silence.

Harry nodded or did whatever the equivalent was in his current state. “What are they?”

“That is your other type of magic,” Snape said.

“Really? What is it? Why are there so few of them?” Harry asked.

“This magic has been suppressed, unable to be fully realized. However, it is coming forth now and, with training, you will have full access,” Snape said. “It will be a remarkable power.”

Harry was surprised at the near amazement in the professor’s voice. “But what is it?”

“Elemental Magic,” Snape said. “A magic not seen naturally for six hundred years.”

As his consciousness was returned to its proper place and he retook his body, he couldn’t help but stare at his most hated professor who smirked at him in complete shock.

“An Elemental and an Aetherion, how remarkable,” Dumbledore said, joyfully clapping his hands together as he gazed at the two uncomfortable teens.

Severus watched in amusement as the two boys, sat on either end of the sofa, glanced at each other, temporarily bonding for a split second over their shared distress and confusion. While he agreed with the headmaster that it was an incredible discovery, Potter and Malfoy were clearly overwhelmed, as they should be. Nothing had been explained to the two yet as Dumbledore had wasted no time in coming over when Severus gave him the news.

“You will both begin training at once, especially you, Harry,” Dumbledore said.

“And Mr. Malfoy? A week and a half is hardly enough time to get any kind of meaningful training done,” Severus said, noting the stressed expression that had appeared on Potter’s face at the headmaster’s pressure.

“His training will have to take place at home,” Dumbledore said and Severus frowned.

“You intend to return him to Lucius?” Severus said, struggling to comprehend the headmaster’s decisions and priorities. He understood wanting to focus on growing Potter’s magic, but why not Malfoy’s as well?

“We cannot keep him from his family, Severus,” Dumbledore said. “It would be akin to kidnapping.”

“I understand that, Headmaster, but you would send a boy with this kind of power to the Dark Lord?” Severus said, seeing Malfoy pale rapidly out the corner of his eye. “I do not believe that to be wise.”

“We cannot go up against Lucius Malfoy, not over his son,” Dumbledore said firmly. “There is nothing I can do.”

Severus said nothing as he stared hard at the old man. It was strange for the headmaster to discover a magic not seen for over a thousand years and not want to use it to his full advantage. Was it because it was Malfoy? Was he not worthy to be one of Dumbledore’s soldiers? Was Malfoy meant to be abandoned to his fate while Potter was driven head-long into his?

“Now, Harry, Professor Snape will begin your training and then we will continue together at school,” Dumbledore said and Potter gave a stiff nod. Severus noticed Malfoy’s head had dropped slightly, likely at the headmaster’s dismissal of his wellbeing. “Work hard and, Severus, keep me updated.”

Severus just inclined his head and watched Dumbledore disappear through his Floo. His own thoughts circulating, his eyes flicked back to the two boys still sat on the sofa. Potter looked overwhelmed and stressed while Malfoy had grown confused and despondent. It would not be productive for any of them to continue discussing the matter now.

“Outside, you two,” he said, drawing both sets of eyes to him in question. “Get some air and try to relax some before dinner.”

They both hesitated before giving small nods and slowly left the library. Severus watched them go, his vision growing distant as he wondered what exactly was going on and what he was supposed to do now.

Draco gritted his teeth to hold back his scream as the burning on his forearms continued. He clenched his hands into fists against the pain and, while he managed not to scream, he couldn’t stop the single tear that escaped the corner of his eye. He bit his lip to prevent any sounds when he was backhanded across the face. As bad as it all was, it would only be worse if he made a sound or cried. 

“Still so weak,” Lucius drawled. 

“I’m sorry, Father,” Draco said monotonously, staring straight ahead and ignoring the ache in his knees from being on them on the hard floor for so long. 

“You will not embarrass me,” Lucius said. 

“Yes, Father,” Draco said. 

He trembled and bit his lip again as Lucius dragged his wand down Draco’s sternum, leaving behind a cut. It was agony, the laceration repeating over the others that had been inflicted in the same spot. It was always right there. The repeated opening of barely healed skin and scar tissue was an indescribable pain. After all these years, he had yet to get used to any of his ‘training’. His eyes shuttered, but snapped open only a moment later when he was backhanded again. 

“Eyes open, boy,” Lucius spat. “You will meet the eyes of your lord.” 

“Yes, sir,” Draco whispered. 

Lucius stepped up to him, blocking his line of sight, but Draco kept his eyes straight, focusing on the snake head of the cane. How he hated that thing. 

“Who do you serve?” Lucius asked quietly. 

“The Dark Lord,” Draco recited. 

“Who do you serve?” Lucius repeated, waving his wand. 

Draco stiffened at the thin razor-like slices that wound around his arms and neck. No cuts were left behind, but the pain grew with every pass. His fingernails dug into his palms, adding to his pain, but he couldn’t stop. 

“Draco,” Lucius said, his tone warning. 

“The…Dark Lord,” Draco ground out. 

“Will you do as your lord commands?” Lucius asked. 

“Yes, Father.” 

“Will you protect the sanctity and the purity of the wizarding world with your life for your lord?” 

These were all the same questions he was asked every day. He knew what to say. Just say ‘yes’ and the pain ends. However, he still couldn’t do it, not with the final question. 

“No,” he whispered and closed his eyes at the instant cry of rage that Lucius released. 

He’d already messed up, as he always did, so he didn’t hold back his screams or tears as the Cruciatus set him on fire. He fell off his knees and twisted on the floor as the agony continued. 

When would it end? When would he be able to escape? Was he destined to be bound to Voldemort, destined to this pain forever? 

When would it end?

Draco’s eyes snapped open and he quickly sat up in bed, breathing hard into the darkness. He was trembling and pain was shooting through his shoulder, telling him he’d been writhing in his sleep and had aggravated the injury. He crossed his legs under the blanket and gently grasped his broken shoulder with his other hand as he tried to calm himself.

He jumped when his bedroom door opened and his eyes widened when he realized it was Snape. He tensed at the man’s presence. He must’ve been vocal and woken Snape. Considering how dark it was, it had to be the middle of the night. Would Snape be angry at being woken up at such a time for such a silly reason?

He blinked at the sudden light when Snape turned on his little lamp. He watched the professor pull over the desk chair to sit beside the bed.

“Let me see,” Snape said quietly, gesturing at Draco’s shoulder.

Draco glanced at his shoulder dumbly before dropping his other hand. He stared straight ahead as Snape prodded his shoulder, gently but still painfully, making him wince.

“Do you need a Pain Reliever?” Snape asked, helping to replace the sling.

“No, sir,” Draco said. It wasn’t that bad, not like the remembered pain of ‘training’. He shuddered involuntarily.

“You are sure?” Snape pressed, obviously seeing the reaction.

“I’m sure,” Draco said. “It was just…a bad dream.”

Snape hummed, sitting back in the chair and giving Draco a knowing look. Uncomfortable at the piercing stare, Draco dropped his eyes to the bed, picking at a tiny loose thread. He really wanted the professor to leave. He didn’t want to talk about the nightmare, his ‘training’, how close he had come to giving in just to end it all. No one would understand.

“It was just training.”

Why was he talking? Why was he telling Snape anything?

“For what?” Snape asked.

“To make me strong…ready…able to handle…Him,” Draco said, yanking at the thread.

“I see,” Snape said shortly, but casually.

“It wasn’t that bad,” he lied even as the nightmare’s training session flashed before his eyes again. “I’m a Malfoy.”

“You are,” Snape said. “Does that mean this was necessary and acceptable?”

Draco knew the man was gesturing to his injuries. “It’s supposed to be. He just wants me to be like him.”

“Is that what you want?” Snape asked and Draco’s eyes flew to the professor again.

What he wanted? No one had ever considered him in that way before. What he wanted didn’t matter. He was a Malfoy and his life had been written for him.

“We all have choices,” Snape said when it became clear Draco wasn’t answering. “Some are much more difficult than others, but they are still there.”

Draco frowned uncomprehendingly. He just couldn’t understand. His frustration with his father and himself bubbled up and came out in anger. His frown turned into a glare.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir,” he said stiffly. “I’m sorry I woke you, but I’m fine.”

“I was already awake and I do not believe you are ‘fine,” Snape said.

Draco bristled, unable to be confronted with his own doubts and trauma. “With all due respect, sir, you don’t know anything.”

“Perhaps,” Snape said and his calmness seemed to just make Draco angrier.

“Just get out,” Draco snapped, not caring if he was being rude.

When Snape’s eyes narrowed and his eyebrow rose, an apology almost spilled from Draco’s lips, just like it would have with Lucius. However, with great effort, he managed to keep quiet.

“Very well,” Snape said eventually, rising to his feet and returning the desk chair. “Get some sleep, Mr. Malfoy.”

Draco kept up his glare as he watched the professor leave his room. Once alone, he slumped back against his pillows and gazed down at his blanket-clad legs. His anger ebbed away, replaced with a mix of strange emotions. The nightmare had turned into circulating memories of his life of ‘training’ and they were flashing in his head, tormenting him with the reminders of all he’d been through.

Lucius had been proficient at using curses that caused all the necessary pain, but left no markings behind. The only mark he had was the deep scar down his sternum.

He brought his hand up to rest on the scar beneath his shirt, almost absently. He knew abuse was wrong, but that’s not what it was. It was training, the training of Malfoys to ready them for a life as a Death Eater. Sure, he didn’t want to be a Death Eater, but that didn’t make it abuse…did it? No, it wasn’t. It was required to make him a proper Malfoy. He had a reputation to create and uphold. The training was just to teach him how to act like a Malfoy.

It wasn’t fun and it hurt, but it wasn’t abuse.

It was training.

It was training.

It was training.

He forced the words to repeat like a mantra as he laid down and slowly fell into a still fitful sleep for the rest of the night.

The next day found all three of them in a room on the third floor of the manor. It was large and empty with a marble-like floor.

“Given our limited time with Mr. Malfoy, we will do training together,” Snape said and Harry couldn’t help his slight annoyance at having to do anything with Malfoy. “Before we begin, however, you are both owed an explanation about our discoveries.”

Harry was surprised that anything was going to be explained. It wasn’t the…’style’ when it came to him. It was always decided he shouldn’t know even when he was being directly affected. How he could be thrown into the middle of the world’s conflict, but have everyone refuse to tell him anything or help him was confounding and infuriating. He just wanted to know why this was all happening to him.

“Mr. Potter, you are an Elemental. This magic has not been seen naturally in a witch or wizard for six hundred years,” Snape said and Harry found his chest tightening with the anxiety of being a freak in yet another way. “You have the ability to manipulate and control the four elements: earth, air, fire, and water. You can use them individually as well as in conjunction with each other.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably as he tried to understand how he could have such a power and why.

“Mr. Malfoy, you are what is called an Aetherion,” Snape said, turning to Malfoy.

Harry had noticed the blonde’s drawn, tired face at breakfast and briefly wondered what was wrong, until he reminded himself he didn’t care. Now, as the professor began his explanation for Malfoy’s magic, he spotted the boy tensing and his face becoming more stressed.

“You possess Aether Magic,” Snape continued. “It is also known as Celestial Magic and a natural Aetherion has not been seen for well over one thousand years.”

Harry watched Malfoy’s expression twist with confusion.

“Wait, Celestial Magic?” Malfoy repeated. “That’s impossible. I can’t have…I’m a…” he trailed off, his eyes darting between Snape and Harry who frowned.

“You are what, Mr. Malfoy?” Snape said casually, raising an eyebrow.

When Malfoy looked at Harry again, the Slytherin appeared to flush before hardening his eyes into a glare and turning away.

“Nothing,” Malfoy muttered.

“I assure you, there is no mistake,” Snape said. “You have the ability to tap into magical energy. You can drain, enhance, and manipulate another’s magic. You can also tap into the natural magic of the earth and use it as your own.”

Harry blinked at the two in surprise. That type of magic sounded even more extraordinary than his.

“It is interesting that you each possess these particular forms of magic as, historically, they have had a strong connection, able to support and strengthen each other,” Snape said.

Harry and Malfoy glanced at each other at the news. Them, work together? As though having the same disgusted thought, they sneered at each other and turned away.

“When your full powers are realized, you will both have a magical strength rivalled by none,” Snape said.

Harry felt a pit in his stomach, astonished anxiety at the implied pressure. He would be more powerful than Snape? Than Voldemort? Than Dumbledore? How was that possible? He peeked at Malfoy out the corner of his eye. Malfoy would also be as powerful?

“You have both exhibited uncontrolled bursts of your magic,” Snape said. “Because it has been suppressed for all your lives, it has built and will be…wild, so to speak, for a time. This magic does not utilize a wand, but wandless magic instead. This is where we will begin, building your wandless magic skills."

“But, sir, we’re barely fifteen,” Malfoy said and Harry couldn’t help but silently agree.

“I am aware of your age,” Snape said sardonically. “However, you have both already performed wandless magic.”

“Not on purpose,” Harry pointed out, thinking of the burnt patch of grass and glancing at Malfoy’s still bandaged arm. He hadn’t meant to do either of those things, hadn’t even known what he’d done or how. And he remembered Malfoy’s face when they fought the other day; he hadn’t meant to do it either.

“No, but the capability is there,” Snape said. “Let’s explore what caused the outbursts. It will likely be a part of how we unlock your full powers.”

Harry tensed as he remembered each instance and felt Malfoy do the same next to him. None of them had been good moments.

“Mr. Potter?” Snape said, looking at him.

He really didn’t want to talk about either situation, but he also knew Snape would drag it out of him if he didn’t respond on his own. He huffed, annoyed at having to reveal anything to Malfoy and Snape.

“I was mad each time,” he admitted. “Or upset.” He kept his eyes on a random spot just behind Snape to avoid looking at the man or Malfoy.

“Same,” Malfoy said quietly.

“Wandless magic is heavily tied to emotion,” Snape said. “To learn wandless magic and control it, you must have control over your emotions.”

“Meaning?” Malfoy said, not sounding overly thrilled at the direction of the conversation.

“Meaning, everything the two of you refuse to accept, admit, or let go of will continue to prevent you from succeeding,” Snape said bluntly, giving each of them a piercing stare full of knowing.

Harry knew the professor was referring to their families and their shame and guilt. What was Snape implying though? Was he expecting them to just spill their secrets and feelings? The man was utterly delusional if that’s what he thought. It would be impossible to confide in a man that hated them and was only doing all of this because he had to. How do you talk through feelings and deal with trauma with people you hated and hated you?

“There’s nothing to deal with,” Malfoy said stiffly.

“Given the nightmares you are both having nearly every night, I would have to disagree, Mr. Malfoy,” Snape said, rolling his eyes.

Harry and Malfoy glared at the professor.

“It’s not like you care, so why even bother?” Harry said angrily.

“Because the headmaster has asked me to and you both need to be rid of the ridiculous notion that you deserved what happened to you,” Snape said firmly.

Harry blinked, stunned at having such a comment shoved at him with such force. He’d expected Snape to stop after saying they were an inconvenient job assignment to him and, glancing at Malfoy, the blonde had expected the same. Having the idea that they were not to blame for how they were treated thrown at them so bluntly by the one person they figured would have praised the reality of their home lives was a shock they couldn’t comprehend.

“I do not expect you to confide in me, but I expect you to find someone you can trust with this matter,” Snape said.

Harry snorted silently to himself. He was honestly more likely to talk to Snape or Malfoy about the Dursleys than his friends or Sirius. Snape and Malfoy likely wouldn’t treat him any different. In fact, they both had at least an idea of what the Dursleys did and they hadn’t changed. If his friends or Sirius knew, they would pity him and treat him like glass.

“This is the room we will use to train,” Snape said. “It is designed specifically for magical practice so there is no danger of destroying the manor.”

Harry couldn’t help his small glare at the insinuation they would destroy the place. He didn’t understand how the training was supposed to work at all, given Snape’s inability to teach and encourage his students properly.

“The first step will be for you to learn how to access your magic with awareness and without a wand,” Snape told them. “Your magic naturally gravitates towards a conduit like a wand. Without such an item, you must be able to direct your magic directly into your hands and outwards from there in a desired direction.”

Snape held out his hand and Harry watched, fascinated, as familiar gold tendrils immediately appeared, wrapping around the man’s fingers, palm, and even a little bit of his wrist. After holding his magic for a moment, he waved his hand in a specific motion and the threads left his hand, floating towards Harry and Malfoy. They watched the threads bypass them and swirl around in the air behind them before disappearing upon the appearance of a sofa.

“Sit, especially you, Potter,” Snape ordered and Harry scowled while secretly thanking the man as he was quickly growing exhausted. He and Malfoy sat at either end, keeping as much space as possible between them. They watched Snape do the same thing, only quicker, and created a wingback chair for himself.

“As you become proficient with your magic, you will learn to gather your magic in such a way and use it as needed instantaneously. You will also learn to differentiate and access your unique magic,” Snape explained.

Harry was surprised at how much Snape was explaining. This was completely different from when they were in class at Hogwarts. It was almost…pleasant. If it was anyone other than Snape and Malfoy, that’s exactly how he’d describe it.

“I want you both to relax and close your eyes,” Snape said.

Harry raised an eyebrow and knew Malfoy was also looking at the man in disbelief. Snape rolled his eyes again.

“Have I hurt either of you since you’ve been here?” Snape asked, sounding irritated.

Harry and Malfoy glanced at each other and gave small headshakes.

“And I will not,” Snape said. “Now, do as I say.”

Harry was still hesitant and knew Malfoy was as well, but, eventually, they obeyed, closing their eyes and leaning back on the sofa.

“Take a deep breath and feel the energy that flows through you,” Snape said in a low, calm voice. “Identify which energy is your magic and take some time to feel it within you.”

Harry did as instructed, taking a couple of deep breaths and sinking into the sofa. He put all his focus on himself, feeling the air fill his lungs, his heart beat, the blood flowing through his veins, and something else. A warm tingle that ebbed and flowed, giving off little bursts when focused on. He dove into the warmth, letting it fill him.

He’d never experienced his magic like this before. It was a living force inside of him, providing him with life just like oxygen. It hovered everywhere, waiting to be used. As he settled into it and let it wrap around him, he began to notice another power, this one still warm, but more of a static than a tingle. This power was stronger, more desperate to be used, and he knew it had to be his Elemental Magic.

As he recognized it and focused on it, the Elemental Magic seemed to wake up. It still wasn’t as prevalent as his regular magic, but it wanted to be. What little there was pulsed and whipped around, hoping for somewhere to go. He kept it with him, getting used to the feeling of these two powers within him.

The Elemental Magic settled eventually, becoming content with just his acknowledgement. He had no idea the comfort of his magic was lulling him into a sleep. As he fell asleep, he slipped easily into the mind of another, unaware that that’s what was happening.

He stared hard at the blonde head bowed before him, the owner on his knees. He sneered at Lucius, dissatisfied with the news he was receiving. 

“Where is your son, Lucius?” he hissed, his tone dangerous if he received a response he didn’t like. 

“I do not know, my lord. He’s run away,” Lucius said, his voice shaky and his head remaining bowed. 

“And the trace you have on him?” he drawled, feeling his anger build. 

“Something is blocking it, my lord. I cannot use it to locate him,” Lucius said. 

Letting out a cry of anger, he sliced his wand through the air. He briefly noticed the thin, white fingers wrapped around his wand before watching Lucius writhe and twitch on the floor. He could tell the man was clenching his teeth hard to stop from screaming. Rage filled him, but so did glee at the torment he had Lucius under. He ended the curse after a minute or so, leaving Lucius gasping for steady breaths. 

“You will not lose your prodigy, Lucius. Draco will be the best and I will not accept your failure,” he said, staring into Lucius’ pained eyes. 

“Yes, my lord. I will find him for you,” Lucius said, returning to his original bowed position. 

“Yes, you will,” he said lightly before torturing Lucius once again, excited by his pain.

“Potter!”

Harry’s eyes flew open though not for long as the agony in his scar forced them closed again and he flung a hand over it, as though hoping the touch would end the pain. He leaned his head against the back of the sofa, riding out the waves of pain.

What the hell had just happened? Was it a dream, like last year? It was different, though, than what he’d had last year about the Muggle man and the graveyard, but not too different. Instead of observing, he seemed to be participating, and the pain in his scar was exponentially worse. What was it?

“Potter, take this!”

He could hear Snape and felt the man very near to him, but he couldn’t respond or interact. His head hurt too much. He wanted to flinch and pull away when a hand was roughly pulling his from his face and forcing his mouth open. He briefly panicked at the potion, wondering for a moment if it was poison, before he recognized the taste.

Pain Reliever.

Snape let him throw a hand over his scar again as they waited for the Pain Reliever to take effect. He’d had many Pain Relievers over the years and they had always been nearly instantaneous, but not this time. It didn’t seem to be working at all.

“Another one,” Snape said quietly and, this time, Harry readily accepted the potion.

Finally, still after several minutes, the second potion began to take some effect. It still didn’t eliminate the pain as it should, but it was no longer blinding. He was able to drop his hand and just leaned back, exhausted and shaky. He nearly forgot he was in a room with Snape and Malfoy, surprised they were letting the silence persist rather than bombard him with questions. He was oddly grateful. Anyone else would be drilling him and all he wanted was this moment to calm down and think.

“Potter?” Snape said eventually and he cracked his eyes.

Snape was, shockingly, knelt on the floor in front of him and gazing at him with a look he’d never seen on the man’s face before. He spotted Malfoy off to the side, a small distance behind Snape. The blonde was also giving him an odd look, unknown on this particular face.

“Are you able to speak?” Snape asked.

Harry gave a small nod.

“Have the potions helped?” Snape asked in a tone that was far more than just tolerant.

“A little,” Harry said, making him realize his throat was hoarse and scratchy. Had he been screaming?

Snape frowned slightly, seeming to be confused at the potions not fully working.

“What happened?” Snape asked.

Harry scrunched up his face, remembering the horrible dream. “A nightmare, I think. It was…different.”

“How?” Snape asked.

“I…I think it was actually happening,” Harry said, seeing Snape’s confusion grow. “I…I was…him, Voldemort. I was torturing Lucius Malfoy.”

He was sure he saw a flash of concern in Snape’s eyes before he looked at Malfoy. The blonde had paled at the mention of his father and seemed to be afraid.

“They’re looking for you,” Harry said to Malfoy, making the grey eyes grow wide. “Voldemort wants you.”

Harry groaned as a random wave of pain emanated from his scar.

“Potter?” Snape said, his voice still quiet.

“There’s a tracker on you,” Harry said, still looking at Malfoy. “It’s blocked though. They can’t use it.”

“It will be undetectable and untraceable while you are here at the manor,” Snape said.

Harry could tell the man was trying to understand what Harry had told him. Harry moved his eyes from the clearly terrified Malfoy back to the man in front of him. Snape was exploring his eyes for answers and, while he was scared and confused, Harry discovered a calmness in the dark eyes, almost a comfort that helped ease his emotions.

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.

Severus stood on the porch, one hand in his pocket and the other holding a tumbler of rum as he stared blankly across his property, the sun slowly disappearing behind the horizon. Two days. It had been two days since the horrid Occlumency session with Malfoy. He’d avoided the boys since then, having been completely thrown by Malfoy’s emotional outburst.

He knew he’d been completely out of line when he returned from the Death Eater meeting. He never should have said Potter and Malfoy were to blame. It was a terrible lie said in the midst of pain. He hadn’t expected the boys to be awake and to confront him upon his return. He was used to dealing with meeting aftermath on his own. Piling it on top of everything else just had him far too stressed out and it had come out that night, and during the Occlumency lesson he never should have done. Calm and trust were required on both sides in Occlumency, and he hadn’t ensured either of those things. It had simply been another way for him to release his stress and anger.

He'd been unfair towards Potter and Malfoy before, but this felt different, seemingly for all of them. They’d been together for just over two weeks, but something seemed to have changed, whether they really recognized it or not.

He was feeling immense guilt at telling Potter and Malfoy his torture was their fault, especially after Malfoy’s tearful speech in the library. He already knew they blamed themselves and believed they deserved their abuse, but to have it yelled at him with such hopelessness…

He took a large sip of his drink as the last sunrays disappeared, leaving the land in darkness broken only by slivers of moonlight and magical orbs of light that floated around the property.

He needed to undo what he’d done, no matter how difficult or uncomfortable. He couldn’t allow the boys to believe his lie and that they deserved to be abused so horrifically. He needed to do better, be better than all the others Potter and Malfoy had tried to rely on only to be failed tremendously and repeatedly.

He threw back the remaining alcohol and banished the glass to the kitchen. He steeled himself for an awkward conversation and went back inside.

“Potter! Malfoy!” he called, keeping his tone as neutral as possible. He heard doors and then guarded faces at the top of the stairs. “To the library. We must have a discussion.”

He headed up the stairs and followed the teens to the library. He sat in his usual wingback while Potter and Malfoy sat stiffly in armchairs, staring at him with what he recognized to be hurt and fear. The sight pulled at him as he remembered the ease that had come to exist between all of them during the last week. It had been an almost comfortable acceptance of each other’s presence and even help or understanding. No deep strides had been made in addressing Potter’s and Malfoy’s abuse, but some acknowledgements had been made. It had been his first step in getting them to understand they had been abused. Now, he had clearly destroyed any minute progress that had been made.

He gazed at them, resting his chin on his hand as he tried to figure out where to start. This type of conversation was not one of his strengths. He decided to, for once, just swallow his pride and put himself back at their age in a similar situation. He decided to do what he had always hoped anyone would do for him, but never did. He was sure it was something Potter and Malfoy had never received either.

“I want to apologize for my words and actions these past couple of days.”

He held Potter’s and Malfoy’s dumbfounded stared steadily. He knew he was right. Neither boy had ever heard an apology for being treated badly. Why would they when everyone who mistreated them believed they deserved it and convinced them of the same thing? He himself was one of those people. This was not the first time he’d mistreated Potter or Malfoy. He’d mistreated them for years and had believed they deserved it. However, this was the first time he was acknowledging it and admitting he was wrong, both to the boys and to himself.

The stunned silence rang out for a while as they all tried to understand what was happening, what was changing. As expected, Potter and Malfoy held an air of disbelief, hesitant to accept something so unknown coming from someone so hated.

“I was unnecessarily…harsh and what I said was not true,” Severus continued. It was difficult to say such things, to apologize and admit fault, especially to teenagers, but he had to. They couldn’t continue as they had been, not if they were to work and live together for another month. “Neither of you are to blame for anything that has happened, to you or anyone else.”

He watched their faces twist with obvious confusion.

“But—” Potter started, but he held up a hand to interrupt the thought and leaned forward, holding both sets of eyes intently.

“None of it is your fault,” he said firmly. “Potter, your uncle should not have touched you, and, Malfoy, your father should not have touched you. It does not matter what you did or didn’t do. It was not your fault and it was wrong of me to say you were to blame for anything.”

“But you don’t want us here,” Malfoy said quickly to avoid being stopped.

“Voldemort wants us,” Potter added.

“Yes, he does,” Severus agreed.

“We shouldn’t have left,” Malfoy said.

“Yes, you should have,” Severus countered.

“But we shouldn’t be here,” Potter tried to argue.

“Yes, you should be,” Severus said. “There is nowhere safer for both of you.”

“But you—” Potter said, he and Malfoy frowning deeply.

“Would be in the exact same position whether you were here or not,” Severus said. “I am a spy and I will always be in danger.”

He could see the inner battle the two teens were having. He didn’t expect them accept what he was saying in the moment, but he was satisfied they were at least listening. They would work on the acceptance.

“Mr. Malfoy, you expressed some concerns the other day,” Severus said, deciding to shift the conversation slightly.

Malfoy flushed lightly at the mention of his outburst.

“You are not going to die, nor are you going to fall into the Dark Lord’s hands,” Severus said.

“But…I can’t learn Occlumency in five days,” Malfoy said quietly.

“We will do what we can, but, I can assure you, you will remain safe,” Severus told him. He could only assume he’d made the decision after Malfoy’s outburst. He was surprised at himself, at his willingness to do so. He resolved to keep it to himself until that day to avoid Malfoy’s doubts and Dumbledore’s arguments.

Malfoy clearly didn’t believe him, but chose not to respond further.

“Potter, we will begin your Occlumency as well, though neither of you will have a real practical lesson for a few days to give you time to learn about the concept and practice,” Severus said, emphasizing ‘real’ so Malfoy knew what they’d done the other day had not been right. “You had another vision of my meetings?”

Potter nodded.

“Was the pain the same?” Severus asked.

“Not as bad,” Potter said quietly.

“But bad?” Severus said, raising an eyebrow. He knew the Gryffindor likely had a high pain tolerance and commonly played down how much pain he was actually in. He sighed when Potter shrugged. “I will find something to help with that.”

Potter’s eyebrows furrowed. “Why are you acting like you care?”

“Who says I am acting?” Severus said, understanding their hesitation.

“You hate me,” Potter said.

“Us,” Malfoy added.

Severus found it amusing how in sync the two boys could be when focused on a common issue. He really believed they could get along if they allowed themselves. He considered what they had said. He had hated these two more than any others. Did he still?

“It would seem some things have changed,” he said, only to receive looks of distress.

“They can’t have,” Malfoy said, shaking his head.

“Why not?” Severus asked even though he knew why they were struggling. It was odd to him as well, no longer hating his most despised students. However, he couldn’t just ignore what he’d learned, especially knowing he barely knew anything in reality. It was becoming clear that he truly did not know Potter or Malfoy, not like he thought.

“It’s only been two weeks and there’s nothing different,” Potter said.

“Yes, but I think we can agree that I have learned a fair bit about the two of you that has…dispelled many of my prior assumptions,” Severus said. “I cannot ignore what’s been done to you.”

“Everyone else has,” Potter said quickly.

Severus felt his face fall and gave them a gentle look at the sad truth of Potter’s retort. They had been ignored in favour of assumptions. If he looked back, would there be moments when he ignored the truth even though there were signs? How had they all allowed themselves to fall into such ignorance?

“I will no longer,” Severus said softly.

Potter and Malfoy clearly had no idea what to think or say, so they stayed silent with their faces full of confusion. Helping them would be a long process.

“I think we could all use some rest after the stress of the last couple days,” Severus said, noticing the circles under both boys’ eyes. “Get to bed.”

Potter and Malfoy said nothing, just got to their feet and left. Severus watched them go with a sigh, unsure if he’d be able to keep up the unofficial truce. He knew what they needed, but he still wasn’t sure he could be what they needed or if he even wanted to be. He’d told them the truth that he no longer hated them, but he still didn’t like them. They were still children and he had no desire to take care of anyone or have anyone dependent on him. He couldn’t return them to abuse, but he didn’t actually want to be responsible for them either.

He ran a hand through his hair with his own confusion and anxiety before going to bed himself.

Harry watched as Snape waved his wand over Malfoy’s shoulder, waiting for his own examination. It had been an odd couple of days, well, an odd several days.

Since the night Snape had viciously yelled at them and then the night Snape apologized, none of them seemed to know how to act. Snape had been…different, calmer and more tolerant or accepting. Malfoy had grown silent, his face constantly tight, and Harry figured it was because he was going back to Malfoy Manor the next day already. Harry didn’t know how to feel about anything himself. It had only been three weeks so he struggled with the idea that anything could have changed, considering how intense the hatred had always been between the three of them. He knew things hadn’t changed that much. He still didn’t like the Slytherins, but he couldn’t help but acknowledge that that’s all it seemed to be: dislike, not pure hatred.

Their three weeks together had revealed a lot and he supposed Snape was right; they were things that couldn’t be ignored and did change things. He never could have imagined he’d share anything in common with Snape or Malfoy, especially not his…abuse. Both Snape and Malfoy knew about his life with the Dursleys, but hadn’t used it against him as he’d expected. While he hadn’t exactly been kind, Snape had…helped them, let them heal, taken them in. Dumbledore had told him to, but he was sure Snape wouldn’t do anything he didn’t want just because he was told, even by the headmaster. He just couldn’t understand it all and it had made for a very strange few weeks, but especially the last few days.

“What happened here?” Snape asked, tapping Malfoy’s cheek and regaining Harry’s attention who noticed the faint line on Malfoy’s face. He remembered noticing the cut the other day and had briefly wondered how it had happened. While waiting for Malfoy’s response, Snape removed the blonde’s sling and began prodding the shoulder.

Malfoy seemed to be taken by surprise at the professor’s touch and inquiry. “Uh, it’s nothing. It happened when I woke Potter the other night.”

Harry frowned. The only time Malfoy had woken him up was when he’d had the vision or dream of Snape being tortured. Had he done something to Malfoy? He didn’t remember and he definitely didn’t mean to.

“What happened?” Snape asked again, glancing at Harry.

“I…I don’t—” Harry stuttered, not wanting to get in trouble for hurting Malfoy.

“I don’t think it was intentional,” Malfoy said. “He was still mostly asleep. There was a rush of air and I felt a sting.”

“It could have been your Elemental Magic,” Snape said, looking at Harry again. “Outbursts will be common for the both of you until you learn control in your training.”

Harry couldn’t help but notice the tightening in Malfoy’s face again. The blonde wouldn’t get to train and was about to be handed directly to Voldemort. He could understand Malfoy’s worry and a small part of him was honestly worried for the blonde. Even though he’d gotten the Dursleys killed, he’d gotten lucky and didn’t have to return to his horrible life. Malfoy not only had to go back to his violent father, but also a dark wizard that would do Merlin only knew what to him.

“Congratulations, Mr. Malfoy, you are officially healed,” Snape said, stepping back from Malfoy and moving over to Harry.

“Bloody well took long enough,” Malfoy grumbled, rolling his shoulder and spinning his arm in large, slow circles.

“How has it been feeling, Potter?” Snape asked, crouching down to look at Harry’s leg.

“More annoying than anything,” Harry admitted.

Snape nodded and waved his wand over Harry’s cast. An image briefly appeared over the cast before Snape ended whatever spell it was. “You will be free of this cast tomorrow.”

“Thank Merlin,” Harry said, relieved. He’d never taken so long to heal from his uncle before.

Snape stood. “Up to the training room. We will have a session today.”

Harry stood on his crutch and began to leave the dining room. He stopped when he realized the others weren’t following. Curious, he turned to find Snape had gotten about halfway to the door, but had also stopped and was looking at Malfoy. The blonde hadn’t moved; he was still in his seat at the table.

“Well, Mr. Malfoy?” Snape said, making Malfoy raise his head.

“Sir, I go back to my father tomorrow,” Malfoy said, his voice and face hard. “There’s no point in me doing any kind of training.”

Harry could tell Malfoy was trying to hid his disappointment at not getting to explore his new magic. Once again, he could understand. It was disconcerting that he seemed to be understanding Malfoy more and more.

“Nonsense, Mr. Malfoy,” Snape said. “You must learn to use your magic.”

“But—” Malfoy tried to argue.

“Come along,” Snape said and raised an eyebrow when Malfoy still didn’t move. “Do not make me repeat myself.”

A deep frown on his face, Malfoy got to his feet. Slightly confused himself, Harry led the way up to the third floor. There were only three rooms on the third floor: two that were locked and the huge magic training room. Harry and Malfoy walked to the center of the room and turned to face Snape.

“We will continue to work on the wandless aspect of your magic,” Snape said. “Last time, you were both able to find your cores, correct?”

Harry and Malfoy nodded.

“Today, you will work on moving your magic around, particularly to your hands,” Snape told them. “Do you require a seat, Potter?”

Harry shook his head. “No, sir, I’m fine.”

“Very well,” Snape said. “You will access your magic as before. When you have it, you will picture it moving and send it into your hands. I want you to try and hold your magic in your hands for a minute or two.”

Harry and Malfoy nodded again and immediately tried to follow Snape’s instructions. Balancing on his crutch, Harry shut his eyes and tried to fall into himself again. It took a bit of time, but he eventually found his magic. He took a moment to just feel it before pulling out his Elemental Magic specifically. It was stronger and would definitely be harder to direct. It was already jumping around at being recognized. He took a deep breath and tried to settle the magic, gathering what few Elemental strands there were to try and move them with more control. There was a resistance when he started to push his magic towards his hands and, when he pushed harder, his magic became erratic once again.

“Stay calm,” he heard Snape say in a clam, quiet voice. “Do not force it. Let your magic flow naturally, but guide it.”

Harry listened and released his Elemental Magic. He let it flow as it wanted, but drew it close, guiding it in a loose circle around inside of him. Once it felt calmer and easier to interact with, he sent a gentle push at the magic to encourage it in a different direction. It stuttered and a few strands made to break away, but it eventually followed his push. He felt the magic travel through his body and soon felt a tingling in his hand, the one not gripping his crutch.

As soon as the magic trickled into his hand, it pulsed and rushed, wanting to be used and released. He tried to pull it back, feeling his control slipping rapidly. He felt panic rise at his lack of control and, from seemingly nowhere, the memory of the graveyard began to play in his mind. At the same time Voldemort cast the Cruciatus on him in the memory, he felt another painful pull in his chest. He gasped, clueless about what was happening and feeling weaker by the second. He forced his eyes open when he suddenly hit the floor and the pain in his chest grew.

“Both of you, stop!” Snape said loudly and Harry swung his eyes to Malfoy.

Malfoy’s hands were out, palms up, and they were glowing with multi-coloured strands swirling through his fingers. At Snape’s shout, the grey eyes also snapped open and widened at the sight of his own hands. Malfoy closed his hands into fists and Harry was instantly relieved of the pain in his chest. He drew in a deep, gasping breath, bringing a hand up to his chest, wondering what had just happened. Malfoy was staring at his hands with wild eyes touched with fear.

“Are you both alright?” Snape asked.

“What the hell happened?” Harry asked, both he and Malfoy looking at the professor.

“An aspect of Mr. Malfoy’s Aether Magic,” Snape said. “Being the type of magic it is, it can connect with any and all magical signatures and systems. When not specifically directed, it will connect with the strongest signature in the area and will direct that magic into Mr. Malfoy for use.”

“I…I was draining his magic?” Malfoy said, sounding horrified.

“Yes,” Snape said. “It would seem training together will not work until you both have more control.”

Malfoy was shaking his head. “All of this is a mistake.”

Harry frowned at the blonde’s words and watched Malfoy hurry from the room. What was that all about?

“Potter?”

Harry looked at Snape again to find the man holding out a hand, offering help. He hesitated for a moment, but then let the professor help him back to his feet. He got his crutch back under him.

“Alright, Potter?” Snape asked.

Harry nodded. It was as though his magic had replenished the second he was released from Malfoy’s magic. “What did he mean, a mistake?”

“It would seem Mr. Malfoy does not believe himself deserving of his magic,” Snape said, crossing his arms.

Harry’s forehead creased in confusion. “Why?”

“As you know, Aether Magic is also known as Celestial Magic,” Snape said and Harry nodded, remembering the man mention it before. “It is considered the magic of the gods due to its purity and connection to all magic.”

And, with that, Harry understood. Malfoy didn’t believe he could have such magic because he was a Malfoy. How could someone from a dark family destined to be a Death Eater possess such magic? He sighed, sympathizing slightly. He’d had his own doubts about his magic. He didn’t understand how he could have his magic either. He was nothing special or strong. He’d been weak all his life and was a pretty pathetic wizard. How could he have this rare, powerful magic?

He sighed again, wishing he could stop finding commonalities with his greatest rival.

Harry sat up in his bed, vigorously rubbing his face to push away his uncle’s evil sneer and the swinging belt. He shuddered as the ghost of the belt stung his back. Shoving his glasses on, he threw his blanket off and left his bed. He considered just curling up on the window seat, but decided he needed to be somewhere else. There wasn’t really anywhere he felt particularly comfortable, but the library was probably the closest, so he headed there. He tiptoed past Snape’s room and to the library, surprised to find one door cracked open.

He pushed it just far enough to slip in, but froze when he realized the library was not empty as it usually was when he visited in the dead of night. Harry gazed at Malfoy curled up across the library on the window seat, staring out at the moonlit grounds. The Slytherin had his knees bent and his hands tucked between his legs and abdomen. As he stared, Harry was positive he saw the moonlight glint off a tear on the other boy’s face. He was uncomfortable, having not expected anyone to be in the library and unsure how to approach an obviously upset Malfoy. He wasn’t sure he’d ever really seen this side of the Malfoy heir. Though, he supposed, that was probably by Malfoy’s design.

He shuffled awkwardly. “Are you okay?” he said eventually, breaking the silence of the library.

Malfoy’s head whipped around to look at him, the grey eyes shining, but instantly turning into a glare. “What the hell do you want?”

“I, uh, couldn’t sleep,” he said, choosing not to mention his nightmare. “Thought I’d come here for a little while.”

Malfoy stared at him for a moment, likely knowing a nightmare was the problem, before turning back to the window, the glare sliding from his face. “Yeah, me too,” he said quietly.

Harry stood at the door for a couple tense minutes before deciding to just sit. It didn’t seem like Malfoy wanted him to leave or anything, so he limped over to the closest poufy armchair and collapsed into it. He blew out a quiet, but deep breath. He couldn’t wait to finally get the cast off his leg the next day. He leaned back and stared at the empty fireplace, trying not to think about his nightmare even as it drifted to and from the front of his mind.

“I don’t want to go back.”

Harry looked over at Malfoy, surprised he had spoken. The Slytherin hadn’t moved, was still staring out the window, and it could almost convince Harry that the other boy hadn’t said a thing. Besides fighting, he and Malfoy had honestly hardly spoken in their three weeks together. To have the Slytherin say anything to him, let alone such an admission, was surprising and he wasn’t sure how to respond.

“Maybe you can stay,” Harry said after a time, silently asking himself why he would even want Malfoy to stay.

“Dumbledore won’t allow it,” Malfoy said.

“He let me,” Harry pointed out. “Before my relatives died.”

“Yeah, because he likes you,” Malfoy said bitterly. “No one gives a damn about me.”

Harry couldn’t help but feel for Malfoy, knowing exactly how he felt. Growing up, he knew no one cared about him and, even now, besides a small handful, it still didn’t feel like anyone cared. No one had ever helped him with the Dursleys and, since entering the wizarding world, it felt like he was always left on his own. It was as though the world figured the Boy Who Lived didn’t need anyone. He gazed at Malfoy somewhat sadly, an expression he knew he’d never had around Malfoy, let alone for him. He didn’t know what to say. So, they sat in silence though, for the first time ever, it wasn’t tense.

Draco looked up as Dumbledore walked into the dining room. His stomach twisted, making him feel ill, and his heart began to pound in his ears. He looked across the table at Potter who had also stopped eating to look at the headmaster, remembering their interaction in the library last night. Admitting what he had to Potter and then having him as silent company had been strangely…comforting in the moment. He moved his gaze to Snape who hadn’t seemed to react to Dumbledore at all. The man was still sitting with his legs crossed and coffee in hand as he casually perused the Daily Prophet. He wasn’t sure he could say he’d enjoyed his three weeks with Snape and Potter, but it had certainly been better than his life at Malfoy Manor. He didn’t even want to think about what Lucius was going to do to him, let alone what Voldemort would do. Would he even get to go back to Hogwarts in September? Would he live that long?

“Good morning, my boys,” Dumbledore said cheerfully. “And happy birthday, Harry.”

“Oh,” Potter said, seeming to be surprised. “Right. Thanks.”

“I trust you have all had a productive few weeks together,” Dumbledore said.

Draco glanced at Snape again, seeing Potter do the same. They had no idea what to say. It hadn’t been overly productive. Too many other things had happened and they’d only just begun to be able to speak without fighting. Snape’s only response was to raise an eyebrow at Dumbledore over his paper.

“Right then, Mr. Malfoy,” Dumbledore said and Draco felt his stomach drop. “I believe you have been away from home long enough. Come along.”

Swallowing thickly, Draco slowly rose to his feet and began to circle the table. He’d only taken a couple steps when Snape finally spoke.

“Sit down, Mr. Malfoy,” Snape said calmly, turning the page of the Prophet.

Draco froze, his eyes flicking between Snape and Dumbledore. The headmaster was giving Snape an odd look though he wasn’t sure it was seen since the Potions master was still behind his newspaper. Potter was also giving the two men his own look of confusion.

“Sir?” Draco said hesitantly, unsure what to do.

Snape lowered the paper and folded it, placing it on the table beside his empty plate. He looked directly at Draco who had no idea what to make of the strange expression in the man’s eyes.

“Were my instructions unclear in some way?” Snape said, his comment reminiscent of the way Draco was used to the man speaking to him, but the tone was completely different. He couldn’t identify the tone, but there was no anger or sarcasm or hatred or degradation.

Draco looked between the two adults again, torn. “I—”

“Sit down, Mr. Malfoy,” Snape repeated more firmly.

“Severus,” Dumbledore said, sounding disapproving. “Is there a problem?”

“Not at all, Albus,” Snape said so casually Draco could hardly believe the man was actively defying Albus Dumbledore.

“Then there is no reason to delay,” Dumbledore said and gestured at Draco again. “Come along, my boy.”

“Take your seat, Mr. Malfoy,” Snape said, his tone a little stiffer. “He is not returning, Headmaster.”

Draco swung wide eyes to Snape, unable to believe what the man had just said. Was he serious? It was a dumb question because Snape was nothing if not serious about absolutely everything, but he just couldn’t wrap his head around the implications of what Snape was telling Dumbledore.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, Severus,” the headmaster said, frowning as he clasped his hands in front of him.

“It is quite simple,” Snape said, clasping his own hands and resting his elbow on the edge of the table. “Mr. Malfoy will be staying here. I cannot allow him to return to his father.”

Draco knew he was gaping and saw his expression reflected in Potter’s face, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t believe what was happening.

“I do not think it wise,” Dumbledore said. “It would be very dangerous.”

Snape shrugged a shoulder, astonishing Draco with his calmness, though he was able to see a hardness in the dark eyes as they stared at the headmaster.

“The danger lies in sending him back,” Snape said. “I have seen and heard a fraction of what both Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy have been through at the hands of their respective caregivers, not to mention the threat of the Dark Lord should he get a hold of either of them. Now, Mr. Potter’s relatives are no longer a threat to him, but Lucius remains. I know what he is capable of and willing to do even to his own son. I will not allow Mr. Malfoy to return to such treatment, nor will I allow him to be handed over to the Dark Lord.”

Draco could feel tears burning behind his eyes. Was Snape…helping him? Protecting him? He’d never had anyone fight for him before.

“You will take Lucius Malfoy’s son even with your position?” Dumbledore said, referencing Snape’s delicate role as spy.

“He does not and will not know his son is here. He will believe his son simply ran away,” Snape said. “Shameful for him, but of no hardship to me.”

Draco couldn’t help the pang in his heart at the thought that his father—his parents—wouldn’t particularly care that he was gone except for the shame and trouble it would cause with Voldemort. Lucius would no longer have his prized child to offer up for Marking and that would make Voldemort furious. They already knew the madman was angry that Lucius couldn’t find Draco. There would be no care for the loss of Draco Malfoy, only for the Death Eater he was meant to become.

“Severus, this would only be a distraction for you,” Dumbledore said, somewhat coolly.

Draco glared slightly at the headmaster, but knew hurt was likely shining in his eyes at the implication he was in the way, a burden, a distraction. Glancing at Potter showed the same hurt in the green eyes. It was how they’d always been viewed…an irritation.

“I have managed these last three weeks,” Snape said. “They have been nothing of the sort.”

Draco’s and Potter’s heads swivelled to Snape, both gaping once again. Did Snape mean it? It hadn’t exactly been a smooth three weeks. Draco’s head was spinning at the surreal event unfolding, confused on how to feel.

“I cannot agree with this,” Dumbledore said, looking disappointed. “Any change in your relationship with these two will only cause more danger.”

“I am aware and I am not asking you to agree,” Snape said, “but the boys stay with me.”

Dumbledore and Snape stared steadily at each other for some time, fighting some silent battle. Eventually, Dumbledore inclined his head.

“Very well. We will speak more another time,” Dumbledore said. “Please bring Harry to headquarters when you come to today’s meeting. I believe he would likely enjoy spending his birthday with his friends.”

Snape just nodded and they all watched Dumbledore leave the dining room. They all remained quiet as they heard the Floo activate in the study. Once they were sure the headmaster was gone, Draco turned back to Snape with Potter, unsure what had just happened. He wasn’t going back? He wasn’t going to die at the hands of his father or Voldemort? Snape had just disobeyed Dumbledore for him? Draco watched nervously as Snape picked his Prophet back up and resumed reading as though nothing had happened.

“Sit, Mr. Malfoy,” Snape said. “Both of you finish your breakfast, then I believe it is time you were relieved of your cast, Mr. Potter.”

Draco looked at Potter as though the Gryffindor would have some kind of clarity he didn’t, but Potter just gazed back at him and gave a tiny shrug. Draco slowly slid back into his seat and picked up his spoon. Overwhelmed, he fiddled with his spoon for a moment before dipping it in his oatmeal to resume eating as instructed, pleasantly surprised to find it had been warmed again for him. He glanced at Snape hidden behind the paper in wonder, amazed that it was Snape of all people that had stepped up to help him.

Prince Manor might never be home, but it was proving to be safe, and he was willing to accept that even if it was all he’d get.

“Thank Merlin!” Harry said loudly in relief as his leg was officially freed. He stayed still long enough for Snape to check that his leg was really healed, but instantly started pacing the study when he was given the all-clear. Three weeks. Three weeks he’d been trapped in that damn cast and unable to walk without that damn crutch. He hopped slightly, bouncing from foot to foot.

“You will still have to be careful for a week or so to allow the bone to fully strengthen without the cast’s support,” Snape said and Harry grinned when the crutch was banished.

“So, no chasing madmen across Hogwarts’ grounds?” Harry joked, temporarily forgetting who he was with in his elation. He remembered quickly, though, when he saw the glare on Snape’s face. He stopped walking and bowed his head. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Snape said, looking over Harry at the other boy leaning in the doorway. Harry turned as well. Malfoy had been silent all morning, a far-off look in his eye and his face blank. He figured Malfoy was still confounded by the entire affair with Dumbledore and was processing the fact that he wasn’t back at Malfoy Manor. Harry himself was still trying to understand.

“We will be gone for a few hours. Do try to stay out of trouble while we’re gone,” Snape said and Harry watched Malfoy’s face morph into its first actual expression in hours.

“You’re taking Potter with you, so should be easy enough,” Malfoy taunted, smirking at Harry.

Harry glowered and was stopped from flinging some awful insult by Snape speaking.

“You are no innocent, Mr. Malfoy, do not pretend to be any better than Potter,” Snape said.

Realizing he’d just been insulted again, Harry turned his glare to Snape, joined by Malfoy.

“We will be back for dinner. Make whatever you like for lunch,” Snape said and Malfoy just nodded, his arms tight across his chest, shoulder against the door frame, and a glare still on his face. “Come, Potter. We are going to Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place,” he said clearly to Harry so he could repeat it.

Harry grabbed a handful of Floo Powder and stepped into the fireplace. Determined to never have a repeat of the Diagon Alley-Knockturn Alley incident, he spoke as clearly as possible: “Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place!”

He dropped the powder and spun away, Prince Manor disappearing for the first time in three weeks. He already felt relief at having a break from the place and people. He may not have his uncle to worry about, but he certainly hadn’t been relaxed yet that summer. He was starting to notice small aches from being so tense.

The spinning stopped suddenly and he was thrown from the destination fireplace, stumbling and coughing. He was brushing himself off and about to look around when a pair of arms were suddenly around his neck. If Hermione noticed his violent flinch, she didn’t react. He managed to start hugging her back after pushing down his panic and spotting Ron over her shoulder. Hermione finally released him just as the fire flared and Snape stepped out.

“Professor,” Hermione said quietly.

Snape just sneered at them and swept away, leaving Ron and Hermione to look at Harry in confusion.

“Did you just come here with Snape?” Ron whispered incredulously as though he didn’t want anyone to overhear him.

“He’s just the one Dumbledore sent to get me,” Harry said, remembering the cover story he’d been told he had to tell anyone that asked. No one could know he was staying with Snape, no one could know he knew where Malfoy was, and, for him, at least, no one could know what had happened to make him leave Privet Drive.

“Come on, let’s go upstairs and talk,” Hermione said and led the way out of the sitting room.

Harry gazed around at the dark and dingy house. It had clearly been cleaned just enough to allow for minimal habitation. They passed what seemed to be a huge portrait covered in thick, black curtains as they headed up a staircase. Harry spotted someone slip into a room at the end of the hall beside the stairs. He looked at his friends questioningly only to have them gesture for him to stay quiet. They ascended the stairs and Harry followed his friends into a small bedroom where Ron appeared to be staying.

He moved to lean against a dusty dresser while Ron collapsed on the bed, Hermione half-sitting on the window frame.

“So, where have you been, mate?” Ron asked, putting his hands under his head.

“Just a safe house,” Harry lied. “I can’t really say.”

“Aw, come on, Harry, you’ve hardly written and when you do, you’ve hardly told us anything,” Ron said, frowning at him.

Harry felt a bit of irritation rise up inside him. “I could say the same thing for you two.” He crossed his arms.

“We wanted to tell you, but Dumbledore forbid us from saying anything,” Hermione said, looking upset at Harry’s anger.

“Besides, even if we’d been able to, there’s not much to tell,” Ron said. “We don’t know anything.”

“You could have told me you were with Sirius,” Harry said, still bitter that they got to spend the summer with his godfather, but it was apparently too dangerous for him.

“Harry, we couldn’t,” Hermione said quietly.

“Right,” Harry said, looking away from them. “Do you know what they meet about?”

Hermione shook her head and Ron shrugged.

“Different things, we imagine,” Ron said. “We do know it’s all about Death Eaters and You-Know-Who when Snape’s here though. Oh! Did you hear that Malfoy is bloody missing?” He pushed himself onto his elbows as he relayed the apparently exciting news.

“Uh, yeah, Dumbledore mentioned something about it,” Harry lied again. “What do you know about it?”

“Not much, just that he’s…gone,” Ron said. “Hope he stays gone. A year without that bastard would be brilliant.”

“Ron! What if something terrible has happened to him?” Hermione said, shooting Ron a glare of disapproval which he just shrugged off, laying back down.

“Who cares?” Ron said. “He’d deserve it.”

“Ron!” Hermione said again before turning to Harry. “Speaking of, we were horrified to hear about your relatives. I’m so sorry, Harry.”

Harry was the one to shrug that time, steadfastly ignoring the wave of guilt that washed over him. “Thanks, but it’s fine. You know we didn’t really get along anyway.”

Hermione frowned at him. “I suppose, but they were still your only family.”

“Why weren’t you there?” Ron asked, saving Harry from having to explain how there was no love lost for the Dursleys.

“Dumbledore,” Harry said. “He had me in the safe house from the beginning. Guess he figured something might happen.”

Ron seemed perfectly accepting of the explanation, but Hermione was staring at him with an odd look. He looked away, uncomfortable and afraid she’d be able to tell he was lying.

At the loud crack that echoed in the room, Hermione shrieked and Harry and Ron jumped, Ron scrambling to the head of the bed. Harry stared at Fred and George who had appeared on the bed from nowhere with wide eyes.

“Gits!” Ron shouted. “Mum told you to stop Apparating all over the house.”

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her,” Fred said.

“Or us, so keep your mouth shut,” George said.

Ron just glared at them while Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Harry!” the twins greeted together.

“Glad to see you alive,” Fred said.

“Shame about the Muggles,” George said.

“Not really,” Harry said, shrugging a shoulder.

“Agreed,” Fred said.

“They were pretty nasty,” George said, nodding.

“Talking about the Order meetings again?” Fred asked and the others nodded. “Before they started silencing the kitchen, we overheard a few things.”

“Like what?” Harry asked, interested.

“You-Know-Who is after something and the Order is trying to protect it,” George said and Harry frowned. What could Voldemort want?

“What is it?” Ron asked.

“Dunno,” Fred said.

“Weapon or something,” George said.

“Also, Snape’s a spy, though not many seem to believe that,” Fred added.

Ron snorted. “I sure don’t. Snape hates everyone here. He wouldn’t do anything for any of us, especially not risk his life.”

“Professor Dumbledore obviously trusts him,” Hermione said.

“Yeah, well, Dumbledore’s a bit mad,” Ron said. “Look at all the ‘professors’ he’s trusted. What do you think, mate?”

Harry blinked as he was pulled back into the conversation. “Uh, I don’t really know. If he is a spy, he’s probably just doing it for Dumbledore.”

Ron was the one to give him an odd look, but didn’t get to say anything as Mrs. Weasley’s voice travelled up the stairs.

“Kids! Lunch!”

Fred and George disappeared with another crack and they heard Mrs. Weasley scream. Hermione was muttering about ‘children’ while Harry and Ron followed with grins. They hurried down the stairs, stopping at the bottom to let some adults pass. A woman with pink hair and a man he recognized to be Charlie Weasley waved to them and went out the front door. Behind them came Snape and Dumbledore heading to the study they had Flooed into. They both gave him hard stares as they passed. Knowing they were about to continue the morning’s argument over Malfoy, Harry felt an odd twisting in his stomach, but pushed it aside to follow Ron and Hermione to the kitchen.

Upon entering, Harry found himself instantly pulled into a tight hug again, making him stiffen unintentionally.

“Oh, Harry, dear, we are so glad you’re safe,” Mrs. Weasley said, stepping back but still keeping her hands on his shoulders. She smiled at him and pat his cheek. “Happy birthday, dear.”

Harry smiled back at the woman. “Thanks, Mrs. Weasley.”

She released him to a handshake from Mr. Weasley and introduction from Bill Weasley, and a rough shoulder clap from the real Alastor Moody. Harry couldn’t help the slight shiver he felt at the man, reminded of just a few weeks earlier. He held back the tears as he remembered the graveyard and Cedric. He got a distraction when he finally spotted Sirius, hurrying over to give his godfather a hug, nodding at Lupin over the man’s shoulder.

They all sat, devouring the lunch Mrs. Weasley had prepared and then the birthday cake. Awkwardly, Harry opened the few gifts the Weasleys and Hermione gave him; an assortment of sweets, clothes, books, and pranks from the twins. As everyone distracted themselves with cake and conversation, Snape slipped back into the kitchen and silently took a seat at the far end of the table away from everyone else. He said nothing, only nodding his head stiffly in thanks at the mug of coffee Bill Weasley offered him. Snape’s face was blank, but Harry did manage to catch the slight narrowing of the dark eyes in response to Sirius’ glare and scoff. Harry frowned at the interaction. Snape hadn’t even done anything. Why was Sirius so angry?

“C’mon, kid, wanna talk to you,” Sirius said quietly and, with a quick glance at Snape, Harry followed his godfather upstairs. They passed the bedrooms and entered a room on the left. It was as dark and dusty as the rest of the house, but this one had an odd wallpaper. Faces and names sat on tree branches that wound their way around all four walls. Here and there he could see a name but no face, only what seemed to be a scorch mark. A familiar name caught his attention and he turned to Sirius, surprised.

“You’re related to the Malfoys?” he said.

Sirius stepped up beside him, sighing as though the names offended him. “Unfortunately. Dear Narcissa is my cousin. It was such a point of pride for the Blacks when she married Lucius. Right bastard he is, but you know that. Son’s the same from what I’ve heard. Death Eater in the making, I’m sure, like the lot of them.”

Harry felt slightly uncomfortable. Sirius had no idea how both right and wrong he was about the Malfoy heir. Given what he’d learned about Malfoy, he wasn’t sure how to feel about how Sirius was talking about the Slytherin.

“I dunno, he’s only fifteen just about,” Harry said, absently realizing he didn’t know when Malfoy’s birthday was.

“Age doesn’t matter,” Sirius said. “Same age Snape was.”

Harry looked at Sirius sharply, frowning when his godfather turned to face him with a hard expression.

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” Sirius said. “Dumbledore’s going to tell you to trust Snape. Don’t. You can’t trust him.”

Harry’s frown deepened. Sure, he was still on the edge on if he could trust Snape or not, but it wasn’t an issue of if Snape was loyal to Dumbledore or Voldemort. The man had had three weeks of opportunity to deliver him to Voldemort, but he hadn’t done anything of the sort. He hadn’t even threatened it.

He watched Sirius pull a box out of his pocket and hold it out to him. He took it curiously, finding a black and white photo on top, tucked under the strings tied around the box.

“It’s for your birthday, but I also wanted to show you this,” Sirius said, stepping closer and gesturing to the photo. “This is the original Order. See, all of us were in it; me, Remus, the Weasleys, the Longbottoms…your parents.”

Harry examined the picture and felt his eyes sting as he found Lily and James at the front, Sirius and Lupin behind them, all smiling widely. He felt the usual pang in his heart for the parents he never knew, but felt the loss of sorely.

“We were all there. All of us except Snape,” Sirius continued and Harry looked at him again, finding nothing but hate in his godfather’s face as he spoke of the Potions master. “He’s a Death Eater. He fought for Voldemort last time, against us…against your parents.”

“But Dumbledore—”

“Is wrong,” Sirius said firmly. “He’s blind when it comes to Snape, always has been. He doesn’t want to admit he’s wrong, that Snape’s nothing but a dirty traitor. You don’t stop being a Death Eater. He’s a liar and a murderer. You can’t trust him, kid.”

Harry was taken aback, unsure he’d ever heard Sirius so hateful. He wasn’t even this harsh towards Pettigrew that night in the Shrieking Shack and he’d been a second away from actually committing murder. Sirius was honestly on par with Snape’s own anger and hate that Harry had experienced over the years.

“Do you know why he joined the Death Eaters?” Harry asked, curious about the rest of the story. After just three weeks with Snape and Malfoy, he was realizing the world wasn’t necessarily split into good people and Death Eaters. The world wasn’t black and white, and there was a lot he didn’t know or understand.

“Does it matter?” Sirius snapped and Harry couldn’t stop his eyebrow from jumping. “He’s a slimy, traitorous Slytherin and he’s always been a dark bastard. Even Lily refused to talk to him eventually.”

Harry looked at Sirius in shock. “They knew each other?”

Sirius nodded, grimacing. “They were friends even before Hogwarts, but, if you ask me, I think she only hung around him out of pity. He was a loner and a freak.”

Harry winced at the word, his relatives’ voices echoing it in his head. He’d always hated it and found it hard to hear as reference to anyone, even Snape.

“He’s fooled a lot of people, but not me. I know what he is. No one else knows what he was like in school,” Sirius said and Harry frowned.

“Sirius, that was twenty years ago,” he said.

Sirius sneered. “People like him don’t change.”

Harry wanted to say something—what, he didn’t know—but was interrupted by Snape, of all people, calling for him.

“Potter! Time to go!”

Harry watched the dark hatred shadow Sirius’ face even more upon hearing the other man.

“Don’t trust him,” Sirius repeated.

Harry gave a small nod, but didn’t say anything. They left the room, Harry hugging Hermione and saying ‘bye’ to Ron on the way down. Harry entered the sitting room, Sirius behind him, to find Snape standing by the fireplace with his arms crossed and looking annoyed. Harry saw the dark eyes flash upon seeing Sirius, but the man still said nothing.

“You get him to the safe house and that’s it. Nothing funny, Snivellus,” Sirius spat, shocking Harry with the venom and insulting name.

“You are an imbecile if you think I can just Floo Potter to the Dark Lord,” Snape sneered.

“No, that’s what that’s for.” Sirius stabbed a finger at Snape’s forearm where Harry knew the Dark Mark lay. Snape’s jaw twitched and his eyes flashed again.

“Sirius…” Harry said quietly, uncomfortable with the entire interaction.

“I’ll see you later, kid. Stay safe,” Sirius said and squeezed Harry’s upper arm before storming from the room.

“Let’s go, Potter,” Snape said shortly.

Harry sighed sadly at the less than pleasant visit with his godfather after so long apart, but turned to go through the Floo. He stumbled a little less on the return to Prince Manor, moving quickly to get out of Snape’s way. He could see the anger in the professor’s face and frowned down at the picture again, replaying the conversation with Sirius.

“Sir,” Harry said hesitantly before Snape could sweep from the room. The professor turned to face him, clearly irritated. “I…I wanted to ask you about something Sirius—”

“Do not mention the mutt to me, Potter,” Snape snapped. “I have no interest in whatever inane things you choose to discuss.”

“But it’s about m—”

“I do not care,” Snape said and left the room.

Harry sighed again. What could have happened to make Sirius and Snape hate each other so much? His mind heavy, he headed up to his room. He sat on his window seat, taking a few minutes to just gaze out at the huge expanse of land. When he felt slightly more settled, he turned to his unopened gift from Sirius. He pulled the photo out from under the string and placed it on the seat beside his feet. The gift was wrapped in simple brown paper and he pulled at the string, undoing the rough knot. Once untied, the string and paper slipped off the plain white box easily and he removed the box lid. Two items lay inside: a mirror and a knife. A small, folded piece of parchment sat on top of the items and he picked it up to read.

Happy birthday, Harry.

These are for you. The mirror is charmed and connects to mine. We can talk using them. James and I used them all the time in the summers before I ran away from home and lived with the Potters. The knife can open any door, even ones with Locking Charms. Got into a lot myself with it at home and Hogwarts. Hope you can get just as much use out of it.

Love you, kid.

Sirius

Harry blinked at the couple of tears sitting in his eyes from the tidbits about his father. He put the note down on the photo and examined his gifts. Both were pretty simple, visually nothing spectacular. The mirror was a handheld mirror; small, square, and silver with little patches of wear and age. It was still a bit dusty, but Sirius had obviously tried to clean it to gift. The knife was a small penknife, barely the length of his hand when folded. Its handle was a dark wood with silver trim, but no other details. He took the knife from the box and pulled the blade out, finding it to be a shiny steel, also with no distinguishing details.

He smiled to himself, overjoyed to get such personal items from his godfather. He placed the knife back in the box and picked up the original Order picture again. He gazed at all the faces, finding the few he knew. He looked at the couple Sirius had identified as the Longbottoms and stared at them curiously. He knew Neville lived with his grandmother, but he realized he didn’t know why. Neville had never spoken of his parents and he wondered what their story was.

Chewing his lip, he moved his eyes over the young Marauders, ignoring Pettigrew, before letting them settle on his parents again. While no one in the photo looked particularly joyful, he still basked in their small, proud smiles. They were proud to be a part of the Order and to be there with their friends.

He swiped at the single tear that fell on his cheek, feeling the deep ache of loneliness in his chest. The desire for a family hit him hard, wishing he could have Lily and James, but also willing to have anything that was just his. He just wanted to be…wanted and not be alone anymore. He’d been alone for fourteen years. He was tired of it.

He leaned his head against the window and just stayed there, gazing at his parents until he was called for dinner.

“You will begin your daily walk today,” Snape said the next day as they all finished their breakfasts.

"You can’t be serious,” Potter said, returning Draco’s glare across the table.

“I am, Mr. Potter, and it is not negotiable,” Snape said. “You need to exercise your leg, you both need fresh air, and you need to learn to get along. I refuse to entertain your bickering for the next month and you are far more alike than you believe.”

Draco just scoffed.

“We are nothing alike,” Potter snapped and Draco couldn’t help but agree. Having terrible caregivers did not make them the same.

Snape hummed, but didn’t respond to their denial of his observation. “Regardless, go. Out back. Walk the grounds. I will call for you in a little while to discuss the remainder of our summer together in terms of your various trainings.”

They both huffed and shoved away from the dining table rougher than needed. Turning left out of the dining room, Potter stormed down the hall with Draco behind him, pushing through the back door and stepping onto the back porch. He hadn’t actually seen the back of the property yet. A thick forest sat on the other side of the fence, some trees hanging over. A huge weeping willow sat in the yard, its drooping, leafy branches almost a teal colour and some brushing the grass with their length. Wildflowers spotted the property. The back porch was smaller than the front, but still had the space for a few outdoor lounge chairs and a small wire table.

“Let’s go, Potter,” Draco said, shoving past him and purposely shoulder-checking him.

“Shove off,” Potter snapped and left the porch.

He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets and started walking casually, uncomfortable with Potter beside him. Despite having Potter there, Draco had to admit it was nice to be outside. He was usually trapped inside Malfoy Manor, despite their massive property, and the manor was anything but comfortable. Here was open and inviting. He wondered if flying was possible, if Snape would allow such an activity. He never got to fly at Malfoy Manor. He still could hardly believe he didn’t have to go back and that it was Snape that had taken him away.

They passed the willow tree and Draco held out a hand, letting a couple of branches brush through his fingers. He glanced at Potter out the corner of his eye, uncomfortable with the palatable tension between them. It was like an invisible wall. He noticed Potter was beginning to limp very slightly and frowned.

“How’s the leg?” he asked, remembering how Potter had been in the library the other night. They had managed to be civil then and that’s clearly all Snape wanted.

Potter glared at him. “What do you care?”

“I don’t, but noticed you were limping,” Draco said, trying to keep his anger down.

“Just shut up,” Potter snapped. “Snape said we had to walk, that’s it.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “He also wants us to get along.”

“Which will be far easier if you just shut up,” Potter said and Draco glared back at him.

He didn’t respond, letting them fall back into an irritated silence. While he was thrilled to be away from Malfoy Manor for once, a large part of him wondered how their arrangement would work. They all hated each other, had since the moment they met. He’d been treated marginally better than Potter by Snape, but only because he was a Slytherin. Snape had been better since his shocking apology in the library, but it had obviously become more of a toleration than anything else. He still didn’t like or care about them. Three weeks didn’t change anything and he doubted another four would be any different. In fact, he was sure hateful Snape would return once he accepted that Draco and Potter would never get along.

They looped around when they approached the fence and slowly headed back to the manor. Draco noticed that Potter’s limp seemed to have gotten worse and he shook his head slightly at the Gryffindor’s ridiculous stubbornness to admit his leg was hurting. It wasn’t like Potter was weak or anything because his leg hurt. It was barely healed after being snapped only three weeks ago! He could swear Gryffindors were purposefully obtuse and irritating.

When he saw Potter stumble slightly and his face twist in pain, Draco had had enough and huffed.

“Geez, Potter, we can take a break,” he said, slowing down to try and get Potter to stop with him.

“I told you to shut up,” Potter snapped, continuing to limp along.

Draco rolled his eyes and stopped walking completely, crossing his arms. “You’re just going to reinjure yourself.”

“Leave me alone,” Potter ground out.

Annoyed, Draco resumed walking, a few paces behind Potter now. He hurried forward when, all of a sudden, Potter stumbled again and, this time, fell to the ground. At Potter’s side, he started to reach out to help the Gryffindor only to be shoved away roughly. He glowered at Potter.

“I said leave me alone!” Potter said angrily.

“I’m just trying to help you!” Draco retorted.

“Well, don’t!” Potter said sharply. “Just get lost. You should’ve just gone back to your father.”

Draco stared, his eyes flashing at what he thought he heard but hoped he hadn’t. “What did you say?” he said dangerously.

“You heard me.”

“And you should’ve died with your Muggles,” Draco spat, not caring how awful the comment was. He watched Potter struggle to his feet and turned, continuing to head to the manor. It was only a moment later that he stumbled, nearly falling when he was shoved hard from behind.

“Sirius was right. Just like your bloody father,” Potter said when he whipped around to glare at the Gryffindor.

“You don’t know anything,” Draco growled.

“Nothing but a lowlife Death Eater,” Potter said.

Draco shoved Potter’s shoulders. “Shut up, Potter.”

Potter sneered. “Hit a nerve?”

“At least I’m not a waste of space and magic,” Draco shot back.

“At least I wasn’t so useless my own father wanted to sell me to a madman.”

“No, just left to rot with Muggles.”

They both growled and lunged at each other, throwing punches and clawing at clothes. They tackled each other to the ground, rolling to try for the upper hand. They were grimy with small cuts and already blooming bruises on their faces. Draco had just gotten on top of Potter when he was roughly yanked by the back of his shirt, up and off of Potter. The Gryffindor flinched at the hand that came towards him, gripping the front of his shirt and hauling him to his feet as well.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Draco and Potter glanced up at Snape’s enraged face and they both flinched.

“Well?” Snape said, shaking them slightly.

“Just a fight, sir,” Potter said through gritted teeth.

Snape’s eyes narrowed, flicking to Draco for corroboration. The professor had told them a couple of times already that he didn’t want them fighting. After all, that was one of the reasons for the walk in the first place. If Snape knew the kinds of things they’d said to each other, how much more furious would he get?

“Right, just a stupid fight,” Draco said tightly.

“Have I not told you that you are not to fight?” Snape said angrily.

“Yes, sir,” Draco and Potter said in unison, shooting each other glares from under their fringes.

Draco stumbled again as Snape roughly shoved them towards the manor, finally releasing their shirts.

“Inside. Upstairs study,” Snape said shortly.

Silent, Draco walked beside Potter with Snape behind them to the manor. Potter pulled the door open, clearly not caring when he almost hit Draco who glowered at him. Neither of them spoke, not wanting to anger the professor even more. They walked down the hall and circled the banister to head up the stairs, entering the room beside Draco’s.

Draco had only glanced in this study before, but had never gone in. It was quite large with several desks for work. Two long desks created an ‘L’ while two others sat separately in other corners. There was no fireplace in this room, but a huge, antique grandfather clock instead. This floor also wasn’t carpeted and there was no seat under the tall window. Small lamps sat on each desk, prepared to provide more light in addition to the sconces on the walls.

Draco and Potter stopped in the center of the study and watched Snape walk to one of the desks creating the ‘L’. He looked at them and pointed to the connecting desk before sitting down. Annoyed at having to still be close to Potter, Draco moved to the desk and sat heavily in the chair while Snape summoned one of the others for Potter. Draco sat back, crossing his arms over his chest while Potter leaned on the desk, propping his cheek up on his fist.

“This is the third and final time I will warn you to cease your childish fighting. I will not tell you again,” Snape said. “If I catch you fighting again, you will not like the consequences.”

Draco felt an inkling of concern at the threat, but kept it from his expression.

“Yes, sir,” he and Potter said, once again in unison.

“Now, about the remainder of the summer,” Snape said. “In these next four weeks, you will learn about your own magic, Occlumency, and you will both assist me in creating a potion to treat Potter’s scar pain.”

“What?” Potter said, sounding surprised. “You don’t have to. I’m fine. I can handle it.”

“We cannot have you incapacitated every time you have a vision until you learn Occlumency,” Snape said. “On top of your training and brewing with me, you will also complete your summer work.”

“Professor, all of my things are still at Malfoy Manor,” Draco said, glancing at Snape.

“I will take care of it,” Snape said and Draco nodded, figuring he had no choice but to trust the man with the task. “You will both complete Occlumency lessons with me. As for your individual magic, I am unable to train you in those areas. As such, I will be bringing in masters of both magic types to teach you what they can in these few weeks.”

“I thought no one was supposed to know we were here,” Potter said in a snarky voice.

Snape’s eyes narrowed at the Gryffindor’s attitude and Draco shook his head to himself. Potter never seemed to know when to just back down.

“They are trusted associates of mine and you will both treat them with the respect they deserve,” Snape said, giving them a pointed glare.

“So, not much considering they’re friends with you,” Potter sneered. “Didn’t know you were even capable of making a friend.”

Draco’s eyes widened slightly at Potter’s blatant rudeness and glanced at Snape. If the man hadn’t already been furious, he was absolutely fuming now. What was Potter doing? Did he want Snape to snap and hurt him?

“We will do Occlumency twice a week and brewing twice a week. Your training masters will determine your lesson frequency. They will arrive at the end of the week,” Snape explained before moving his gaze directly to Potter. “To your room, Mr. Potter. Await me there.”

Potter looked like he was desperate to argue, but just barely managed to hold back and stomped out of the study.

“Mr. Malfoy, do not make me regret my decision to keep you here for the summer,” Snape said. “No more fighting and no more attitude.”

Draco ground his teeth together, thinking about how Potter had had a worse attitude than him. “Yes, sir,” was all he said.

“You may go,” Snape said and Draco left. He went immediately to his own room to be left alone and nurse his wounds. He supposed Snape wanted them to suffer a bit and so had not healed their facial cuts or bruises. He looked at Potter’s door and shook his head again, wondering just what the Gryffindor’s problem was. Blowing out a breath, he disappeared into his room to contemplate if Prince Manor were truly his best option considering the company.

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose and breathed deeply, trying to calm down while he questioned his choices. He was wondering if he’d done the right thing keeping Malfoy and Potter with them. It had been right to take them from their abuse, but, perhaps, he should have found somewhere else for them to stay. There was very little to convince him this arrangement would work. They simply brought out the worst in each other and he wasn’t sure that would change.

With a sigh, he left the study for Potter’s bedroom. He knocked on the closed door.

“Yeah,” the dull, annoyed voice said from inside, making Severus roll his eyes at the still-present attitude. The boy had always had such an attitude and some anger.

He pushed into the room, closing the door behind him. Potter was sat on the bed, legs crossed and leaning on his knees. He was staring down at his hands as he picked at the skin around one fingernail. Severus could see the tension in the boy’s shoulders, but Potter still refused to even glance at him as he pulled over the desk chair. He sat, crossing his legs and considering the child.

“Anything to say for yourself, Mr. Potter?” Severus asked after a long silence.

Potter just shrugged.

“Mind telling me where your deplorable attitude is coming from?” Severus tried again.

“What’re you going to do about it?” Potter challenged. “Hit me like my uncle?”

“Have I given the impression that I would?” Severus said, raising an eyebrow at Potter’s absent admission. It was the closest either boy had gotten to disclosing anything about their abuse.

“No one ever does until they do,” Potter snapped and Severus had to concede the boy’s valid point.

“I have told you multiple times that I will not harm you,” Severus said.

“Doesn’t mean much coming from you,” Potter snapped again. “You don’t get to pretend anything’s changed and that you’re suddenly this whole new person.”

“I was unaware that’s what I’ve been doing,” Severus said. “Have things not changed?”

While all of their ability to get along remained the same, surely they could all recognize the subtle changes that had occurred. Severus found himself more tolerable of the boys as he came to recognize the signs of their abuse that he had previously ignored or attributed to arrogance. Potter and Malfoy had begun to settle into being just annoying teenagers in his mind rather than reprehensible clones of their fathers.

“No,” Potter said shortly. “You’re still the bastard that’s tormented me for no reason even though you’re my bloody teacher, Malfoy’s still a stuck-up prat, and I’m still trapped with people that hate me and I can’t trust.”

Severus bristled slightly at the boy’s continued rudeness. “Regardless of what you think of me, it does not give you the ability to behave so disrespectfully.”

“You have!” Potter said loudly, getting angry again. “Everyone else gets to do or say whatever the hell they want, especially to me, but the second I do it, I’m arrogant or a freak that has to be locked away until I’m needed to stop some great evil because every adult around me is also evil or incompetent!”

Potter was finally looking at him fully for the first time since he’d entered the room. Severus felt himself grow angrier at the layers of insults Potter had just thrown at him, but did his best to swallow it and focus on what the boy had said.

“Have you told anyone of these frustrations?” Severus asked, choosing not to directly address what he knew related to the boy’s relatives, knowing it would just cause Potter to shut down.

Potter gave him a surprisingly withering look. “Did you not hear what I just said about adults?”

“What about the mutt?” Severus asked, unable to hold back his distaste at even mentioning Black.

“Don’t call him that,” Potter said. “I’m not talking about him or anyone with you.”

“So, you haven’t told anyone about your abuse,” Severus concluded.

Potter’s face hardened. “That’s not what it was, and no, I haven’t told anyone and I’m not telling you.”

“Why not?”

“Because you don’t care! No one does!” Potter shouted and Severus was sure the green eyes had begun to shimmer with budding tears. He managed to hold the angry, hurt green eyes for longer than he expected before Potter broke the contact, dropping his gaze to his lap. “Just get out. Leave me alone.”

He understood now, the cause of some of Potter’s anger. The boy had yet to enter into a place where he felt wanted and accepted. Anyone who did care for him was incapable of taking him or unwilling to fight for him. He was passed around according to where Dumbledore wanted him to be, never taking Potter himself into consideration. Prince Manor would never be that place Potter needed, but perhaps the boy could come to see that it was a better place and he was accepted there.

“I can understand your anger, but there are a few things you must understand yourself,” Severus said firmly. “First, I will not tolerate your continued rudeness and disrespect. No, I will not hit you for it, but you will be punished if it continues.”

“Fine,” Potter muttered.

“Second, whether we all get along or not, this is your home for the summer. Remember, the headmaster did not want either of you to stay here. It was my choice,” Severus continued.

The green eyes flickered to him, but the messy head remained bowed. “Right,” he said quietly.

“And lastly, I may dislike you, but I do care about what’s been done to you,” Severus finished and Potter’s head came up, meeting his gaze again, sadder now.

“Why? Why are you different?”

He held Potter’s eyes steadily. “Because things have changed.”

Draco slowly sifted through his trunk, pulling out clothes to arrange in the wardrobe and books to place on the bookcase. His wand was in his pocket and his broom in the corner. It didn’t take long and he pushed his now empty trunk under the bed. He sat on the bed, staring down at the singular photo he had of himself with his parents. He’d spotted the photos Potter had and noted the stark contrasts.

He and his parents were the embodiment of pureblood perfection and assumed superiority. They were in all black with tinges of deep green and shiny, expensive silver clasps. Not a single strand of hair was out of place, not a speck of dust seen. They had been photographed from a slight upward angle, causing their eyes to be down as though watching something—or someone—below them. There were no smiles. Narcissa and Lucius stood next to each other, eleven-year-old Draco in front. Narcissa was angled just slightly towards Lucius, her hands clasped in front of her with two large rings on display, each symbolizing her belonging to the Malfoy and Black lines. Lucius held his snake-head cane with one hand while his other rested heavily on Draco’s shoulder, his own Malfoy heirloom on display. Draco’s arms hung at his sides. At his throat was a silver brooch, a snake wound through an ‘M’, also a denotation of where he belonged.

He'd never seen a colder picture, a family less happy. He almost shivered as he stared into all the eyes that blinked slowly at the camera; the sharp, cool blue eyes of his mother, the angry hateful grey eyes of his father, and his own grey eyes, haunted and trapped.

He had an overwhelming rage toward them, a sadness for them, yet also an all-consuming guilt for leaving them. It was confusing, hating and fearing them so much, yet almost yearning to return.

He couldn’t decide if he wanted to keep the photo or not, so, instead, he just sat there staring at it with a deep frown. He was still there when, a few minutes later, Snape knocked on the door and stood in the doorway.

“Did I successfully retrieve all of your belongings?” Snape asked.

“Yes, sir,” Draco said. “You really didn’t have to, especially after a…meeting.”

“It was no issue, Mr. Malfoy,” Snape said dismissively. “It is something I once did often. There was no danger.”

“No, but you still had to spend time with them,” Draco said, gesturing at the photo and looking at Snape.

“While not a favourite pastime, one I can tolerate when necessary,” Snape said and Draco thought he saw the man’s lips twitch as though he was amused.

There was no other indication, though, so Draco just looked away, back at the picture. “Did they…talk…about me?” he asked quietly.

“Incessantly,” Snape said lightly.

“Anything good?” Draco asked, somewhat bitterly.

“They are…distressed at your absence,” Snape said and Draco noticed how the professor chose his words carefully. He looked up at the man again, his face drawn.

“Because they want me or because Voldemort does?” Draco said, watching as Snape crossed his arms and just gazed at him. Draco could almost swear the professor’s dark eyes softened and he would’ve believed it had it been anyone but Snape. “What will happen to them? If I don’t go back?”

“They will be punished and lose some rank, but I do not believe they will be killed, if that is what you are worried about,” Snape said.

Draco snorted quietly. “Stupid, isn’t it? To worry about them?”

“They are still your parents. It is difficult to break such bonds,” Snape said and Draco sighed. “Come. It is time for brewing.”

Draco nodded and stood. He stared down at the photo yet again before placing it on his bedside table, but facing away. He followed Snape downstairs and towards the back door, but through a door to the right just before the back door. Behind the door was a short set of stairs that led into a large lab. Two long tables were set in the center of the room, each with two stations for brewing and prepping. One wall had a large set of glass cabinets with shelves on either side, all filled with a variety of ingredients. Another wall held different types and sizes of cauldrons as well as other tools and a couple of sinks, one obviously for cauldrons and the other for hands and smaller tools. Stools were at each station, Potter already sitting on one. He sat next to the Gryffindor upon Snape’s gesture as the professor stood on the other side of the table.

“As we cannot spend all our time on Occlumency, you will assist me in brewing,” Snape said. “While we will find a solution to Mr. Potter’s pain that accompanies his visions, I also typically brew restock supply for the Hogwarts infirmary.”

“Sir, I’m not sure what I can do. You know I’m terrible at Potions,” Potter pointed out and Draco silently agreed. The Gryffindor had always been hopeless at everything, but especially at Potions.

“This will be a perfect time for you to learn and practice as there will be no sabotage and a less stressful environment,” Snape said, giving both Draco and Potter stern looks.

Draco looked at Potter, pulling a sneer onto his face at Potter’s glare to mask his shame. He flushed when Snape raised an eyebrow at them.

“You say that, but you didn’t exactly stop it either,” Potter said, his tone bitter and annoyed. He huffed when Snape looked at him with hard eyes. “I’m not being rude, I’m telling the truth.”

Once again, Draco swore he saw a hint of amusement in Snape’s eyes, but it disappeared too fast to examine closely.

“Yes, I am aware. However, do not believe Slytherin perpetrators escaped without consequences,” Snape said and Potter snorted, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, right,” the Gryffindor muttered.

“He’s serious, Potter,” Draco said. “No Slytherin ever got away with anything. We were just dealt with in private.”

It was obvious Potter wasn’t completely convinced, but they all silently agreed to just move on.

“I trust even you can successfully brew given time,” Snape said.

Potter just stared at him, clearly not agreeing but choosing, wisely, not to argue.

“Now, Potter, I want you to describe the pain you feel after your visions,” Snape said, flipping open a journal Draco hadn’t noticed before.

“Oh, uh, I…I don’t know. It’s, uh…” Potter stuttered, caught off guard.

“Is it your head or your scar that hurts?” Snape clarified.

“Uh, both. My head feels like it’s pulsing and pounding, and my scar feels like it’s on fire,” Potter explained.

Draco frowned, alarmed at such symptoms. What sort of connection could allow and cause such things? If Potter could see into Voldemort’s mind and through his eyes, even unintentionally, what could Voldemort do to Potter?

“The headache is likely from the vision itself, a strain on the mind as it stretches to where it’s not supposed to be,” Snape explained, scribbling in his journal. “The scar pain could be inflammation from the magical connection.”

“I can feel him,” Potter said quietly. “In the visions, I feel what he feels and then it translates into pain in my scar. It seems like the happier or more excited he is, the more it hurts.”

Draco’s frown deepened. What kind of connection was even capable of such a thing? He and Potter watched the professor scribble more in the journal.

“So, a stronger Pain Reliever and something to treat the scar itself,” Snape said, apparently thinking aloud.

“A salve, maybe?” Draco suggested, getting a raised eyebrow from Potter and a look of intrigue from Snape.

“A valid suggestion, Mr. Malfoy,” Snape said, pleased. “I will make some plans and do some research. Then, I will enlist your assistance in creating some trials.”

Draco nodded, understanding and accepting of Snape’s request, and looked at Potter. The Gryffindor still looked drawn, something else clearly bothering him and he was sure the other boy was wondering if he should say anything.

“What about dreams?” Potter eventually said, albeit quietly.

Snape looked at the Gryffindor curiously. “Dreams?”

Potter nodded. “I started having a weird dream and my scar is usually hurting when I wake up.”

“What is the dream?” Snape asked.

“A corridor with a door at the end, that’s all, but it feels like there’s something I need on the other side,” Potter explained and Draco frowned, remembering his own strange dream. He didn’t have any pain attached to it, but he’d had similar feelings of there being something he needed to find.

“It is possible it is also from the Dark Lord. Perhaps he is aware of your connection to some degree and is sending you things to see,” Snape said and Draco watched Potter’s face morph into worry. “We will have to being your Occlumency as soon as possible.”

Potter just nodded, his eyebrows furrowed.

“For now, you will work together and brew a Fever Reducer, a potion you should both be familiar with,” Snape said, moving them on. He put a book on the table in front of Draco in the prep area of their station, open to the instructions for the potion. “Absolutely no foolish fighting. I will assist if you need.”

Once Draco and Potter nodded, Snape turned to his own station, leaving them to set themselves up. Draco didn’t particularly like the idea of pairing up with Potter and could see the Gryffindor felt the same. However, they had pushed Snape far enough as it was with their fighting and, while it seemed the man wouldn’t hit them, he could always send them away. It would be better to just try and get along when Snape asked and ignore each other the rest of the time.

“We should prepare the ingredients first,” Draco suggested.

“Sure,” Potter said, surprising Draco with his lack of argument.

They both walked to the cabinet and shelves to gather all the required ingredients, bringing them back to their station. Their cauldron had been filled with ice water by Snape ready for them to begin.

“Do you want to crush these or get the bowels?” Draco asked, gesturing at the willow bark, snake fangs, and whole, dead horned toad.

“I’ll get the bowels, I don’t mind,” Potter said, dragging the toad towards him.

“Really?” Draco said, grabbing a mortar and pestle to grind up the dried willow bark. He personally didn’t mind brewing, but he still didn’t like the gross ingredients. He was surprised Potter didn’t seem to care.

Potter shrugged a shoulder. “I’ve gutted fish a lot when my uncle and cousin would bring them home after fishing. This isn’t too different,” he said casually.

Draco hummed, dumping out the willow bark and crushing the snake fangs, trying to keep things casual. He hadn’t expected Potter to mention his Muggle relatives, he rarely did. It seemed to be an innocent enough comment, but Draco did note how Potter apparently had not been on these fishing trips and had apparently been the one to prepare the fish for cooking.

They fell quiet then as Potter put the horned toad bowels in the cauldron of ice water. Draco followed with the snake fangs and watched Potter being to stir counter clockwise, Draco timing the required seven minutes. At the seven minutes, Draco added the willow bark and Potter stirred clockwise five full times. Draco moved to Potter’s other side and turned on the fire. They watched the mixture come to a boil and Draco noted the time, needing it to boil for fifteen minutes. They sat back down on their stools to wait, Potter fiddling with the single porcupine quill that would be added at the end.

“So, are you secretly good at Potions?” Draco said to fill the silence, glancing over at Snape who seemed to be engrossed in his own complex potion and not paying them any attention. It was strange to be brewing and not have Snape hovering over them.

“Easier to be halfway decent when others aren’t trying to mess my potion up,” Potter said, looking at him with a pointed look.

Draco couldn’t help his light flush. “Right. Sorry.”

Potter gave him an odd look. “Not just you. I’ve messed with yours too.”

Draco hummed and nodded, acknowledging the truth of the statement. He glanced at his watch. Five more minutes. “So, we’re both terrible people?” he said lightly, hoping it would be taken as the joke he intended it to be.

Potter snorted and he smirked, indicating Draco had been successful. “Yeah, suppose we are. At least to each other.”

A few minutes later, they turned off the fire and Draco stirred clockwise for exactly seventy seconds. Potter tossed in the porcupine quill, Draco stirred clockwise five time, and they were done. They started cleaning up their mess, little though it was, in an oddly comfortable silence. It made Draco realize the entire process had been smooth, not marred by tension and awkwardness. They’d actually managed to do something together without issue, and had even spoken without snapping and fighting.

“Congratulations. You are capable of acting like civil human beings after all,” Snape said, though his tone held none of its usual heat, much like the mild glares Draco and Potter sent him in response. “Go, do what you like until dinner.”

“Yes, sir,” they both said and left the lab, separating at the top to do their own thing.

Harry jerked awake, the cracking thunder echoing at the same time Cedric hit the ground. He covered his face with his hands and took a few deep, but shuddering breaths, trying to calm down. He sat up and put his glasses on, jumping when thunder boomed again and lightning lit up his room. He could hear the steady pounding of the rain on the roof and windows. The sound of the rain was calming, but the thunder made him anxious.

He flinched at yet another boom that he swore shook the manor and threw his legs over the side of the bed. Between the sight of Cedric dead sitting in his head and the storm outside, he knew he would not be falling back to sleep anytime soon. He contemplated where he wanted to go, too anxious to stay lying in bed. Eventually he stood and quietly left his room, glancing at the other closed doors as he padded downstairs. Normally he’d go to the library but, with the storm, he wanted a cup of tea instead. So, he headed to the kitchen which lit up with a soft light to allow him to see, but not blind him after the dark. He filled the old-style kettle with water and placed it on the stovetop, turning on the element. He leaned against the counter with his arms over his chest as he waited for the water to boil.

He was constantly surprised at how Muggle the manor was. Everything could be done with magic, but it could also be done the Muggle way. He supposed it was likely habits of Snape’s from growing up with a Muggle father, especially one that didn’t ‘appreciate magic’ as Snape had said.

He pulled a mug out of an overhead cupboard and took a teabag from the small ceramic container on the counter. He dropped the teabag in the mug and continued waiting. He stiffened as more thunder rang out though more muted this time, farther away. He stiffened more and glanced up at the doorway when he heard light footsteps. He knew Snape had given them leave to do and go where they wanted in the manor and the man had told Harry the manor was his home for the summer, but he couldn’t help but be nervous. He never would have been allowed to be up in the middle of the night making himself tea in Privet Drive. Unless called for, stepping out of his room of his own accord never went well for him. A part of him was beginning to believe that Snape wouldn’t hit him, but nothing had been said about getting rid of him. While making tea didn’t seem like much reason to be sent away, any number of small infractions used to set off Vernon; who’s to say Snape wouldn’t be the same? He was similar at Hogwarts, getting angry with Harry and others for all sorts of minor things.

He relaxed slightly when the footsteps belonged to Malfoy. The Slytherin paused in the doorway, startled to find he wouldn’t be alone in the kitchen. Meeting the grey eyes, Harry thought he could see a sadness, a pain, a haunted shadow. They both jumped violently when the thunder made a return directly above them and the kettle began to whistle. Harry turned to turn off the burner and remove the kettle.

He looked over his shoulder at Malfoy. “Tea?” he offered.

Malfoy hesitated, but then nodded. “Sure.”

Harry filled his mug before pulling out another, tossing a teabag in and also filling it with water. Malfoy had moved to stand on the other side of the connected island, near the dining table. In the corner sat the tea tray filled with all of the available additions. Harry brought both mugs over, standing across from Malfoy and sliding his mug to him. They both reached for various items on the tray, adding milk, honey, and preferred flavours. Harry added a touch of mint while Malfoy added cinnamon. After stirring and removing their teabags, they both walked over to the dining table, taking their normal seats across from each other.

They were silent, staring into and sipping their tea, lost in what had disturbed their sleep. Harry couldn’t pull himself out of the graveyard, his mind stuck on Cedric’s dead, empty eyes. He could hardly stand the guilt he felt over not saving the Hufflepuff, over convincing Cedric to take the cup with him in the first place. He could still hear the anguished cries of Cedric’s father as he held his dead son. If he had this secret, awesome power that kept bursting out with his emotions, why hadn’t it come out that night? Why did it—he—let Cedric die and Voldemort come back? It was drowning him, the guilt of what he’d caused and the loneliness of having no one that understood what it had been like in that graveyard.

He looked across at Malfoy. The Slytherin had his hands cupped around his mug as he stared down into the swirling liquid, steam rising up into his face. He wondered where Malfoy was trapped.

“Some more late-night wanderings?”

Malfoy’s head shot up and Harry spun, both with wide eyes, at Snape’s low voice. If he hadn’t been afraid of the trouble they were likely in for all the liberties they had taken, Harry would’ve been far more stunned at seeing the professor out of his teaching robes. The man had already been dressing more casually given that they were not at Hogwarts, but, now, he was just in pajamas. Not unexpected since it was three a.m., but still a startling sight. He was in solid dark green cotton pants and a long-sleeved grey shirt. Still a typical colour palette for the man.

“I…I’m sorry, sir,” Harry said, hoping to placate any anger.

“We’ll return to our rooms,” Malfoy added, abandoning his tea and making to get to his feet.

“Sit down, Mr. Malfoy,” Snape said as he entered the kitchen and headed directly to the stove. He refilled the kettle and placed it back on the stove. “While I would certainly prefer you both to be asleep given how little you both get, I also do not fault you for being kept awake by the nightmares I know you both suffer.”

Malfoy sat back down slowly, he and Harry staring at Snape in confusion. They weren’t in trouble? The man quickly fixed himself a cup of black tea, and joined them at the table.

“Do stop gaping like morons,” Snape said. “You can leave your rooms and make yourselves tea whenever you like. I can imagine the restrictions you faced at home, but they do not apply here.”

Harry was still hesitant from a lifetime of being told otherwise and being beaten when he didn’t obey, and he could see a similar hesitation in Malfoy. He found himself becoming more and more curious about the truth of Malfoy’s home life, wondering how much of the Malfoy he’d come to know these last four years was a fabrication, a mask.

Before either of them could consider trying to relax with their tea again, thunder cracked and they jumped again, seriously startled. Harry ducked his head when he spotted Snape’s raised eyebrow.

“You do not like storms?” Snape said casually, clearly curious about their reactions.

Harry grasped his mug again, needing his hands to be occupied and to have something to focus on. He wished Snape would stop asking about the Dursleys, no matter how indirectly. He didn’t want to talk about it or think about it, and he didn’t want anyone to know. He didn’t understand why Snape seemed to want to know. Whether he approved of the treatment or not, it didn’t seem like anything Snape would have interest in discussing. Yet, sitting there with Snape and Malfoy, something felt different. Maybe it was sleep deprivation, maybe it was emotional exhaustion, maybe it was the tea, but a small part of him was considering answering the man’s query.

“Just the thunder,” Harry said quietly, though, in their silence, his voice seemed to echo loudly. “It always echoed in my cupboard, shook the door.”

“Your cupboard being?” Snape said, his tone still very even.

“The cupboard under the stairs, my room for…a while,” Harry said, gripping his mug tighter and keeping his eyes on it. He couldn’t make himself look up. He didn’t want to see any kind of expressions on either Snape’s or Malfoy’s faces.

“I see.”

Out the corner of his eye, Harry saw Snape lift his cup of tea for a moment and then return it. Across from his own mug, he could see Malfoy mirroring him, hands wrapped around his mug. He saw them tighten and the knuckles almost turn white when Malfoy was next addressed.

“And you, Mr. Malfoy?” Snape said, still just as calm. “Anything you’d like to share?”

There were several moments of silence, allowing them to hear the rapping rain.

“He said I had to be able to handle meetings in all weather,” Malfoy eventually said, his voice quiet and tight.

Harry peeked at the Slytherin at the vague admission. Malfoy’s face was hard and pale, his eyes far away as he remembered.

“How long would he have you stand in a storm?” Snape asked.

Malfoy shrugged a shoulder. “Until it was over or I collapsed.”

Harry watched as Malfoy moved a hand to his chest and he wondered again what was hidden there, what Malfoy was remembering. It reminded him of all the scars he had hidden on his back.

“Have either of you ever told anyone?” Snape asked, but he did so gently, not accusatory.

“No,” Harry admitted.

“There was nothing to tell,” Malfoy said and Harry nodded slightly, agreeing.

“Because you believe you deserved it?” Snape said.

Neither of them replied, but their silence was an answer in and of itself, a very clear one.

“Could you both look at me, please?” Snape said and, shocked by how gently he was speaking, Harry looked up, as did Malfoy. “I know you are unlikely to believe me, but you did not deserve it. There is absolutely no excuse for what you were put through. Your guardians were supposed to care for you and they failed to do so. They failed, not you.”

Like Snape had anticipated, Harry wasn’t sure he believed the man. It was in direct conflict with all he’d been told for fourteen years. Plus, if it wasn’t his fault, if he hadn’t caused it, why had it happened? If it wasn’t his fault, why did he have to go through it? Why had no one ever saved him if it wasn’t supposed to happen? He just turned back to his nearly empty tea, unwilling to even consider an alternate reality where his life with the Dursleys didn’t need to happen the way it did.

He heard Snape sigh and looked at the professor again.

“I believe it is time we returned to bed,” Snape said. “Do either of you require potions?”

Harry thought quickly and shook his head. He wasn’t as anxious anymore, though he wasn’t sure what had eased his distress. Now that he was a little more relaxed, he could feel himself growing tired again.

“No, sir,” Malfoy said.

“Very well, come along,” Snape said and ushered them back upstairs. Harry was startled at the very light touch he felt on his back, encouraging him to his room. “Get some sleep.”

“Yes, sir,” Malfoy said.

“Good night, Professor,” Harry said, opening his door.

“Good night, boys,” Snape said.

Harry watched as Snape disappeared into his own room, mouth slightly agape. He glanced at Malfoy to find the Slytherin had also watched the professor owlishly. Their eyes met briefly before they entered their rooms, minds heavy with their nighttime experience.

“Potter, are all of your clothes in such a state?” Severus asked at breakfast a couple of days later. He had noticed the Gryffindor’s terrible wardrobe previously, but had assumed they were his only options before getting his trunk and then that, perhaps, they were what Potter felt most comfortable in. Now, however, after a month together, he wasn’t so sure of those assumptions.

He watched Potter blink dumbly before looking down at the overly large greyish T-shirt with a few holes torn in it.

“Uh, yes, sir. They’re second-hand from my cousin,” Potter said, almost sounding confused about why his clothes might be a point of conversation.

Severus fought to conceal any reaction to the revelation while anger boiled inside him at yet something else that was denied Potter by the bloody Muggles. The more he learned, the happier he became that they were already dead and that Lucius was still tortured daily for losing his son. It gave him the opportunity to focus on the boys rather than any desire for revenge on their behalf.

“I see,” Severus said. “Well, I do not feel they are acceptable. We will have to run to a shop.”

“Sir?” Potter said, frowning.

“You need a proper wardrobe, Mr. Potter. There is a town not too far away that we will go to, under Polyjuice, of course,” Severus explained.

“But, I haven’t got money. My clothes are fine,” Potter argued and Severus sighed, having figured it would be an issue.

“You are my responsibility for the summer so I will take care of it,” Severus said. “Do not worry yourself unnecessarily.”

Potter clearly wanted to keep arguing, but stayed silent at Severus’ stern stare, returning to his omelette. Severus continued eating as well, but released an annoyed sigh when he heard his Floo activate, drawing curious looks from the two boys.

What the hell does Albus want now? he thought, irritated. Considering there was an Order meeting later that day, he could only assume they would, once again, be discussing Potter and Malfoy, a conversation he was already tired of having. He downed his remaining coffee, wishing it was a far stronger substance, and looked up just as the headmaster entered the kitchen.

“Albus, despite what it may seem with these two, I do not actually enjoy my home being invaded repeatedly without invitation,” Severus said, glaring at the man.

“I know, Severus, but we must finish our discussion,” Dumbledore said.

Severus raised an eyebrow. “I was unaware there was any more to say.”

“Severus,” Dumbledore said, staring at him.

Severus rolled his eyes. “Very well.” He rose to his feet. “Finish eating, then head outside,” he told the boys and then followed Dumbledore to the study, closing the door behind them. He crossed his arms and stared at Dumbledore hard, waiting.

“I am asking you to reconsider one last time, Severus,” Dumbledore said and Severus huffed, getting angry. “This arrangement is not sustainable.”

“Might I remind you it was your arrangement in the first place,” Severus pointed out.

“It was meant to be temporary so you could discover how they got into Hogwarts. We needed to be sure the wards were intact,” Dumbledore said.

“We should be far more concerned about the harm they would come to if they were anywhere but here,” Severus said.

“They continue to be in more danger the longer they are here,” Dumbledore said.

“On the contrary, I believe they are safer here,” Severus said. “They are in more danger outside this manor, both from those that claim or should claim to care for them and those that seek to do harm.”

“And what of Mr. Malfoy’s tracker once he returns to Hogwarts? It will reactivate the moment he leaves here,” Dumbledore said. “You cannot hide them from who they are.”

Severus’ eyes narrowed. “Perhaps, but they deserve the opportunity to feel safe for once in their lives.”

“I agree, but I also do not think they should learn to find comfort in something that cannot and will not last,” Dumbledore said seriously.

“And why should it end?” Severus asked.

“Severus, you know how important and delicate your role is. You cannot do your job and play this role for them,” Dumbledore told him.

“I have managed to protect Potter this long without anyone being aware,” Severus said.

“But now Voldemort is back. I cannot allow you to risk yourself, or Harry, this way, not with how vital your work is and Harry’s own role,” Dumbledore said.

“I do not believe I have asked your permission,” Severus said snappishly.

“You cannot care for them, Severus, not truly,” Dumbledore said and Severus’ eyes hardened. “And what of Harry’s training? You cannot teach him Elemental Magic.”

“I have already arranged for them both to work with masters,” Severus said, still feeling the sting at Dumbledore’s words. He didn’t know if the man meant he was incapable of caring for Potter and Malfoy or unable because of his position, but it hurt all the same.

“I cannot approve outside influences. Harry must learn to use this magic against Voldemort. It is obviously the power the prophecy spoke of,” Dumbledore said.

Severus let out an aggravated breath. “I truly do not understand what it is you want, Albus. You wanted me to train the boy, but, as you said, I cannot, so I have found someone who can, yet you do not approve.”

“It is not just about Harry learning to use his magic. He must be prepared to face Voldemort. It is his destiny to be the one to defeat Voldemort and he must be ready to do so,” Dumbledore said. “Like you, he cannot be distracted.”

Severus glared. “You put too much stock in prophecies.”

“I believe you did the same the night you delivered this prophecy to Voldemort and bound Harry to this fate, the boy you now claim to protect and, dare I say, foolishly even care for,” Dumbledore said and Severus couldn’t help but wince at the harshness.

“I will not treat a fifteen-year-old like a sacrifice nor will I leave two to torment, loneliness, and possible death,” Severus said, anger leeching into his voice. “They are not your soldiers to be placed in line for slaughter.”

“Severus, you are making a mistake.”

“For the first time, I do not think I am. I will discuss this no longer. Potter and Malfoy remain with me and I will care for them the way you and everyone else refuses to. You will no longer control them.”

“You have no claim to them,” Dumbledore said.

Severus’ eyes flashed. “They stay with me.”

Severus felt a sting at the cold disappointment in the headmaster’s face, but pushed it away and replaced it with anger. He was divided on how he felt about Potter and Malfoy, but he knew he would not allow them to be manipulated any longer. Malfoy would not be ignored and abandoned to enslavement or death because of his parentage, and Potter would not be trained as a soldier willing to put down his own young life for a war that wasn’t his. They deserved better. They deserved lives and what remained of their childhoods, whatever could be salvaged.

After several long moments of staring hard at each other in a heavy silence, Dumbledore inclined his head and left without another word. Severus pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing and wincing at the pounding in his head. He was about to go to the liquor cabinet when he heard muffled sounds on the other side of the door. He raised an eyebrow and listened.

“Shove off, Malfoy. I’m trying to hear.”

“Was it the Floo? I don’t hear anything now.”

“If you would shut up, maybe we would.”

“Shut up, Potter. You can’t hear anything either.”

“Because you won’t shut up.”

“Get out of the way, idiot.”

“Don’t be such a bastard, ferret.”

There was quiet scuffling and Severus rolled his eyes. He waved his hand and the door opened, revealing two teenage boys in the midst of pushing at each other. He very nearly snorted aloud at their comical, deer-in-headlights expressions.

“Get off of me, Scarhead,” Malfoy muttered, releasing Potter’s shirt and shoving him away.

“You started it, ferret,” Potter said with a glare.

They both turned to him, cheeks reddening at being caught.

“I recall telling you to go outside, not eavesdrop on a private conversation,” Severus said, looking at them sternly.

“Yes, sir, you did,” Malfoy said.

“Yet here you are,” Severus said, watching both boys gulp.

“Yes, sir,” Potter said.

“This is not to become a habit. If a conversation requires your presence, you will be included,” Severus said. “Understood?”

Potter and Malfoy nodded, at least having the decency to look somewhat contrite. He sighed.

“Have your fears of being sent away been assuaged?” he asked, watching them both look at him in surprise. It hadn’t been hard to assume what their next fear would be after being beaten. The small nods told him the fear had been culled for the moment, but would likely return. “Very well. Outside now.”

He watched them head down the hall and out the front door, shoving each other as they went as though Severus couldn’t see. He just shook his head at them, not realizing that the retaking of their childhoods had already begun.

“It is time for us to begin Occlumency, particularly for you, Mr. Potter,” Snape said later that day.

Harry groaned, truly not looking forward to the new lessons. They’d spent the last few days reading and learning about the practice and, while he appreciated the preparation, it hadn’t made him feel any better about the whole thing. He really didn’t want Snape—or anyone, quite frankly—rooting around in his mind. Snape hated him enough and knew enough as it was. He didn’t want Snape seeing anything he’d spent so long keeping to himself.

“Today will be to introduce you to the practice so you know what to expect as well as an attempt or two at blocking,” Snape said. “However, Occlumency is not about hiding memories. Truthfully, it is about redirection. You do not want to hastily hide any memories in a panic as that will just make your attacker pursue that memory for, if you are so desperate to hide it, it must be important. Instead, you want to be able to redirect an intruder casually, blending important memories in with mundane ones while ensuring only the mundane ones are really seen. This makes your mind seem more natural and does not draw attention to anything in particular. To achieve this, emotional control of your memories is crucial.”

Harry sighed. Another hint to talk about their ‘abuse’. When would Snape get it that they were never going to talk about it, to him or anyone?

“I understand your reluctance to discuss your abuse and anything else troubling you. However, it is important you acknowledge these things. While talking is always an option, I have an alternative solution,” Snape said and Harry looked at the man curiously. He wasn’t going to force them to talk? Snape walked over to the desk and picked up two leather-bound notebooks, holding them out to Harry and Malfoy upon standing before them again.

Harry took the journal, intrigued. His was a deep auburn while Malfoy’s a deep green. He absently wondered if Snape had chosen the colours for them on purpose. There was little to the cover aside from embossed vines and leaves that bordered the edge. He flipped through, finding normal lined pages, though he did notice in a bottom corner a little symbol depicting an open book inside a circle.

“These magical journals connect to each other and to a third, which I possess,” Snape said. “You may use these to write about whatever you wish. Neither of you can continue to ignore all that is haunting you, especially not if you are to learn Occlumency and gain control of your magic. Anything you write will not be seen though you can share to other journals if you like. To do so, you touch the symbol on the page and think or say the journal you wish to share to. You are also able to put memories directly into this journal though I assume memory retrieval is not something either of you are familiar with.”

Harry and Malfoy shook their heads.

“Something I will teach you if the need arises,” Snape said. “If you continue to refuse to speak about your trauma, then I expect you to use these.”

Harry wasn’t sure how he felt about writing about his thoughts and feelings, but it had to be better than talking about it. No one would know anything if he just wrote about it, and, as such, no one would come to pity him or judge him or treat him differently. No one ever had to know a thing.

“Is this amenable for you?” Snape asked.

“Yes, sir.”

Harry shot a small glare at Malfoy at their unison. It was really annoying when they spoke at the same time. It made him think of Fred and George, and he and Malfoy were nothing like the twins.

“Very good,” Snape said. “Now, we will have our first practical session. You will learn what to expect first and then we will attempt Occlumency. Mr. Malfoy, take a seat over there. Mr. Potter, here.”

Malfoy walked over to one of the desks, sitting behind it, while Harry sat in the desk chair that had been set in the center of the study. He put his journal on the floor and looked up apprehensively at Snape in front of him.

“Do not try to fight, just feel what is happening. It is similar to when we searched your magic only in the mind with memories. It can be painful and it is exhausting,” Snape explained and Harry really wanted to roll his eyes at how much Snape’s words didn’t help him feel any calmer. “Are you ready?”

Not really. “I guess,” he said. He thought he saw Snape’s lips twitch as though he wanted to smile, but it was so minute, Harry couldn’t be sure.

Snape raised his wand, making Harry stiffen even more. “Legilimens.”

As Snape had told them, he didn’t try to fight but just let it happen. He was pulled into his mind by the spell, dragged through his memories as they swirled around in a blur of colour and sound. He was resigned to go wherever Snape went with the spell, memories occasionally pulled out of the mess and viewed briefly before being tossed aside. It was only a few seconds, though it felt like several minutes, before Snape withdrew the spell, removing them from Harry’s mind.

Harry couldn’t help his long draw of breath as though he’d been holding it the whole time. His hands were clenched on the armrests, his head was aching, and his body was shaking lightly. This is how it felt when he wasn’t fighting back?

“How do you feel, Potter?” Snape asked and Harry looked at him.

“Like this is going to suck,” Harry said, not caring about politeness and briefly forgetting their usual awkwardness.

“Indeed.”

This time, Harry knew what he saw. Snape’s lips tilted up ever so slightly and the dark eyes flashed with clear amusement. He couldn’t believe it. He’d made Snape—almost—laugh? He didn’t even know the man had a sense of humour, let alone that he could find Harry anything other than irritating.

“Try to Occlude now,” Snape said. “Let your mind settle, flow naturally. I will look for a memory. If I bring one up, try to make it slip away and replace it with another. Redirect, don’t hide.”

Harry swallowed thickly and nodded. He wasn’t relaxed and he knew he probably should be, but he couldn’t in the face of what was about to happen. Snape was going to see his memories, see what happened with the Dursleys, the graveyard, all his moments of weakness, self-hatred, and loneliness. He couldn’t let anyone know the truth about him, that Harry Potter was no grand saviour. He was just Harry, a lonely little orphan who wanted nothing but to be wanted.

“Legilimens.”

They were pulled into his mind again, the memories flying around. He could instantly tell the difference. Snape wasn’t just strolling through his mind, he was actively searching. He could feel the intensity of the spell as it wound its way through inconsequential memories to find something of substance. Harry tried to keep all the memories flowing, surreptitiously trying to speed up their movement to blend them all together. Snape was too strong, however, and he easily pulled a memory out.

It was the summer after first year, well into his imprisonment in Dudley’s second bedroom. A bowl of watery broth and a slice of plain, stale bread was shoved through the door’s cat flap. An almost-twelve-year-old Harry was sprawled on the floor near the pitiful food, half-conscious. Harry remembered this. It was only a few days before he would be rescued by the Weasleys. He’d hardly been able to move, as weak as he was from the starvation. That summer had been the worse it’d ever been for the starvation. It’d taken him months to recover yet no one seemed to have noticed anything was wrong. No one ever did. No one cared enough to notice.

The despair he’d felt was filling him. He tried to push the memory away, tried to replace it with another, but his resolve was quickly waning as the memory continued and its sadness overwhelmed him.

“No!” he shouted and felt a blast of power. Snape was thrown painfully from his mind, dragging Harry back to the present. He gasped and threw his hands to his head. It felt like a knife was being twisted in his skull.

“Potter—”

“No, don’t!” Harry interrupted, unwilling to discuss the memory. He glared at Snape, daring him to push the issue when the professor gave him a hard stare.

“While using magic to expel me is an option, I do not recommend it and it does not always work,” Snape said. “You cannot let yourself get lost in the memories.”

Harry rubbed his temples and sat up straight, meeting Snape’s eyes. “Go again.”

Snape gave a short nod and raised his wand again. “Legilimens.”

Like last time, Harry tried to keep his memories moving so Snape couldn’t pick out what any of them were about. However, like last time, it didn’t work. Snape was strong, quick, and Harry was already weakened, and the professor found a memory even faster. This time, it was the graveyard and Harry was consumed by it immediately, filled with its fear and guilt as Cedric hit the ground and Voldemort returned to torture him.

“I’m sorry!” he cried out, yet another blast of power violently ejecting Snape from his mind. He gripped his hair tightly as the knife in his skull multiplied, causing excruciating pain. He could feel tears on his face and his breath was coming in gasps as his body shook.

“Potter—”

“I…I didn’t mean to,” Harry gasped out, forgetting who he was with as he fell into the pain of what he’d caused just weeks earlier.

“Take a breath, Potter, and drink this,” Snape said.

Harry looked up to find Snape holding a vial out. He recognized it right away as a Pain Reliever and accepted it easily. He let out a quiet sigh as his head pain eased, leaving him with the pain in his heart.

“Mr. Potter, you—”

“Just don’t, sir,” Harry said. “Can I go? I…I can’t…”

“You may,” Snape said. “Rest.”

Harry snatched up his journal and left the study, heading straight to his room. He sat heavily on the bed, staring blankly down at the journal he still grasped. He couldn’t stop his tears as the green light flashed, Cedric’s body fell, and the Cruciatus ravaged his body over and over. His fingers cramped around his journal. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to deal with this. He wasn’t sure he could do it. He felt like he was drowning and all these people were around, but no one was noticing him. They were all acting like he was fine, expected him to be, so he tried to be, but it was an act. He wasn’t fine, couldn’t be, and he wasn’t sure he ever would be. He was sinking and he had no way out and no one to help.

It was just him, alone, left to drown on his own in the middle of the ocean everyone else threw him into.

Why did Cedric have to die? It was supposed to be me. It should have been me. I just can’t forget about it like everyone else. I see him every minute of every day, in every nightmare. If I’ve got this power and I’m meant to destroy Voldemort, why did it happen? I think everyone’s wrong. I’m no hero or saviour or whatever. I’m just me and I get people killed. Guess it’s good I’m alone…less people to hurt.

Harry looked up from his journal as the willow branches swayed around him in the breeze. He hadn’t been sure about the journal, but now, after a couple of entries, he was liking it. He hadn’t realized how badly he actually wanted to say these things, unable to do so audibly. He supposed Snape was right and he did have some stuff to deal with, but he would never tell Snape. The professor would be insufferable if Harry admitted defeat.

He stared across the property at the manor through the blooming willow. He felt himself constantly conflicted when he gave too much thought to the Slytherins he was sharing his summer with. The more the summer progressed and the longer he was with them, the more confounding everything became. Snape, while not pleasant, was actually tolerable. Not to mention he’d fought for both Harry and Malfoy several times now. Harry had never had anyone step up for him, and he was sure Malfoy hadn’t either. Both he and Malfoy were failing at Occlumency, but Snape had yet to lash out. Granted, they’d only had two physical sessions, but it wasn’t like Snape to wait to spew angry insults and criticisms.

Harry just couldn’t explain it, completely lost in regards to the professor.

Malfoy wasn’t any clearer. First, he could still hardly believe their brewing session had been real. It had almost been fun and the conversation with Malfoy amusing. The blonde was mostly quiet, but Harry did catch the grey eyes watching him here or there. He was sure he was losing his mind.

He saw the back door of the manor open and he sighed.

Speak of the jerk, he thought bitterly.

He didn’t always know how to feel, but anger and annoyance remained the most common. He turned back to his journal, wanting to just ignore the other boy.

“Mind if I sit?” Malfoy asked, sounding awkward and unsure.

“It’s a big tree,” Harry said with a shrug, pretending to return to writing. He was keenly aware of Malfoy walking around him to sit against the tree about a meter to his right. He was instantly tense and on guard, but did his best to relax and pretend he was alone. When the breeze picked up again, he raised his head and looked around. No other civilization could be seen. It was nothing but vast expanses of rolling green and trees. Gazing around, he spotted a large lake in the distance, the surface glittering with sunlight. It was an amazing place and he wished he could let himself just sink into it, let it keep away the horrors that awaited him and the loneliness that haunted him.

“Do you really think it’s your fault?” Malfoy asked after a long silence.

Harry knew exactly what Malfoy meant and his chest automatically tightened. “Don’t,” he ground out.

“It’s not, you know. Diggory wasn’t your fault,” Malfoy said.

Harry’s grip on his pencil tightened and he was sure he felt it crack slightly. He shut his eyes as they burned with tears, but then snapped them open when he saw Cedric. “Just shut up. Leave it alone.”

“Come on, Potter, you can’t honestly think it’s your fault.”

“Well, I do, and I’m telling you to leave it alone,” Harry said angrily through gritted teeth.

Thankfully, Malfoy seemed to listen and didn’t respond, though the return of silence did leave Harry back in the graveyard all alone. He wiped at the tear that hovered in the corner of his eye before it could fall, determined not to let Malfoy see.

“I feel guilty, too, about what’s happening to them because that is my fault,” Malfoy eventually said again, quieter this time.

“You’d be killed or tortured if you went back,” Harry said.

“I know, but I still feel guilty,” Malfoy said and then he scoffed. “It’s sick, right? Feeling bad for them after…”

Harry turned his head very slightly when the Slytherin trailed off.

“Snape says it’s normal, but, I dunno,” Malfoy said. “See, what’s happening to my parents is my fault because I won’t go back. Diggory—”

“I told you to stop,” Harry interrupted, growing angry again.

“Potter, I just don’t think you should blame yourself,” Malfoy argued.

“Well, don’t think because you don’t know anything!” Harry shouted. “You weren’t there!”

“No, but you can be damned sure I heard all about it and was brought into my father’s ‘celebrations’ about Voldemort’s return,” Malfoy snapped, sounding angry himself.

“I’m sure you were thrilled to hear what happened, that Harry Potter finally got a taste of what he deserves, right?” Harry said bitterly.

“I’m not my father,” Malfoy said.

“Sure acted like it the last four years,” Harry said.

“Because I had to!”

“To an extent! Your father’s not at Hogwarts. You made some very clear choices about what to do or say, especially towards me and my friends.”

“You can’t pretend to be innocent either.”

“I’m not, but I’m sure as hell still better than you. I’m not hiding behind my father.”

“Yeah, because you don’t have one.”

Harry whipped his head around to glare hatefully at the blonde, hurt blooming in his heart. “Sod off, Malfoy. You’re free to leave at any time.” He turned back and stared down at his journal, willing his renewed tears not to fall.

“Bloody hell, this isn’t how I meant this to go,” Malfoy said, letting out a huff.

“Just get lost.”

“Snape will kill us if he catches us fighting again,” Malfoy said.

“Malfoy—”

“Look, I just wanted to talk to you. I didn’t mean to fight.”

“Well, bang up job you did.”

“You caused it, getting mad at everything I said,” Malfoy said.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Sure, blame me.”

“That’s not...ugh, are you really always like this?” Malfoy said, sounding annoyed. “Can’t anyone just talk to you?”

“Why do you want to?”

“Because I never have anyone to talk to in the summer, okay?” Malfoy said and Harry turned his head slightly again at the admission. He never had anyone in the summers either. “I don’t expect us to be friends or anything, trust me, but I thought we could just talk here and there. We can’t ignore each other all summer.”

“We could try,” Harry griped. He didn’t see it, but he was sure he felt Malfoy’s eye roll.

“Fine, whatever,” Malfoy said and Harry saw the Slytherin get to his feet out the corner of his eye.

He watched the blonde start to walk back to the manor. With his hands in his pockets and his head slightly bowed, Malfoy looked almost dejected. Harry frowned. Why would it bother Malfoy if Harry didn’t want to talk? They had never liked each other, not for a single moment, and they’d never had a remotely pleasant thing to say to each other. Was Malfoy just bored or just that desperate for contact in the summer when he would usually be without? Was he? He thought back to some of their interactions from the last month. Most had ended in a fight, much like this one, but there were a couple that hadn’t; the night in the library, the night they’d had tea, and the brewing session. They had been…nice moments. It had been nice to have someone around, someone that understood at least a little. Like Malfoy said, they wouldn’t be friends, but maybe they could be…contact where previously there was none.

He closed his journal and scrambled to his feet. “Hey! Malfoy!” he called.

Malfoy turned around, his eyes narrowed. “What?”

“Think Snape’s got a chess board?” Harry said, starting to walk towards the blonde.

Malfoy’s face turned into a frown. “What?” he repeated though with less anger and more curiosity.

“I’m not very good, so it probably won’t be much of a challenge for you, but we could play,” Harry said with a shrug, trying to seem casual. It was weird to think about doing something like chess with Malfoy, to voluntarily spend time with the Slytherin, but maybe Malfoy was right. They couldn’t ignore each other for another three weeks, and they had managed to be civil in each other’s company before.

Malfoy was giving him an almost suspicious look before turning it into a sneer Harry wasn’t sure was completely sincere. “It would be shocking if you were good at chess. Brain capacity and all.”

Harry glared, also unsure if he really meant it. “I’m not that bad.”

“We’ll see,” Malfoy said.

At the blonde’s smirk, they walked into the manor and went up to the library. They quickly found a chess set and set up by the fireplace, sitting on the floor on either side of the coffee table. It was here Snape would find them several hours later when he called them for dinner in the middle of Harry just barely getting an edge over Malfoy for the first time.

The light green eyes gazed at the manor on the other side of the tall iron gate. The protections around the property had changed since he was there last. He crossed his arms, the breeze playing with his pulled-back sandy hair and the strings hanging down the front of his tunic-style shirt. How long had it been since he’d truly been there, since they’d spoken? What unfortunate circumstances sat over Britain to have caused this reunion to occur.

He turned his head to look at the man that appeared beside him, his auburn hair also blowing gently in the wind and his blue eyes staring through the gate.

“Do you see it?” he asked, looking back at the manor.

The other man nodded. “Their magic is here in the wards.”

“The second prophecy,” the first man said, getting another nod from the other. “They don’t know about it.”

“Their magic will have woken the second prophecy. I would be surprised if they haven’t started dreaming about it,” the second man said.

“Well, shall we?” the first said lightly. “We have a friend to reunite with and some special young men to meet.”

The second smiled and they pushed through the gate, strolling across the property. The power around them was astonishing, an amazing mixture of Aether and Elemental on top of Severus’ signature. The way the magic mingled together was like nothing either of them had ever seen before.

At the door, the green-eyed man knocked on the door while the second casually stuck his hands in his pockets. It was only a few seconds later that the door opened and the two men finally laid eyes on their old friend after more than a decade.

“Leif,” Severus said to the green-eyed man. “Alexei,” to the blue-eyed man.

“Severus,” Leif said, his own tone indecipherable as he stared at the man. They were all clearly remembering their last, less than pleasant interactions. After a few moments, he couldn’t stop from breaking into a smile. “Wonderful to see you, my friend.”

“Moy drug,” Alexei said and Leif smiled wider when Alexei pulled Severus into a hug, obviously startling the Potions master. Neither of them had ended on necessarily good terms with Severus, but, by the gods, he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed his dear friend.

“Thank you for coming,” Severus said once Alexei released him.

“Anything for you, moy drug,” Alexei said, smiling.

“Come, there is much to discuss,” Severus said, stepping aside so Leif and Alexei could enter.

Leif could instantly feel the changes in the manor, all kinds, not just magical. The occupants’ magic tangled together all over, but there was something else. There was a life in the manor that had never been there before, a lightness, a happiness that none of the occupants had yet realized. What a force they would become.

He followed Alexei into the sitting room and settled on the sofa with him while Severus settled in an armchair. Glasses appeared before each of them and he swiftly took a sip of the deep red wine.

“You remembered,” Leif said with a small smirk as he drank his very specific type of Merlot.

“Of course,” Severus said, inclining his head while sipping his own drink.

“Enough niceties,” Alexei said, setting his glass aside. Leif rolled his eyes at the man. He was meant to be the impatient one over these matters. He crossed his long legs and looked at Severus expectantly. “They are truly naturals?”

Severus nodded. “Indeed. I examined their cores myself.”

“After all these years, simply amazing,” Alexei said, excitement sparkling in the misty blue eyes.

“Why was the Aetherion not registered?” Leif asked. “I felt them come into being, but they never appeared in the records.”

“Both had suppressed their magic until recently,” Severus said. “No one knew they possessed such magic.”

Leif frowned, a stirring of concern. “Why did they suppress their magic?”

Severus sighed. “Abused, both of them.”

Leif shook his head sadly. “You said their magic was only just discovered, but they were able to strengthen your wards and combine their magic already?”

Severus looked at him, confused. “What are you talking about?”

Leif and Alexei glanced at each other.

“You don’t see it?” Alexei asked.

“See what?” Severus asked, clearly puzzled.

“Your magic, Elemental Magic, and Aether Magic make up the wards around the manor,” Leif said seriously, leaning forward slightly. “The Elemental and Aether Magic have tangled together and combined with yours. Your wards are impenetrable, your home untraceable. This place will not exist to anyone you do not allow to know about it, and your magic is keyed to each of you to protect and heal.”

Severus was staring at them in confused shock, struggling to comprehend.

“They didn’t do this?” Alexei said and Severus shook his head.

“They’ve each had a couple of uncontrolled outbursts, but that is all,” Severus told them.

Leif grew infinitely more curious and, as he and Alexei glanced at each other again, he knew they were both thinking of the second prophecy. Their unknown impact on that place spoke to their power and the underlying force waiting to be released by a bond yet to be forged was unbelievable.

“Severus, how did they come to you?” Alexei asked.

“They Apparated into Hogwarts unconscious,” Severus said. “Dumbledore—”

Leif looked at him sharply. “You are still following that man’s orders?”

After everything Albus Dumbledore had done, Severus was still following him? After all the guilt trips and manipulations and pain? A thought came to him, an unthinkable idea.

“Are you his spy again?” Leif asked, his voice low with threatening anger. If that bastard had convinced Severus to risk his life again, he would be having a personal chat with Hogwarts’ dear headmaster.

“My choices are my own,” Severus said vaguely.

Leif just barely stopped himself from throwing his glass across the room. He couldn’t believe it, couldn’t believe his friend was still trapped between two madmen that didn’t care if he died, and he was convinced he had to do it in some sick unnecessary atonement. Manipulated by both sides to be alone and willing to die.

“And what has he told you this time?” Leif said, fighting to keep his voice even. “Did you do so little fifteen years ago?”

“The Dark Lord has returned. My role is necessary,” Severus said stiffly. “He is after the prophecy.”

Leif closed his eyes briefly, trying to contain his anger. Dumbledore, Voldemort, and that bloody prophecy.

“You will follow the man that has abandoned you to the life he’s convinced you you deserve,” Leif said, meeting Severus’ eyes, his own flashing.

“He has given me the life I deserve,” Severus said.

“A life of loneliness, of servitude, of death?” Leif said loudly. “For what? A damned prophecy that he made sure you heard? Lily’s death even though he swore he’d protect her in exchange for your life?”

“Yes!” Severus shouted, defensive in the face of Leif’s accusations. “I must fix my mistakes!”

“Must it always be with your life?” Leif demanded.

“Yes! I took life, so I give mine, a life no one cares for!”

Leif and Severus leapt to their feet at the same time, standing toe to toe as they glared at each other.

“He’s the one that doesn’t care! We do!” Leif shouted. “He’s the one that’s abandoned you to this life for a prophecy he helped make happen!”

“Leif…” Alexei’s quiet warning was ignored.

“You care?” Severus sneered. “Funny, as it he who has been here, not you.”

“He’s only here to control you!” Leif shot back.

“Do not presume to think I have forgotten that last exchange in Italy,” Severus said, his tone hard.

Leif’s jaw twitched as he remembered that day, that fight. “I may have left, but you ran away, straight back to this,” he said, his own voice dropping to a lower level. “Did you learn nothing from last time?”

“I learned actions have consequences and I am atoning for mine,” Severus said stiffly.

“This is not the way,” Leif said with a small shake of his head.

“Enlighten me,” Severus drawled.

“You said Harry Potter is one of the naturals, Lily’s son. You said they are both abused, Lily’s son. That means he needs help, he needs protection. They both do,” Leif said firmly, desperate for his friend to listen and understand. “They are your atonement!”

“That is what I am doing!” Severus snapped.

“You cannot help them if you are dead!” Leif yelled, frustrated at the level of manipulation Dumbledore had achieved in Severus, convincing him that nothing he did would ever be enough. Convincing him that only through his sacrifice could he maybe achieve redemption.

“My life means nothing!” Severus yelled back.

“It means everything! The three of you mean everything!” Leif cried, cursing Dumbledore for all he’d done and for the necessary secrets that had to be kept but could change everything if they could be known.

“Leif…” Leif heard Alexei’s stronger warning, but ignored it once again.

“This is how I protect him, protect them,” Severus said, his voice dropping once again.

“By going to your death,” Leif said deadpanned.

Severus’ eyes sharpened and his glare intensified. “I haven’t died yet.”

“You will!” Leif shouted, his own glare turning deadly.

“Enough, both of you!” Alexei said, finally jumping to his feet and stepping between Leif and Severus.

“Professor?”

The three of them turned at the voice. Leif, despite the anger still filling him, immediately felt a pull upon seeing the two boys. Black hair and green eyes, and blonde hair and grey eyes. Opposite in appearance, but perfectly complementary in their magic and the bond they would have. He was drawn to them, a feeling he’d only felt once before. He looked back at Severus.

“Let’s have some dinner,” Alexei said and Leif allowed himself to be pushed away from Severus while they kept their eyes glued to each other. “I believe introductions are in order.”

Severus sat back in his chair as he finished his plate, his hand around the base of his wineglass on the table. His eyes roamed over Leif, Alexei, and the two teens, all quietly eating. A small voice in his head pointed out that that manor had never been so full, especially not by his invitation. He pushed the thought away and considered what sat before him. He wondered if he’d made a mistake choosing Leif and Alexei, not that there were any other options. However, there were clearly still points of contention between the three of them. Perhaps his actions were too unforgiveable. He could see the suspicious looks Potter and Malfoy kept shooting Leif and Alexei. The boys trusted no one. How productive could any training be?

“I believe it is time for introductions,” Severus said. “Potter, Malfoy, these are the masters I told you about. They will be staying here for the remainder of the summer to teach you about your magic.”

He watched the boys once again look at Leif and Alexei with a mixture of curiosity and concern. He imagined they hadn’t expected the masters to be so young. Once they knew…

“Well, I am Leif Marcus,” Leif said, placing his fork down and gazing at the teens. “I am an Aetherion and will be training Mr. Malfoy as I understand it.”

Malfoy just gave a small nod.

“I am Alexei Romanov, Elemental and—”

“Vampire,” Malfoy interrupted and Potter stared at Alexei with wide eyes.

“Mr. Malfoy, some respect, if you please,” Severus chided, gaining a light flush from the blonde.

“Yes, sir,” Malfoy mumbled, dropping his head and gaze back to his nearly empty plate.

“Oh, stop being so serious, Severus,” Alexei said, chuckling. “It is a common reaction and one you yourself had.”

Severus just rolled his eyes and took a drink of wine to hide his smirk.

“Yes, I am a vampire,” Alexei confirmed to Potter and Malfoy.

“Weren’t all the Romanovs killed?” Potter asked and Severus was satisfied when Potter looked contrite at his disapproving glare.

“Severus, quit admonishing them for simple curiosity,” Alexei said.

Severus raised his eyebrow at Alexei’s grin. Good to know his old friend hadn’t changed. He still had an air of playfulness and teasing about him. Alexei could be good for the boys in that way. He watched as Alexei pushed his plate up to lean on the table as though about to divulge some great secret, which, Severus supposed, wasn’t far from the truth. He could tell Potter and Malfoy were intrigued, but were keeping their guards up in the face of Leif and Alexei still being strangers.

“Now, yes, according to, well, everything, the entire Romanov family was executed,” Alexei said. “They were also Muggles, according to history.”

Potter frowned. “They weren’t?”

Alexei shook his head. “The oldest magical bloodline in Russia. It is for this reason they were executed. While no longer wishing to have a Tsarist regime, it was also discovered that the Romanovs were magical. The Muggles rebelled, frightened of the power the Romanovs could have over them, politically and magically. The underlying reason for the Red Terror was the extermination of witches and wizards. Discovering the royal family was magical was perfect for the Bolsheviks. To the Muggles not in the know and the rest of the world, they rid Russia of the Tsar in favour of an elected president. To them, they rid Russia of unwanted witches and wizards,” Alexei explained.

Severus glanced at Leif, both of them thinking the same thing. Alexei spoke of the Russian Civil War easily, always more than happy to tell the truth of what happened to his family in 1918, but they could always see the pain and sadness. The man had lost his entire family to fear and prejudice. Severus could only imagine how hard it was to live without them for all these decades. He also knew Alexei still lived with some guilt, never knowing why he was the one that was saved and no one else.

“So, what happened?” Malfoy asked quietly, sending a quick look at Severus, obviously hoping his question wasn’t being seen as rude.

“Our advisor and my personal Healer, Grigori Rasputin, saved me,” Alexei said. “He created a golem to take my place and we fled Russia. He turned me in nineteen-thirty when I was twenty-five.”

A stunned silence fell as Potter and Malfoy worked to adjust their knowledge of this history to accommodate Alexei’s revelation.

“My, my, Leif, you’re not going to try and out-do Alexei’s impressive story?” Severus said, smirking at his other friend while Alexei chuckled again.

“I do not believe my story to be as fascinating as changing a well-known history,” Leif said, clearly putting on an air of indifference.

Severus just looked pointedly at Potter and Malfoy who weren’t even bothering to hide their eager and curious expressions anymore. Leif released a put-upon sigh, but Severus knew it was an act. The man loved to compete with Alexei by regaling others with his own amazing story. They liked to keep a running record of whose story received the bigger reaction. Last he knew, Leif was well in the lead. Plus, he had to admit, it was nice to see Potter and Malfoy interested in something, and getting along with Leif and Alexei. The last thing the manor needed was more tension.

“I admit I am a little bit older than Alexei,” Leif said, drawing a snort from Alexei and an eye roll from Severus. “I gained my immortality at twenty-six in the year nine hundred. Due to my Aether Magic, I was to be a sacrifice to defeat Morgan le Fay, but my mother refused. She tied my life to runes and I became immortal.” He gestured to a bit of tattoo that was visible on the right side of his neck, the rest of it covering his shoulder, part of his chest, and arm down to the elbow hidden by his shirt.

“I’m sorry, what?” Malfoy said in utter disbelief.

“You were alive in Merlin’s time?” Potter said.

Leif nodded. “I was. I fought alongside him and Arthur.”

“Bloody hell!” Potter and Malfoy said together, gaping.

“Language,” Severus said, trying to stay stern while silently laughing in his wine at the two boys. Alexei was also laughing, though he wasn’t hiding.

“Damn, you win again,” Alexei said, raising his glass of blood to Leif.

“What is it now?” Leif said in mock thoughtfulness. “Two hundred seventeen to one-seventy?”

“Seventy-three, thank you very much,” Alexei said, grinning.

“Ah, my mistake,” Leif said, returning the grin and laugh.

There was an ease settling on the manor that Severus had never experienced before. He could see a minute amount of relaxation touch Potter and Malfoy, something that hadn’t happened yet that summer. He was convinced it could work with Leif and Alexei after all.

He was just about to finish off his wine when his left arm burned wildly with pain. Unprepared, his hand jerked and he accidentally knocked over the wineglass, spilling red wine across the table like blood. He clenched his hand in a tight fist and swiftly rose to his feet.

Leif and Alexei were staring at him with deep concern, the smiles gone from their faces.

“Stay with them,” he said shortly, gesturing at the boys with his chin. He hurried from the kitchen, ignoring Leif’s call of his name. He summoned his robe and mask, dashed across the wards, and let the Mark take him away.

Harry stared at the wine, feeling an odd sense of loss at the disruption to the lightness that had fallen over dinner. Leif and Alexei were funny and fascinating, and Harry felt an ease with them he’d never felt with anyone. They seemed to help lift the tension in the manor, even making Snape seem more comfortable to be around. But, of course, Voldemort had to ruin it. Snape hadn’t been called for a few days, but, naturally, it had to be this night that he was summoned again.

As he watched the wine slowly spread across the table, he wasn’t sure how he felt about Snape in the moment. He was sure he didn’t hate Snape anymore, not the way he had for the last four years, but he didn’t know where that left him. He didn’t like the man, but there was more than just indifference. Sitting there in the silence created by Snape’s summoning, he felt the stirrings of concern for the professor willingly putting himself before Voldemort.

“Well, I believe this could be a good time to get to know our apprentices, don’t you agree, Leif?” Alexei said, his voice sounding like it was booming as it cut the heavy silence.

Harry looked at the two men. They both had lost much of the joy and playfulness that had previously animated them. Their faces were drawn, jaws clenched, and eyes no longer sparkling with mirth. They looked angry and worried, though they tried to hide those emotions as they looked at him and Malfoy.

“Yes, yes,” Leif said, sounding miles away, but he pulled himself back and waved his hand, cleaning up the spilt wine. “Mr. Malfoy, how do you feel about a game of chess?”

Harry looked across at Malfoy whose face was also filled with a myriad of emotions. When the blonde looked at Leif, he seemed concerned, likely about what could possibly change now they’d be alone with the two strangers, but did give a small nod.

“Yes, sir,” Malfoy agreed.

“Leif, please. I do not like to feel as old as I am,” Leif said, some of his joking tone returning.

Harry watched Leif and Malfoy rise and leave the kitchen, heading upstairs to the library where Harry knew the chess board still lay out. He turned back to Alexei who gave him a smile.

“Shall we sit outside?” Alexei suggested.

Surprised considering it was nearly dark, he nodded. He led the way to the front porch where they both sat on the large porch swing. Despite being mid-summer, the night had grown cool as though mirroring the coldness that had fallen over the manor at Snape’s departure. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his new sweater. He had a whole new wardrobe courtesy of Snape who had brought them to the closest Muggle town the previous day under Polyjuice. It was been a surreal experience, actually getting to shop for himself and to have an adult pay. He’d had to do everything himself since entering the wizarding world. It was strange having an adult take care of such things. He revelled in his new clothes, loving every piece if only because they fit for the first time in his life.

He gazed across the grounds, at the path leading to the tall gate. As the sun disappeared, he was surprised to see little orbs of soft yellow and blue light appear in the air all around the property, providing gentle illumination.

“So, Harry, tell me how you know Severus,” Alexei said eventually.

“You don’t know?” Harry said, surprised Snape wouldn’t have told Alexei they were student and teacher. He looked at the vampire beside him, noting the wry grin.

“Humour me,” Alexei said and Harry understood.

Alexei did know, but was trying to get him talking and comfortable. He gazed at the man that looked nothing like the books said vampires looked like. The books described vampires as pale, thin, monstrous beings, with long talon-like nails, glowing red eyes, and leathery skin. Huge fangs protruded from their mouths, always ready to tear into prey. The books claimed vampires were barely human.

The man before him, however, was perfectly normal. Except for a couple of small details, one would never know Alexei was a vampire. He was pale, though not deathly so as the literature would have one believe. His eyes were a bright, but misty blue, a black ring with gold flecks around the iris, one of the only indicators that the man was not quite human. There was no skeletal head, but, instead, shiny auburn hair that was pulled back into a low ponytail on his neck. There were no sunken eyes or cheeks. In fact, the man’s features were quite soft, handsome, and kind. He could see the remnants of royalty in Alexei’s more professional style of dress, likely an homage to the expectations he’d had on him as a child. He wore a casual, but smart suit with no jacket. He had a white button-up shirt, its top few buttons left open, and a light grey vest. His trousers were a matching grey and he wore simple black dress shoes. The books described vampires as being unable to speak or speaking with a dangerous hiss. Alexei had a gentle voice, deep, calming, and laden with a Russian accent.

He turned away from Alexei as he finished his perusal, gazing at the glowing orbs. “Hogwarts, the Potions professor.”

“How do you get along?” Alexei asked casually, keeping the conversation flowing.

Harry snorted. “We don’t, we hate each other. Always have.”

“Yet here you are,” Alexei said.

“Not by choice,” Harry said. “It was the only option. None of us want to be here, trust me.”

“I see,” Alexei hummed.

Harry glanced at the vampire, his eyes narrowed slightly. “You sound like him.”

Alexei laughed, a smooth, intoxicating sound. Harry could tell the man’s humour and joy could be infectious. “We have known each other for some time now, spent a fair bit of time together many years ago.”

“How do you know each other?” Harry asked, turning the conversation around.

Alexei smirked. “Surprised your teacher has a life outside of Hogwarts?”

“More that he has friends,” Harry said honestly. “He’s not exactly likeable.”

Alexei chuckled again. “Yes, he certainly takes getting used to. We met in Italy in nineteen eighty-one, I believe. He was getting his Potions mastery and I needed the assistance of his mentor. Severus ended up helping with the matter for the next couple of years and we became friends. While we lost contact for many years, he is still a dear friend and I am happy to be here.”

“Was he always like he is now?” Harry asked, wondering if Snape had been born or made evil.

Well, maybe not evil, he thought, feeling the need to acknowledge the last four weeks.

“To an extent,” Alexei said vaguely as he gazed out at the property before turning to look at Harry, his face almost sad. “He is a hard man because he has had a hard life, some by choice, some not.”

Harry thought about the subtle facts he’d learned about Snape over the last month. He knew the man had been abused by his father, had a bad relationship with the Marauders, had been friends with Lily until something happened, became a Death Eater, almost went to Azkaban, and was now a spy infiltrating Voldemort’s inner circle. He also knew the man seemed to be, by all accounts, alone. There was a lot missing, a lot he didn’t know, but he couldn’t deny Alexei’s words. Despite what he’d thought and assumed for four years, Snape wasn’t angry and hateful for no reason; he just didn’t know the reason. He wasn’t sure what to think as he found Snape becoming more and more human by the day.

“May I ask how you came to be here?” Alexei asked. “It is not customary for a student to stay with a teacher, especially one they claim to hate.”

Harry sighed, remembering his last day in Privet Drive. He didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t want anyone to know any more than they already did. He was tired of it hurting, of it controlling his life. He just wanted to let it go, for it to let him go.

“Something happened and I couldn’t go home,” Harry said vaguely with a small shrug. “This was the safest place.”

He felt Alexei shift and looked over. The vampire had leaned back, crossing his long legs and draping his arms along the back of the swing.

“I understand the need and desire for secrets. I have many myself. We want to protect ourselves, hide what we’ve done, ignore what’s hurt us. Eventually, we keep things to ourselves for so long, we can’t even fathom telling another person, for how could they possibly understand?” Alexei said and Harry frowned slightly. The vampire turned to him again. “I do not expect you to tell me everything or much at all really. I am a stranger. However, I am also here to teach you. Our magic is heavily connected to emotion and, to learn, there is a certain level of trust that will have to exist between us. I will never keep anything from you and I hope, when I ask, you can extend to me the same courtesy. I am not here to harm you or judge you, rebenok. I want to help you. I have looked for an Elemental for a very long time and I want nothing more than to help you grow your magic. It is quite spectacular magic.”

Harry let the blue eyes hold his for a time before gazing out into the orb-spotted darkness. He’d never considered telling anyone before, but there was something overwhelmingly comforting about Alexei. Maybe it was the fact that he was unknown. Alexei didn’t know him so there was no way he could disappoint the man. Alexei didn’t know any of his friends or enemies so he couldn’t run off and tell anyone. The man may pity him or judge him, but it didn’t seem as awful coming from a stranger that had no preconceptions or expectations of who he should be.

“I was left in a pretty bad way by my uncle a month ago. I somehow Apparated to Hogwarts, Dumbledore sent me here, and then my relatives died,” Harry said, his voice monotonous. “Nowhere to go back to after that.”

“Was this a unique event?” Alexei asked.

“The severity, yeah, but, in general? Not at all. Pretty normal actually,” Harry said.

“It should not have been,” Alexei said.

Harry’s lips quirked into a half-smile. “So I’ve been told. Snape’s said it several times.”

Alexei let out a light chuckle. “You would do well to listen.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Harry said, almost mumbling.

“Come, rebenok. It’s late,” Alexei said, getting off the swing. “I don’t mean to tell you what to do, but you should get some sleep.”

Harry looked up at him. “What about the professor?”

He saw an odd look in Alexei’s eye, but was unsure what it was.

“Leif and I will wait up,” Alexei said.

Not sure why he seemed to care, Harry nodded and let Alexei herd him upstairs to bed.

Draco sat on one end of the sofa and watched as Leif sat on the other before transfiguring a small tabletop to sit on the sofa between them. The man grabbed the chess board from where it sat on the coffee table after Draco’s and Potter’s hours of playing the previous day. When Leif concealed a white and black piece in his fists, Draco randomly pointed and began to absently set up his black pieces. He thought back to playing with Potter as he did so. It had been surprisingly fun playing with the Gryffindor. Potter had been right and he wasn’t very good, but it hadn’t mattered. For the first time ever, he’d had a moment of actual fun.

It was another oddity to add to his steadily growing list, just like dinner. Alexei and Leif were fascinating and amusing. He hadn’t expected to like the two men or for them to bring a calm to the rest of them. Even Snape had seemed to relax with them, despite the fight he and Potter had walked in on.

As he moved his first piece, a pawn, his thoughts turned to Snape. He didn’t know what he felt when their seemingly normal—at least by all their standards—dinner was interrupted by Voldemort’s call. There had been some kind of pull in his chest as he watched the wine spill and Snape hurry away. He didn’t want to name the feeling, unable to comprehend it fully when he had no idea where he stood on the man. It had been an intense month; a lot had happened, a lot learned. Yet nothing was clear.

He sighed, moving another pawn.

“You bear a striking resemblance to him,” Leif said after several silent moves between the two of them, “but I can tell you are nothing like him.”

Draco glanced up at Leif with a slight frown. “You know my father?”

Leif did not look like the kind of person Lucius usually associated with. Compared to those types of people, Leif looked like a peasant. He had light green eyes, sandy-blonde hair that was tied back in a ponytail, and lightly tanned skin. He was muscular and parts of a tattoo could be seen on the right side of his neck, the rest disappearing under his shirt. His face was angular and stern, but there was a lightness waiting to present itself and it had at dinner. His voice was similar, hard with his centuries of life, but inviting with its mixed accent though it was mostly Greek-sounding. It was truly the man’s clothes that set him apart from Lucius’ normal associates. Leif wore a long tunic-like shirt, its hem reaching mid-thigh, blue in colour, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and drawstrings dangling down his chest. His trousers were black and similar in style to horse riding trousers. He wore boots that were made of a dark brown leather and almost reached his knees, also similar to riding boots.

Having grown up in harsh perfection, Draco was drawn to the man’s casualness.

“Oh, yes, I know Lucius,” Leif said, swiping one of Draco’s pawns. “We have had several interactions, not all-together pleasant.”

Draco snorted quietly. “Sounds about right. You work at the Ministry then?” He moved a bishop, returning the favour and taking a white pawn.

Leif nodded. “Archivist. I’ve been waiting for you for a very long time.”

Draco looked up at him again, completely confused. “What?”

Leif chuckled. “I apologize. I understand how strange that may sound. However, I just mean another Aetherion. I was aware another had come into being fourteen years ago, I felt the magic form. Typically, witches and wizards like you and Mr. Potter are automatically registered in the archives and I searched for the new Aetherion, but you never appeared.”

“What would cause that?” Draco asked and Leif met his eyes.

“Suppression. You never used or acknowledged your magic,” Leif said.

Draco felt a stab in his heart, knowing what would have caused his suppression. He dropped his eyes, staring hard at the game and making a random move. “I didn’t know about it until this summer.”

“May I ask how that came about?” Leif asked and, even though the man’s tone remained light and casual, Draco instantly became angry and defensive, though he subconsciously raised one hand to his chest, his fingers ghosting over the scar hidden beneath his shirt. He didn’t know why, it was automatic and out of his control. Anger was how he’d always dealt with confronting anything to do with his father and his life. “Mr. Malfoy?”

“Draco,” he snapped quickly. “I’m not my father.”

“No, you’re not,” Leif said quietly and so reminiscent of when Snape said the same thing during the terrible Occlumency lesson. Just like with Snape, he couldn’t tell if Leif meant it as a good or bad thing.

“Just leave it,” Draco muttered, moving his rook to take one of Leif’s bishops.

He hated thinking about his father, his training, his life, and he didn’t want anyone to know. He couldn’t handle the pity or the condemnation. He would either be the poor, unloved, little rich boy or the Death Eater’s son that deserved every bit of torture. He hated the agonizing confusion he felt. He knew it was wrong and the things he’d been made to believe were wrong, but anytime he tried to think differently, it was like he could feel the torture all over again. He couldn’t escape. He would always be Lucius Malfoy’s son and embody whatever everyone else believed that role to entail. It would never matter who he actually was or what he actually wanted.

“I understand terrible fathers,” Leif eventually said, interrupting Draco’s downward spiral. Draco glanced across at him. “Who do you think it was that offered to sacrifice me?”

Leif had a half-smile though there was no humour behind it as he lifted his green eyes to Draco.

“It was my mother that saved me. My father volunteered my life,” Leif said. “See, our magic—magic of the gods, it was once called—was thought to be the source of everything. Merlin and Arthur were losing the war against Morgan when a knight of the Round Table made a suggestion. Morgan was a sorceress using dark magic. If the source of that magic was extinguished, so would she be. Funny enough, this knight had that source in a son, a son that would be more than happy to die for the cause as he had already been a loyal soldier.”

Leif paused, moving a knight. Draco moved his queen out of danger, waiting for the story to continue.

“Arthur was desperate and Merlin was convinced he could ensure only dark magic would be destroyed with the sacrifice. He could leave the world with only peace and light, never to be touched by evil again,” Leif continued. “My mother, however, was a Rune Mage with Seer capabilities and she knew it would not work, that magic—the world—cannot be divided that way, but that Arthur would not stop. So, she gave me my immortality at the expense of her own life.”

Leif paused again, moving a knight again before raising his eyes back to Draco.

“I know you don’t know me and I expect nothing from you. However, I know the pain a father can cause in favour of his own beliefs and gains, and at no point are they right, nor are we to blame,” Leif said firmly. “Our magic is special and it cares not for names or blood, nor should you, for they do not make great men or women. Only we can do that for ourselves.”

Draco slowly moved a knight of his own, protecting his queen, as he contemplated Leif’s story and final words. He was still conflicted with a voice screaming at him to keep quiet. Yet there was another voice, new and small. It was whispering to him, telling him Leif was the ideal confidante as the man had virtually no expectations of him. He couldn’t be seen as a failure if Leif didn’t know what he was supposed to be.

He touched the scar running down his sternum again. “I never even had my mother. She ignores me, leaves me to my father. He wants a certain type of son, made promises of what I would be. He’s done everything to make me into that son.”

“And that’s why you’re here with Severus?” Leif asked quietly.

Draco nodded, staring at his rook get taken. “I told my father I didn’t want to do it anymore. He went a bit further this time.”

“You were right to leave,” Leif said.

Draco couldn’t help but frown. “But I’m a Malfoy and I was supposed—”

“To be nothing but Draco,” Leif interrupted gently. “It will be important to accept yourself, trust yourself and me. Our magic is wonderful, but requires acceptance, truth, and trust. I believe you will become who you are meant to be and it is not who your father was creating.”

Draco gazed into Leif’s eyes, feeling an odd pull. He looked down at the board when Leif smiled and gestured to it. He examined the remaining pieces, eventually noticing the final move remaining. He moved his queen.

“Checkmate,” he said quietly. He stared at the piece for several minutes before looking at Leif again. The man was smiling and had leaned back against the arm of the sofa.

“I believe now would be a good time to head to bed, paidí,” Leif said.

“What about Snape?” Draco asked, absently wondering why he cared.

Leif tilted his head slightly, obviously curious about Draco’s apparent concern. “Alexei and I will be here. Off to bed now.”

Draco nodded and, filled with strange thoughts and emotions, he headed to his bedroom.

Alexei accepted the glass of wine Leif offered him with a quiet ‘thank you’ and small smile. He gazed into the fire as he sipped, his mind soaring away from the library.

“Remarkable, aren’t they?” Leif pondered aloud.

Alexei smiled, keeping his eyes on the dancing flames. “Quite, yet they don’t know it.”

“To our prodigies,” Leif said, holding up his glass.

Alexei turned to him, his own glass raised. “And the family they’ll become.”

They smiled at each other, took a drink, and turned back to the fire. The longer the silence grew, the sadder Alexei’s thoughts became.

“We should not have left him,” he said, remembering his final interaction with Severus—a fight—in Italy so many years earlier. His friend had obviously been alone all this time, easy prey to Dumbledore’s manipulations.

“No, but we didn’t know what we do now,” Leif said, his own tone stiff.

“Will that matter?” Alexei asked, looking back at Leif.

“Yes, it is already on course naturally. It is the real one,” Leif said, swirling his wine.

“But is it too late?” Alexei asked, replaying Severus’ dash from the table.

“No, I don’t think so, not with them here now,” Leif said, shaking his head lightly. “It will just take time. They all seem to have a common thread of stubbornness.”

Alexei chuckled quietly, taking another sip. “That they do,” he said. He propped an elbow on the arm of the sofa and cupped his face with his palm, staring absently at the fire.

They mostly sat in silence, both thinking about their lost friend and the lost boys they already felt strong connections to. It was going to be fascinating to watch their bonds grow, something all three so desperately needed. They had finished their wine and the fire was nearly out when they finally heard the front door open downstairs.

They glanced at each other and left the library to meet their friend.

Alexei had never seen Severus as a Death Eater and the sight was startling. It was an image that he struggled to impose on the man for, as angry and vicious as he could be, he knew Severus was inherently a good and caring man. He looked to Severus’ face. He looked drawn and exhausted, but seemed to have escape any serious punishment that night. Severus glared at them, but said nothing, banishing the robe and mask to whatever dark corner they were kept.

“Come, o fílos mou,” Leif said quietly. “We need to talk.”

Alexei was pleased when Severus agreed though a part of him wanted to just send his friend to bed. They returned to the library, Alexei resuming his seat on the sofa, Leif in his armchair, and Severus sitting heavily in a wingback. Leif waved his hand, conjuring a glass of wine for Severus.

“You seem uninjured,” Leif said and Alexei noted how carefully he spoke. Neither of them wanted to fight with Severus again and it was something they would have to get past if they wanted the arrangement to work out.

“No, his focus was on Lucius for the continued absence of his son,” Severus said, taking a drink. “I received only minor irritation for not knowing more about Potter’s disappearance.”

Alexei raised an eyebrow. “Severus, did you kidnap these boys?”

“I did no such thing,” Severus argued. “Dumbledore sent them here in the first place. Then Potter’s relatives died and Malfoy expressed concern about returning.”

Alexei and Leif glanced at each other.

“And whose decision was it for them to remain here?” Alexei asked.

“It was made in consultation with the headmaster,” Severus said vaguely.

“And he approves?” Leif said, voicing the disbelief Alexei felt.

Albus Dumbledore was allowing these three in particular to interact freely? That didn’t seem to fit with their roles in the man’s personal agenda. He wasn’t evil by any means, but he also preferred to have control, especially over those that were easily manipulated into being the kind of people he needed in his fight for the ‘greater good’.

“I do not believe his approval or permission was necessary,” Severus said. “As I said earlier, my choices are my own.”

“Right,” Alexei said, stunned.

“Speaking of earlier, I want to apologize, Severus,” Leif said, bringing Severus’ slightly suspicious gaze to him. “There is much we don’t know because, you were right, we weren’t there. However, it goes both ways. You never reached out either.”

Alexei watched Severus’ face harden. “You both made it very clear you did not want me to.”

Alexei sighed. “It was the heat of the moment, Severus. We didn’t mean it.”

“That is precisely when we do mean it,” Severus said, his tone harsh.

“Did you?” Leif countered. “Did you mean what you said to Lily in your heat of the moment?”

Alexei saw the pain briefly flash in the dark eyes. If Severus was still working for Dumbledore, he could only imagine how often his mistakes regarding Lily Evans were held over him. He’d likely never been allowed to heal or move on from her.

“She believed I did,” Severus said shortly.

“Her mistake, just like believing us was yours,” Alexei said. “We never wanted you out of our lives. We wanted you out of this life.”

“It is the life I deserve,” Severus said, draining his remaining wine.

Alexei’s heart hurt and he cursed Dumbledore for convincing Severus his only worth was as a spy and possible—likely—sacrifice.

“We don’t accept that,” Leif said firmly. “There is a lot you don’t know either. Dumbledore likes his secrets, you know that.”

“Unfortunately, there is much we cannot say without disrupting the course that has been set,” Alexei said, wishing with everything he had that they could explain the second prophecy.

“We simply ask that you trust us for now,” Leif said.

“If you trust that I know what I am doing,” Severus said.

“Of course, moy drug,” Alexei said.

“You spoke with Potter and Malfoy?” Severus asked, quickly changing topics.

Alexei nodded. “We did.”

“They are incredible young men,” Leif said, smiling.

“Treat them their age. Neither have had much of a childhood and have been made far older than they should be,” Severus said, causing yet another knowing look to pass between Alexei and Leif that he did not see. “You will work with them?”

“Of course. They are what we’ve been waiting for,” Alexei said.

“A real Aetherion and Elemental,” Leif said. “You have no idea the importance they will have.”

Harry followed Alexei to the backyard, curious about what they would be doing. It had been a couple of days since Alexei and Leif had arrived at Prince Manor. No lessons had been able to take place the previous day as, despite the fact that the men were staying at Prince Manor, they still had their jobs, Leif at the British Ministry of Magic and Alexei at the French Ministry of Magic. Harry hadn’t minded the day to try and comprehend everything before having to dive into his magic. He was filled with confusion about everyone he was now sharing the manor with. He was fairly certain it was relief he felt when he saw Snape at breakfast, seemingly unharmed, though his reaction to the man puzzled him. He was still astounded by how much fun he’d had playing hours of chess with Malfoy the other day. He was startled by the pull he felt towards Alexei and Leif given that they were total strangers and he normally distrusted strangers. Yet, there was a calming, comforting air around the two men that drew him in.

“So, Harry,” Alexei said, pulling Harry’s attention to him as they stopped in the middle of the huge open property. “Severus says you have done some work with your magic already.”

Harry shrugged. “A little, I guess. I’ve used it accidentally and then Snape started teaching us how to access and move it.”

“What happened to cause the accidental use?” Alexei asked.

Harry shifted uncomfortably as he remembered each instance, kicking at the grass. “I was mad or upset and it just…happened.”

Alexei nodded. “Yes, as I said, Elemental Magic is closely tied to our emotions. It will be important to learn emotional and magical control to limit their effect on each other.”

Harry sighed at the repetition of what Snape had been telling him and Malfoy about emotional and mental control in Occlumency lessons. He was using his journal, but he was unsure if it was helping. He didn’t know what he needed or wanted to be able to accept his life.

“Today, we are going to try the movement that Severus began to teach you again,” Alexei told him. “Once you have control over your magic as a whole, we can begin to separate each element.”

“The strands can be separated?” Harry asked, remembering what his Elemental threads looked like. They were all twisted together and moved together.

“They can,” Alexei said, nodding. “You will learn how to draw out the element or elements you want while leaving the others. As you progress, you will learn how to move between elements and combinations in seconds.”

Harry couldn’t help but think how impossible that sounded, particularly for someone like him. “Could…could you show me?” he asked hesitantly, not expecting the vampire to agree. It was how it normally went, leaving him in the dark.

Alexei smiled widely. “Absolutely.”

Harry perked up at the man’s agreement, a burst of happiness and excitement occurring in his chest. He watched as Alexei raised his hands, palms up, and fire burst to life in his palms, glittering red threads swirling around and in the center of it. Harry’s eyes widened as the fire turned into thick ropes that slithered through the man’s fingers and around his wrists before being gathered into flickering balls again. The fire was suddenly lifted into the air and both balls combined only to start swirling and whipping around. Harry watched as the fire came towards him and swirled all around, making him sure the element of air was also being employed. Without thinking, he reached up a hand and the fire-air combination briefly wrapped around his hand. It was an odd sensation. He could feel the warmth of the fire and the air brushed him like a light breeze, but there was also a tingle or spark across his skin where the magic touched. After a few moments, the fire slithered away and grew into a huge fiery wall that hovered above his head. He stared up at it in awe, gaping as the fire began to transform into swirling water. Only seconds after the water took over, it shrunk into ropes again, joined by ropes of fire that twisted and tangled with the water. The threads zipped around, making Harry dance on the spot to keep them in sight. After a minute or two, the fire extinguished and the water sunk into the ground. The final show was a line of leaves that came from nowhere, encircled Harry, and dispersed above him, floating down to the ground around his feet.

“That was incredible!” Harry exclaimed, astonished at Alexei’s skill and control. There was no way he could ever have such power and ability. He wasn’t nearly good enough to have this magic.

Alexei chuckled. “And, one day, you’ll be able to do it too.”

“Doubt it,” Harry said, briefly flashing back to how much of a failure of a wizard he’d been the previous year, especially in the graveyard.

“Do not doubt yourself, rebenok,” Alexei said kindly. “You are capable of far more than you believe and you will see it one day.”

Harry gave a dubious look, but did not respond. He didn’t know how to express his uncertainty, his failure. He also didn’t want to accuse Alexei of wasting his time on Harry. The man seemed excited to have an Elemental to teach and Harry was filled with guilt over how incompetent he was likely to be. He would be an embarrassment to Alexei.

“Would you like to begin?” Alexei asked and Harry nodded. “Good. Now, do as you did with Severus and bring your magic out to your hands. Do not force it. Let it flow as it wants, but guide it.”

Harry nodded and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He found his Elemental Magic easily, loving the way it felt. He pulled on it, encouraging it in the direction he wanted. It left a trail of warmth through his body as it trickled into his hands. He pushed more magic into his hands, feeling it build. The more it built, the jumpier it became and he fought to control it, to keep it in his hands.

“Don’t force it,” Alexei said, his voice sounding far away.

Harry tried to listen, loosening his hold on the power slightly. He thought it was going to settle in his hands, but it became more sporadic. He frowned, feeling his body begin to shake with his magic’s desperation.

“I…I can’t hold it,” Harry said. “It wants to go.”

“Just let it, Harry, let it do what it wants,” Alexei said.

Harry shook his head, his chest tightening and his hands growing hot as he fought his magic. He couldn’t let it go. He couldn’t lose control, not again.

“You can do this, Harry, you just have to trust me,” Alexei said.

Harry shook his head again. He couldn’t risk it. He couldn’t trust himself or anyone. Anytime he trusted someone, he got hurt or he hurt someone or he was left on his own. He was expected to trust blindly and he couldn’t do that, not anymore. He was a danger to everyone, especially with this new power.

“Alright, stop for a minute, Harry,” Alexei said. “Pull the magic back.”

Harry fought to pull his magic back into him, encouraging it back to his core. He opened his eyes with a gasp just in time to see a small ball of fire singe the grass between him and Alexei.

“I…I’m sorry,” Harry said. “I couldn’t control it. It wanted to go somewhere and I couldn’t hold it.”

“It’s alright, but let’s talk about what happened,” Alexei said. “Why did you not want to let your magic go?”

Harry hesitated, not wanting Alexei to know how useless he was. He couldn’t help but wince when Alexei sighed.

“What did I ask of you the other night?” Alexei asked and Harry looked at him anxiously. “Not to keep things from me when I ask. I ask you to trust me.”

“I can’t,” Harry whispered, waiting for Alexei’s anger.

“Why not?” Alexei asked.

“People get hurt when I try to trust anyone,” he admitted, shifting at Alexei’s piercing gaze.

“People get hurt or you do?” Alexei asked gently.

Harry winced at the sting in his chest and dropped his eyes. “Both.”

“What are you afraid of if you trust me on this?” Alexei asked.

“Hurting you, destroying something,” Harry muttered.

“You won’t hurt me and there’s nothing to destroy. Why are you worried about those things?” Alexei asked.

“Get in trouble and…” he trailed off with a small shrug.

“Are you worried we’ll hurt you? That Severus will hurt you?”

“I don’t know. A month ago, I would’ve said yes, but now…” Harry said, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “He’s confusing.”

Alexei chuckled lightly. “Yes, he can be. However, I can assure you, he will not hurt you, nor will I. I am here to teach you.”

“But what if I lose control and hurt you?” Harry asked.

“I am also an Elemental, remember. You will not harm me and, even if you do, I will not be angry. We have spectacular magic, but it is also powerful magic. Accidents may happen, but it is expected as you are learning. I am here to help you, not harm you,” Alexei said.

Harry chewed his lip, still unsure about his abilities and trusting anyone.

“We must have trust in each other,” Alexei said. “Elemental Magic is emotional magic, and trust between us will help you learn control.”

Harry met the blue eyes, feeling the pull to the man he’d felt before. He could see an earnestness in the eyes, a belief in him he’d never felt himself. Could he trust Alexei?

“Can you try again?” Alexei asked.

Harry still didn’t feel like he could do it, but Alexei’s steady gaze encouraged him to continue. He gave a short nod and Alexei smiled.

“Good,” Alexei said. “Try to relax and gather your magic again.”

Harry took another deep breath, closed his eyes, and raised his hands. He gathered his magic and pushed it into his hands quickly, glad there was one thing he wasn’t a complete failure at. He pushed the thought away and focused on his magic. It swirled around his hands calmly before it suddenly tried to dart away, desperate for something. He tensed, holding it tight even as it struggled harder and harder to get away.

“Let it go, rebenok,” Alexei said softly. “You won’t hurt me and I will not hurt you if you do. Trust me, rebenok.”

“Okay,” Harry whispered and he released his magic.

“Let it go where it wants, but keep it on track. Follow it, explore with it,” Alexei instructed.

Harry did so. He could see his magic, the colourful threads floating excitedly through the air. Every now and then a thread tried to break off, but Harry gently kept them together, watching to see where they were going. He was surprised when, after several seconds, he began to see more magic. There was a huge bundle of multicoloured, twisting threads and he realized it was Alexei’s Elemental Magic. Alexei’s magic was brighter, almost sparkling and there were hundreds of threads. Harry could tell these were indications of the man’s power and it was amazing.

He watched as his own threads tangled with Alexei’s, pulsing and darting around happily. He could feel himself shaking slightly again as his magic got more and more excited, and he tried to contain it. He thought finding Alexei’s magic was what his had wanted to find and he was about to try pull his back, when, all of a sudden, it changed.

Some of his threads that had been wrapped up in Alexei’s suddenly tore off in a different direction. He heard a quiet hiss from Alexei and stiffened, his magic jumping erratically.

“I’m fine, Harry, keep going,” Alexei said encouragingly.

Harry fought to keep his magic together as it all left Alexei’s and joined the other threads in their pursuit of what, Harry didn’t know. He held tight but followed his magic, desperately hoping he wasn’t about to lose control. His magic seemed to be going far this time. Soon he began to see more magical threads. They were everywhere. There were multicoloured strands that looked and felt just like his own Elemental Magic, making him frown in confusion. There were also twisted threads of silver and white, and swirling gold with spots of black. All of them were tangled and dancing together, sparkling with power.

His magic rushed to the mass of strings and it was out of his hold. His chest swelled with an intense pressure and he shook, fighting to get his magic back.

“Harry, stop now!” Alexei said loudly.

“I…I can’t!” Harry said and the pressure in his chest released in a blast when he touched his erratic magic.

His eyes snapped open when his exploding magic suddenly stopped as his palms were pushed together. He drew in a deep, harsh breath, his body shuddering. He felt his legs buckle, but was gently lowered to the grass by Alexei who moved his grip from Harry’s hands to his forearms. His breathing was hard and shaky. His magic was back under control, settled within him and his core. His hands felt warm from holding it so intensely for so long.

“I’m…I’m sorry,” he gasped out after several long minutes. “I couldn’t hold it anymore. I lost control.”

“It’s alright,” Alexei said. “You did amazing, beyond what I expected so soon. We’ll keep practicing.”

Despite his exhaustion, Harry still felt a small bead of happiness at the pride he heard in the vampire’s voice.

“I saw your magic. It’s what mine wanted,” Harry said.

“Yes, I felt you,” Alexei said. “Compatible magic searches each other out and you can see magic that is compatible with yours when you focus.”

“There’s other magic all around here,” Harry said, remembering the dancing magic his had rushed towards. “Some of it looks like and feels like mine, and there’s two others, all tangled together. I don’t know how it’s possible. It can’t be my magic. I don’t even know how to use it.”

He looked at Alexei and frowned at the odd flash of knowledge he saw in the blue eyes. The vampire knew something.

“Those are the wards,” Alexei said. “It is your magic. It is also Draco’s and Severus’. All of your magic makes up the wards that protect this place.”

Harry’s forehead creased. “How? I’ve never been here until a month ago and, again, I don’t know how to use my magic. I didn’t even know about it until a month ago.”

He didn’t understand. What was going on?

Alexei said. “I believe this is a conversation for all of us. Come, let’s see if Leif and Draco are done with their lesson.”

Harry watched Alexei rise to his feet smoothly. The vampire held out a hand which Harry took slowly, being pulled carefully to his own feet. He was privately grateful when Alexei kept a gentle hold of him as he wobbled slightly. His head was swimming and his body was shaking. He felt drained and exhausted.

“We will also get you something to eat,” Alexei said as they slowly headed back to the manor.

“Alright, Draco, tell me about the times you’ve used your magic,” Leif said once they were settled in the magic training room.

Draco was slightly startled at the bluntness and implication that he had used his magic intentionally. He crossed his arms over his chest uncomfortably. He really didn’t know what he thought about his magic still. It felt like some cruel, hypocritical joke meant to show him how worthless and lost to the darkness he really was. How could he have Celestial Magic? He doubted he’d ever have control of it; dark cannot control light.

“Draco?” Leif said and Draco realized he’d fallen into his musings.

“Sorry, sir,” Draco said instantly, stiffening automatically as his mind filled in the scenario with his father’s reaction to Draco getting distracted and not answering a question or command. He avoided Leif’s eyes when the man gave him a curious, but knowing look. “I haven’t really used it, just had a couple of accidental moments.”

“Tell me about them,” Leif said.

“I stopped some fire Potter had thrown at me and, during a lesson with Snape, I started draining Potter’s magic,” Draco explained. “I swear I didn’t mean to take his magic.” It was how he knew it was all a mistake. He’d only taint the magic. He could never use it to help or support or protect. He was a Malfoy and a Death Eater prodigy; there was no light in him.

“I know, Draco. It is common when first learning Aether Magic,” Leif said. “Our magic is connected to all magic and naturally wants to find other magic signatures to work with. Finding and identifying other magic is where we will begin, as well as how not to connect to magic when you don’t want to.”

Draco couldn’t help his slight frown. He’d been hesitant to interact with his magic since the day he’d drained Potter. He hadn’t known he’d been doing it and was terrified of doing it again. What if he started draining Snape, or, now, Leif or Alexei? What if he hurt them? Would they hurt him in return or send him back to his father, realizing he would never be anything but an evil Malfoy?

“You are afraid,” Leif said.

Draco bristled at the accusation and its accuracy.

“Tell me, pueri.”

Draco frowned again at the soft tone, having never had anyone speak to him that way. The closest was Snape in the last couple weeks which was no less confusing. He didn’t want to admit he was worried. Fear made you weak. Yet, meeting the light green eyes, he, once again, felt drawn to the immortal. There was something about Leif and Alexei that touched something inside him.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” he found himself saying quietly.

“You are worried about draining someone’s magic?” Leif asked.

Draco nodded, staring down at his feet. “I didn’t know I was doing it before.”

“You will learn,” Leif said. “It is likely you will tap into others’ magic unknowingly, but I am here to help you so it does not go too far.”

“What if Snape…” Draco trailed off, unsure he wanted to vocalize another fear.

Leif tilted his head to the side. Draco shifted uncomfortably under the man’s gaze.

“What if he gets angry?” Draco whispered. “What if I can’t do what you want?”

I couldn’t do what my own father wanted, he said silently to himself.

“No one will be angry at you for learning. Accidents will happen. This is very powerful magic,” Leif said. “No one will harm you.”

Draco looked at Leif sharply. He hadn’t said anything about thinking they’d hurt him.

“Additionally, you will not be harmed or sent away if you struggle. This will be difficult and will take time,” Leif said. “We are not Lucius. He was wrong, not you.”

Draco chewed the inside of his cheek, his mind painfully struggling with the opposing thoughts.

“Remember what I told you the other day?” Leif asked. “Acceptance, truth, and trust.”

Draco remembered, though he struggled. He wanted to be who Leif and even Snape seemed to think he could be, but Lucius wouldn’t let go of him. He always had his father in his head.

“You can do this, pueri,” Leif said gently.

Draco stared into the green eyes and felt his father quiet slightly. He nodded, gaining a smile from Leif.

“Let’s give it a try,” Leif said. “Severus says you know how to bring your magic to your hands.”

Draco nodded again. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. I want you to do that,” Leif said.

Draco took a deep breath and let his eyes close. He dove into himself, searching for his magic. He found his core easily and, for a time, just stared at it, watching all the threads floating around the huge golden core. Amongst the gold were shimmering silver and white strings twisted together and slowly leaving the core. He didn’t interact with or acknowledge his Aether Magic unless told. He didn’t know how he felt about the magic, though a large part of him was uncomfortable with the purity he felt from it. He wasn’t worthy of such magic, not with his blood and name and past actions.

He pushed the apprehension aside for now and gathered the silver and white strands, pushing them to his hands. He may not want to, but he had to do what Leif wanted. He didn’t want to find out what would happen if he disobeyed. He felt his magic building in his hands and, as it did, he began to feel static and pressure and warmth rushing around him, making his magic jump with anticipation.

“Good, Draco,” he heard Leif say, the man’s voice sounding muffled amongst the rushing air. “Now, you’re going to be able to see and feel every source of magic around you, and your magic is going to want to connect to them. Try to just explore and identify the signatures around you.”

Draco didn’t respond, but followed Leif’s instruction. He let his magic leave his hands and, as soon as it did, his consciousness made the magic around him visible. There were colourful, shimmering threads floating and zipping through the air. It was overwhelming, but beautiful. His silver-white threads swirled around threads as they passed, pulsing and sparkling each time and Draco realized that was his magic wanting to connect with the magic it encountered. He remembered what Snape had said about how he would be able to interact with any and all magical sources, even the magic that flowed naturally in the earth.

“Focus,” Leif said suddenly. “I know it is a lot, but try to identify a source.”

While keeping a hold of his magic as it vibrated, wanting desperately to connect, he tried to look at the magic around him. He examined each different type of thread as it passed, trying to wrap his magic around them to see if he could feel anything. There were six distinct threads: thick ropes made of braided colours around a gold center, bronze threads twisted together like a weave, four coloured strands tangled together, gold threads with spots of black, and two types of silver-white tangled threads, one of them brighter and glittering.

He knew the smaller silver-white threads were his and the others were Leif’s. From the last session with Snape and Potter, he knew the threads made of four colours were Potter’s Elemental Magic. The others, he wasn’t sure. He decided to focus on the gold with black spots. As soon as he focused on it, his magic whipped around and wrapped around every gold and black thread it could find. As it did, his magic pulsed and seemed to mix with the golden strands before it suddenly went rushing away from him. He tried to hold it, could feel himself shaking lightly, but it was as though his magic had been amplified and made stronger. Soon he was staring at a huge sphere of swirling gold and black, threads pouring from it. He recognized it immediately as a core and was overcome by feelings of anger, self-hatred, regret, and fear. Underneath he could just barely make out confusion, hope, and affection.

He gasped aloud when his magic ripped away from him towards the core. His magic twisted into almost a loose rope and attached itself to the core. He began to panic when gold and black strands began climbing up his silver-white rope towards him.

“Draco!”

His eyes snapped open and flicked to his hands. His silver-white magic was swirling in his hands, mixed with a few gold-black wisps. He closed his fists and drew in a deep gasp. He was breathing rapidly as he stared at his hands, his magic settled back in him.

“Draco?”

He looked at Leif, his eyes wide and wild. The man seemed calm, but there was a touch of concern in the green eyes.

“I…I think I was draining Snape,” he said quietly, fearful.

“It’s alright, you didn’t mean to,” Leif said calmly. “Severus will not be angry.”

Draco shook his head. He couldn’t control it. He couldn’t use this magic without hurting people. He couldn’t do good. It wasn’t possible for a Malfoy to have anything pure. He tangled his hands in his hair, distressed.

“It’s a mistake,” he whispered.

“What do you mean?” Leif asked and Draco realized the man had gotten closer to him. He shook his head again. He corrupted everything and everyone. Maybe he was like his father.

“This can’t be my magic,” Draco admitted quietly.

“Why not?”

“Because I’ll turn it dark, I’m a Malfoy,” Draco said, his tone heartbroken.

“No, paidí,” Leif said, stepping forward and pulling Draco’s hands from the blonde hair. “That is your name, but I do not believe that is who you are. Magic does not discriminate.”

Draco met Leif’s eyes sadly. “I’m only hurting people. I’m not worth—”

“Enough of that,” Leif interrupted firmly but still gently. “Your magic is doing what it’s meant to, and you will learn control and how to use it to protect.”

“What if I can’t?” Draco asked, doubtful.

“You already have,” Leif said and Draco frowned. “Come. Let’s have some lunch and speak with the others.”

Draco allowed himself to be guided from the room and downstairs to the kitchen.

Severus entered the kitchen behind Leif and Malfoy, finding Alexei and Potter just settling at the table. Potter looked exhausted, Malfoy looked distressed, and both looked confused. He had experienced the effects of both boys’ magic over the last hour and, while startled at their sheer power and the feeling of their magic around him, he was also impressed at what they were capable of. He gave Leif and Alexei a curious glance.

“Would you be so kind as to make these two some lunch, Severus?” Leif asked. “They both expended a lot of energy.”

Severus inclined his head and moved into the kitchen. “And how did training go? I believe I felt some impacts of their magic.” He caught what he thought was a panicked look Malfoy sent Leif and watched the man return a calm stare. He assumed the blonde was likely worried about his reaction. He had felt the draw on his magic and had known instantly it was Malfoy. It had been painful and startling, but also overwhelming and the feel of Malfoy’s magic had been something he’d never experienced before.

“An excellent start,” Alexei said with a smile.

“Indeed,” Leif agreed.

“However, there is something we need to discuss,” Alexei said and Severus looked up from the chicken salad sandwiches he was making with a frown. 

He saw Leif and Alexei glance at each other, adding to his confusion. He waved his hand to send the sandwiches to the table as well as glasses of water for all of them. He joined the others in his normal seat and waited patiently for Alexei or Leif to begin.

“During our session, Harry noticed the wards that surround the property,” Alexei said. “He was able to see the magic that make up the wards.”

“What is the significance of this?” Severus asked, confused.

Leif leaned forward on the table. “The wards are made up of all three of your magics. It is why I mentioned it the day we arrived. I thought you knew.”

“I do not understand,” Severus said. How could his wards have Potter’s and Malfoy’s magic in them? He’d never had them do such a thing nor would they know how on their own.

“Your wards have your magic, Harry’s Elemental Magic, and Draco’s Aether Magic combined,” Leif clarified. “Your magic is compatible.”

Severus frowned at the two boys who looked even more confounded with what Leif and Alexei were saying. “How is it possible that their magic is in my wards? I certainly never had them strengthen the wards.”

“No, you did not. This was something else, magic responding to desire,” Alexei said, and he turned to Potter and Malfoy. “There are some things we cannot tell you, but, the only way this happened was by your magic acting upon intent and deep desire.”

“Before you came here, did either of you wish for something?” Leif asked, also looking between the boys.

Severus moved his gaze to Potter and Malfoy, curious. Neither had spoken of what happened to them at the hands of their abusers to cause their injuries, and he hadn’t found the memories during Occlumency. Potter and Malfoy had stiffened, their eyes wide as they clearly returned to that day. What had happened to them to make them so terrified? What had happened that they all missed until it was nearly too late?

“Harry?” Alexei pushed gently.

Severus met the emerald eyes as they flicked to him, full of trepidation and fear and shame. He kept his expression calm and tried to pass that calm onto Potter. The Gryffindor needed to understand he wouldn’t be judged or ridiculed for anything he revealed. They needed to know how their magic had come to be a part of his wards. Potter must’ve found something in Severus’ face as he looked back at his half-eaten sandwich and seemed to take a deep breath.

“I wanted a home,” the Gryffindor whispered.

Severus tried to ignore the tug he felt in his chest at the boy’s admission and looked at Malfoy when the blonde’s eyes snapped to Potter, wide with apparent disbelief.

“You as well, Mr. Malfoy?” Severus said, gaining a tiny nod as the boy dropped his head with his own shame and embarrassment.

“Your magic responded to your wish and found a place,” Leif said.

“It interpreted your wish the only way it could, by creating a place of safety with compatibility,” Alexei explained. “Your magic combined to create a place where you would each be safe and could possibly see as a home.”

“It is important for you to know that the only way this is possible is because your magic was able to tap into an existing bond,” Leif said. “It doesn’t matter the type of bond, but it does indicate a strength and power the three of you share through this bond.”

Severus couldn’t help the shock that he knew briefly crossed his face, and he gazed at Potter and Malfoy. The teens’ faces were twisted in confusion, obviously lost about the underlying meaning of what Alexei and Leif were telling them. He understood. They had a Life Bond, something that would tie them together for life. It meant their magic could help, support, and protect each other in a way they could do for no other. Their personal feelings toward each other had little impact on such a bond though strong feelings would make the bond and, by extension, their shared power stronger.

“But…what does that mean?” Potter asked.

“What you both went through and the wish you made awakened the bond between you, and your magic sought each other out,” Alexei told him.

“As I said, there are some things we cannot tell you; the course must happen naturally,” Leif said. “However, the three of you, especially together, will form the strongest magical beings in the world.”

Severus was stunned. How could this be?

“Sir, may I be excused?” Potter asked quietly.

Severus looked at the two boys, noting the tightness in their faces and the wild look in their eyes.

“You may,” he said, giving a nod to Malfoy, and watched the teens hurry from the room. His mind spinning, he looked back at Leif and Alexei. Both were serious, but he could see a gleam in both sets of eyes.

Leif broke into a small smile. “I told you. You mean everything, as do they.”

Harry stared blankly at his Transfiguration homework, tapping his quill absently on the parchment. His mind was far away from Transfiguration. It had been a couple of days since Leif and Alexei had explained the…bond that apparently existed between him, Malfoy, and Snape. He couldn’t get it out of his head. It seemed impossible, given their mutual hatred, but he also couldn’t forget what the wards had looked like. The way the magic had tangled together so…familiarly. He’d felt it, the connection that held the magic together. Leif had said it didn’t matter how they felt about each other, but could it all mean something? Leif had said he and Alexei couldn’t tell them everything, so what didn’t they know? Why was it the three of them that had this bond? Why had his and Malfoy’s magic chosen this place when they wished for a home?

Did all three of them need a home? Did their magic believe they would be each other’s home in some way?

“Merlin, Potter, would you stop that?”

He blinked and looked at Malfoy beside him. The Slytherin was also working on summer assignments though was currently glaring at him.

“What?” he said dumbly.

Malfoy just gestured somewhat aggressively at Harry’s quill before turning back to his work, shaking his head.

“Oh, sorry,” he muttered even though the blonde was no longer listening.

He gazed at his assignment, trying to continue. He managed to write a few more words before his mind wandered again.

All three of them had been more on edge, causing a return of the tension in the manor. Snape was more snappish, Malfoy snippy, and Harry irritable. Anything one of them did or said seemed to set off one of the others. It made him doubt what Leif and Alexei had said. How could they have anything resembling a bond? How could their magic have thought this could be a home?

He frowned as he pictured the wards again.

“I told you to stop!”

Harry jumped when his quill was suddenly ripped from his hand and thrown to the floor beyond their desk. He turned angry eyes on Malfoy.

“What the hell are you doing?” Harry demanded.

“You’re being annoying and I’m trying to work,” Malfoy snapped.

“You’re such a prat,” Harry said and he reached out, snatching Malfoy’s quill and throwing it as well to join his on the floor.

“Potter!” Malfoy shouted.

“Typical. Can’t take what you do yourself,” Harry sneered.

“Both of you, shut up and get outside,” Snape snarled from the adjacent table. “Go fly, burn off this energy and stop fighting.”

Harry glared at both Slytherins, but did as he was told. He was still angry, but he was thrilled that he was allowed to fly. He’d hoped Snape would let him eventually, but had assumed it would never happen. It wasn’t like Snape was going out of his way to make them enjoy their time in Prince Manor, only tolerate it. He would take the opportunity before it was taken away.

He grabbed his Firebolt and hurried downstairs. He jogged out the back door and took off on his broom as soon as he cleared the back porch. He zipped around, grinning as the warm air whipped across his face and through his hair. It had been so long since he’d flown since the tournament had cancelled Quidditch the previous year. He didn’t count the First Task since he’d been too preoccupied with the dragon to enjoy the flight.

He circled the property, skimming the wards. He was doing some large, loose loops when he spotted Malfoy join him in the air. The blonde flew past him with a glare that Harry returned while resolving to just ignore the Slytherin. He refused to let Malfoy corrupt one of his favourite activities.

They kept their distance from each other, but Harry found himself still keeping an eye on the blonde. He didn’t trust Malfoy not to try something when he could easily make it look like an accidental fall. How could his magic have believed he would be safe with these two?

He circled up into the air and made more lazy loops. He felt like he needed to know more about the supposed bond. What did it really mean? What did it mean for his newly acquired, strange connection to Voldemort? Was his connection to Voldemort a similar kind of bond?

He sighed, wishing summer was over and he could just escape the confusion that was Snape and Malfoy. He just wanted something to make sense. It had been four weeks of nonstop confusion, even longer if he counted the dreams from the previous year leading up to the graveyard and his scar pain from the last four years.

He came to a stop in the air and hovered, sighing as he gazed at the horizon beyond the iron fencing. He was tired of confusion, tired of trying to figure it out. He didn’t want to figure it all out. He wanted someone else to do it, or, at least, someone else to help him better than his friends could. He glanced at the manor as Snape crossed his mind, making him frown.

He shook his head at himself, clearing his mind and taking off through the air again. He did a loop at the top of his ascent and then dropped into a sharp dive towards the ground. He pushed his Firebolt as fast as he could, watching the ground get closer and closer. As soon as he pinpointed the right moment, he pulled up sharply, letting his toes graze the grass. He was spinning upwards out of his dive when he was sideswiped by Malfoy, knocking him off balance and course. He wobbled for a moment before getting his bearings again. He spun around with an angry glare, finding Malfoy regaining his balance as well.

“Malfoy! What the hell were you doing? Trying to make us crash?” he shouted angrily.

“I thought you needed help!” Malfoy yelled back.

Harry felt an anger rise up in him in the face of his discomfort as Malfoy’s words made him think of the bond. As if he would ever need or want help from Malfoy. Like Snape, Malfoy had done nothing but torment him. He couldn’t believe a word of Malfoy’s excuse that it had all been an act. Malfoy wasn’t capable of helping anyone; that required a conscience.

“Unlike you, I know how to fly!” Harry sniped. “And I don’t need help from the likes of you!”

Malfoy flew over to him so they were in each other’s faces, both red from exertion and anger, eyes flashing.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

In his overwhelmed mind, any moments of civility or understanding between them ceased to exist and Harry snarled at the blonde.

“A Slytherin bastard who can’t stand up to his own father,” he spat.

He watched Malfoy’s eyes harden with hate. “And what about you? Too weak to handle a Muggle.”

“At least my parents loved me.”

“How would you know?”

Harry felt himself become enraged and it rushed through him, making his ears ring and his skin grow hot. He saw nothing but Malfoy’s sneering face. He balled up his hand and flung it through the air, his fist connecting with Malfoy’s cheek. Caught off guard, Malfoy tumbled off his broom and to the ground. Harry gasped when he found himself falling as well, Malfoy having grasped onto his pant leg as he fell.

Harry grunted loudly as the wind was knocked from his lungs and pain radiated through his back. As he laid there, dazed, it occurred to him that they had been fairly high in the air and their impact with the ground had not been nearly as hard as it should have been.

“Malfoy! Potter!”

Harry groaned at Snape’s angry voice. The man must have seen them fighting. Now they were going to get it.

“Get up. Now,” Snape growled.

Harry cracked open his eyes, his vision still swimming from the collision, and peered up at Snape who was towering over him. The man’s face was twisted with fury and he couldn’t help the slight tightening of his stomach with the anxiety he tried to pretend he wasn’t feeling. He knew Snape had told them he wouldn’t hurt them, but, in the face of this rage, Harry couldn’t help but wonder. What would stop him? Nothing had ever stopped Vernon. People just seemed to want to hurt him and, considering how much Snape hated him, he was sure the professor wouldn’t be any different.

“Up!” Snape bellowed when neither he or Malfoy moved.

Harry jumped at the volume and pushed himself up, stumbling to his feet. Malfoy seemed to struggle to do the same beside him. His entire body was beginning to ache and his head was spinning.

“Get inside,” Snape hissed in a dangerously low voice that was just as terrifying as when he was yelling.

Swallowing thickly in the face of Snape’s rage and grimacing at having to move, Harry forced his feet forward, heading towards the manor with Malfoy shuffling alongside him. They got to the door at the same time and glowered at each other, shouldering each other painfully until Malfoy squeezed his way through the door first. Harry wished he could hurt Malfoy just by looking at him. If he could, Malfoy would be dead on the floor.

“Sitting room,” Snape ordered sharply behind them.

They obeyed without question, following the, by this point, well-known path to the sitting room. He hadn’t been exactly comfortable in the manor, but he had managed to feel touches of comfort in some rooms, including the sitting room. In this moment, however, any hints of comfort were non-existent as he and Malfoy walked in, side by side, with Snape haunting them from behind.

“Sit. Down,” Snape ground out.

Harry sat on the sofa, casting a glare at Malfoy when the blonde sat beside him. He used his periphery to track Snape who summoned a chair from the kitchen and placed it in front of them, sitting. He didn’t dare meet the man’s eyes. He kept his gaze straight ahead on a random spot on the carpet, the edge of Snape’s robes just barely in his line of sight.

“Look at me,” Snape demanded.

Harry wanted to refuse, but he wasn’t sure how much further they could push the man. So, clenching his jaw, he raised his eyes and met Snape’s steadily. He did his best not to show any reaction despite the jolt of fear he felt at the flash of pure rage that appeared in Snape’s eyes.

“What in the hell were you two doing out there?” Snape asked, glaring at both of them as he waited for an answer.

“He crashed into me!”

“He punched me!”

Harry and Malfoy had spoken at the same time and turned their glowers on each other when they realized.

“I thought you were falling!”

“I know how to fly, Malfoy!”

“You were being an idiot!”

“I was fine until you crashed into me!”

“You didn’t have to punch me!”

“And you didn’t have to talk about my parents!”

“You talked about mine first!”

“Because you’re a right bastard that—”

“Enough!” Snape roared.

Harry and Malfoy both flinched and fell silent, turning back to the man, though their glares were still in place and their jaws still tight.

“I believe I told you to stop fighting,” Snape said angrily. “Clearly I was mistaken in thinking you could be mature enough to fly in the same airspace for an hour without feeling the need to engage in your childish bickering that I have told you several times I will not tolerate.”

Any argument Harry or Malfoy may have had was silenced with a single look.

“If you are going to act like children, you will be treated as such. You will not go near each other. You will remain in your rooms except when brewing with me or completing homework in the study with me for the next week. Clearly I cannot leave you alone.”

“Sir!” they protested together, appalled.

Harry couldn’t believe this. They were back to being stuck in their rooms? Were they…grounded? He could hardly comprehend the concept, having never had anything like it ever been applied to him. It was something…parents did.

He pushed the thought aside before it caused too much confusion.

It was all Malfoy’s fault. He turned to glare at Malfoy again.

“This is your fault,” he snapped at the blonde who turned to him, outraged.

“As if, Potter! You attacked me! It’s your fault!”

“You—”

“Enough!” Snape roared again.

Harry and Malfoy removed their eyes from each other and dropped their heads, becoming slightly cowed in the face of Snape’s unrelenting rage.

“Get to your rooms, both of you, and stay there,” Snape ordered. “I don’t want to see either of you until dinner.”

His heart pounding with both anger and still fear at what else Snape may deem an appropriate punishment for their behaviour, Harry gingerly pushed off the sofa and made his way up the stairs, Malfoy stomping a few steps behind. He walked down the hall, stopping at the door to his room, his hand on the knob. He glanced at Malfoy as the blonde walked past him and to his own room on the opposite side of the hall. He twisted his face into a responding sneer when Malfoy looked at him and then pushed into his room, nearly slamming the door behind him. He stopped himself, however, assuming a slamming door would not make Snape any happier.

He wanted to fling himself onto his bed, but restrained as his anger receded just enough to allow him to remember the pain he was in. Snape had obviously eased their impact with the ground, but only so they weren’t seriously injured or killed. They had still hit hard, and he was sure his entire back was bruised. He sat carefully, groaning at the throbbing in both his back and head. He hadn’t realized at the time that his head had smacked the ground as well. As he began to relax, the pain really set in and he couldn’t help the tiny whimper that escaped his lips. He was used to excruciating pain, especially during the summers, but it was still hard to deal with considering, for the first time, his days weren’t filled with pain.

He wanted to lay down, but wasn’t sure his back would allow him to. He glanced at his bedside table when he heard a tiny pop and the clink of glass on wood. A small vial had appeared and he instantly recognized the potion inside as Pain Reliever.

A part of him thought to refuse the potion. It was obviously from Snape and he didn’t want the man to think he needed his help or pity in any fashion, the supposed bond flashing through his mind again. However, when his back and head throbbed again so badly it took his breath away, he gave in and grabbed the potion, downing it.

He stayed sitting on the edge of his bed until he felt the potion begin to take effect. The throbbing dulled and he felt able to move once again. He swung his legs up onto the bed and let his head drop onto the pillows, releasing a sigh of relief at the softness that cradled him.

He stared up at the ceiling as his pain dissipated and his anger calmed. As he settled, he found a new emotion replacing the anger.

Guilt.

He found himself regretting what he said, feeling bad for hitting Malfoy, and feeling ashamed for making Snape so angry yet again. He knew he shouldn’t have said what he said; he didn’t even mean or believe it. From the little he knew, there was no way Malfoy was weak for not stopping his father. He couldn’t even imagine the things Lucius Malfoy was capable of. He didn’t even know why he started the fight. It was completely unnecessary and his anger was unjustified. Whether he needed it or not, Malfoy had been willing to try and help him. Even he couldn’t ignore the changes between them that the gesture indicated. Prior to that summer, Malfoy never would’ve even considered helping him. Then there were their moments of civility. The night they’d played chess had actually been fun.

He groaned quietly, rubbing his eyes under his glasses roughly. Malfoy hadn’t deserved any of it. He’d always wanted someone who could understand the things he’d been through and, whether he wanted to admit it or not, Malfoy understood. So did Snape.

So, why wouldn’t he let anything change?

Could Malfoy and Snape change?

Did he want them to?

He sighed, frustrated. He just couldn’t understand anything and he honestly didn’t know what he wanted anymore.

“Mr. Potter, as Alexei is unavailable today, you will be accompanying me to headquarters as requested by the headmaster,” Snape said the next morning.

Harry glanced at the professor and nodded before taking a small bite of eggs. Breakfast was awkward. Harry didn’t know what to do or think or say or feel. He still felt guilty, much to his confusion, but he didn’t know what to do about it. He didn’t understand how he could feel bad about anything related to Snape and Malfoy. It didn’t help that Leif was looking at them all curiously, clearly knowing something had happened, but not knowing what. So, he sat silently, slowly eating while keeping his eyes on his food.

“We will be doing some training while they are gone,” Leif said to Malfoy.

Harry saw Malfoy give his own silent nod of acknowledgement just like his. The grey eyes flicked up and met his unexpectedly. He instantly wanted to glare, but a large part of him just couldn’t muster it up. Instead, they stared at each other for a moment, unsure what they were seeing in the boy across from them, before looking away with frowns.

“Alexei will return tomorrow,” Snape said to Harry as though to assure him his own magical training was not forgotten.

Harry just nodded again, still stuck with the odd twisting in his stomach at how coolly Snape was treating them. It made him realize how different things had actually been and a part of him was uncomfortable having made Snape so angry. He didn’t like the feeling of having Snape pissed at him though he wasn’t sure why. He’d never cared before. He had to admit, it would be nice to get away and be with his friends. At least they made sense and nothing there had changed.

“We will return in a few hours,” Snape told Leif. “Come on, Potter.”

Harry quickly finished his juice and followed the professor to the downstairs study. He took a handful of the powder held out to him and swiftly disappeared through the fireplace. Once spit out the other side, he stumbled as usual and coughed as he inhaled ash by accident. He was startled by the hand on his back and the rush of magic that cleared his lungs. He looked up as the hand disappeared, expecting Sirius or even Dumbledore, but was even more startled to find only Snape sweeping from the room. He frowned, even more confused than he was before.

He followed Snape’s path except, instead of heading to the kitchen, he ascended the stairs in search of his friends. He remembered Ron’s room from last time and pushed his way through the closed door. Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and the twins were scattered around the room, talking quietly. When they noticed him, the conversations stopping, making him frown.

“Harry!” Hermione cried, rushing over to engulf him in a tight hug.

He flinched, but hugged back, hoping she didn’t notice.

“We didn’t know you were coming,” Ginny said.

Harry moved to sit on a desk as Hermione released him, his feet on the chair. “Me neither, until Snape showed up this morning and practically dragged me through the Floo,” he lied. Well, it wasn’t a complete lie, more an embellished truth. He couldn’t imagine trying to explain the truth to them.

“Well, glad you’re here, mate,” Ron said.

Harry smiled. “Thanks. So, what’s been going on? What were you talking about?”

“Not much. It’s been pretty quiet ‘round here since your birthday,” Ron said with a shrug.

“We were just talking about Malfoy,” Fred said.

“The prat’s still missing,” George said.

“We were making bets on what happened to the little ferret,” Ron said with an amused smirk.

“The reigning theories are that he’s now a marked Death Eater and is hiding out, or he’s dead,” Ginny said. “Kind of hoping for that one.”

“Killed by You-Know-Who,” Fred said.

“Or by a Death Eater,” George said.

“Maybe Snape,” Fred said.

“Maybe Lucius,” George said.

“Aw, come on,” Ron said. “Lucius would never hurt his precious ferret.”

“I could see Snape doing it,” Ginny said.

“Come on, we don’t know he’s dead,” Hermione said, unconvincingly disapproving.

“Bloody well hope he is,” Ron muttered, receiving a glare from Hermione and a frown from Harry.

“He’s only fifteen,” Harry said, getting a raised eyebrow from Ron and odd looks from the others.

“And?” Ron said. “After everything he’s done the last four years, it’s no less than he deserves, in my opinion.”

Harry’s frown deepened. “He’s a right prat, sure, but I wouldn’t say he deserves to die because of it.”

All five of them returned his frown, glancing at each other.

“What if he could change?” Harry said, thinking about the moments they’d managed to get along. “What if he could be different? Better?”

Ron scoffed while the others gave him varying looks of disbelief and confusion.

“People like him don’t change, mate,” Ron said. “He’s gearing up to be Daddy’s special Death Eater.”

“Maybe he’s not,” Harry said. “Maybe that’s why he’s gone.”

“I think you’re losing it,” Ron said. “It’s that safe house. No good to be alone that much.”

“But—”

“Ron’s right, Harry,” Ginny said. “This is Malfoy we’re talking about.”

“He is who he is,” Hermione added.

“Right,” Harry mumbled, unsure what else to say as his thoughts raced around. “So, uh, anything else happening?”

“Been lots of talk about the Ministry,” Hermione said. “They’re in an uproar about this whole You-Know-Who business.”

Harry nodded, remembering the various front-page stories of the Prophet speculating about his level of insanity and Dumbledore’s range of control over him and Hogwarts. He was furious that he was being called a liar and the Ministry was refusing to accept Voldemort’s return. He watched Cedric fall and wondered what would have to happen to make the world believe the truth.

“We’ve heard a bit from Dad,” Ron said.

“It’s more than denial,” Fred said.

“Seems something’s happened inside the Ministry,” George said.

Harry frowned. “Like what?”

“No idea,” George said.

“Dad doesn’t know much,” Fred said.

“Heard from an Unspeakable,” George said.

“Something happened in the Department of Mysteries,” Fred said.

“And they’re keeping it quiet,” George said.

“Department of Mysteries?” Harry repeated. “What is that?”

“A department filled with the deepest, darkest secrets of the Ministry and wizarding world,” Ron said.

“So they say,” Ginny said.

“No one but Unspeakables know what’s in there and they’re not allowed to talk about it,” Ron said.

“Hence the name,” Hermione said and Ron nodded.

“Surprised Dad knows,” Ron said.

“If anyone finds out, that Unspeakable is in loads of trouble,” Fred said.

“So is Dad,” George added.

“What would happen?” Harry asked.

“Fired,” Fred said.

“And Obliviated,” George said.

Harry shuddered, remembering Lockhart’s backfired attempt on his and Ron’s minds. “How do you know all of this? I thought they were silencing the meetings?”

“They do,” Ron said.

“Dad’s talked about it at dinner,” Ginny said.

“Guess he doesn’t think it has to be confidential since no one can do anything with the information,” Ron said.

Harry wanted to keep talking about it, but they were interrupted by Mrs. Weasley calling them for lunch. He sighed and followed the others downstairs into the kitchen. He smiled at Sirius and sat to his godfather’s left and looked around the table, finding it fuller than on his birthday.

Dumbledore was at the opposite end of the long table with Snape, Moody, Mr. Weasley, and Bill Weasley. Lupin was across from Harry with the pink-haired woman and Charlie Weasley beside him. On the other side of Ron and Hermione beside him was a large black man and a face he recognized from just weeks earlier: Fleur Delacour, the Triwizard champion from Beauxbatons.

Everyone was engaged in mumbled conversations, some serious, some not based on participants’ facial expressions. He smiled in thanks as Mrs. Weasley gave him a large sandwich and glass of pumpkin juice, patting his shoulder as she did. As he took a bite, his eyes were pulled to the far end of the table again. Dumbledore, Snape, Moody, Bill, and Mr. Weasley were clearly having an intense conversation and Harry thought back to what the twins had said about something happening in the Ministry. He wondered if that’s what they were talking about. Maybe Mr. Weasley knew more than he’d let on to the younger of his children.

As he watched, Dumbledore suddenly looked at him, followed by Snape moments later. Both sets of eyes were piercing, seeming to be searching for something but he felt they were each looking for something different. The stares only lasted a few seconds before Dumbledore said something to Snape, making the man’s face tighten. They both stood, Dumbledore bidding goodbye to the others, before leaving the kitchen together.

“So, how are you kid?”

Harry turned to Sirius as his godfather broke his preoccupation. He couldn’t help but notice that Sirius seemed to be a bit drawn, his face tight and little light in his eyes. He figured being locked inside after twelve years of imprisonment was likely taking its toll on the man.

“I’m alright,” Harry said. “Glad to get out of the house a bit.”

“I tried to get Dumbledore to let you stay here so you weren’t all alone in that safe house, but this place isn’t good enough apparently,” Sirius said, sounding bitter.

“It’s alright, Sirius,” Harry said. “It’s been a better summer than it usually is.”

Sirius laughed. “I feel that. My summers were pretty awful too.”

“You said you ran away, lived with my dad,” Harry said.

Sirius nodded. “I couldn’t take my family anymore. not that I really considered them family. The Potters were my true family. They took me in like it was nothing, took care of me in all the ways no one ever had before.”

Harry glanced at where Snape had been sitting, Sirius’ words making him think of the last month with the professor. His eyebrows furrowed slightly.

“I have to admit, though, James was insufferable,” Sirius said. “On and on about Lily. Nearly hexed him.”

Harry grinned. “Did she like him?”

Sirius barked another laugh. “Not even a little bit. He was too cocky and pigheaded for her. Plus, she was still ‘friends’ with Snivellus until fifth year so she was a bit brainwashed until then.”

Harry’s smiled faded. “What happened?”

“He was awful to her, but it did make her realize what he really is,” Sirius said. “She completely cut him off after that, wouldn’t listen to a thing he said. For the best, really. She started dating James about a year later. Think that really set Snape off.”

Harry frowned. “Did you and my dad talk to Snape much since he was friends with my mum?”

“I wouldn’t say we talked,” Sirius said. “Pranked him loads though. It was hilarious. I’ll have to tell you some. Maybe you could use them on Malfoy, if he’s still alive anyway. No great shame if he’s not. Got enough Death Eaters pretending to play both sides.”

Harry took a bite of his sandwich to avoid having to say anything. Each time Snape and Malfoy had been mentioned, his stomach clenched, and it was made worse at the hate spewed at them. He knew only weeks ago he would’ve been participating in the hate, but, now, he couldn’t do it. He knew the two Slytherins in a way his friends and godfather didn’t and it was changing them in his eyes, and changing him. His world looked different now and it was changing more and more every day.

“Albus, I have told you I’m through having this discussion,” Severus said as he entered the study with the headmaster.

“You know what the disturbance in the Ministry means,” Dumbledore said. “The power to defeat Voldemort has awakened in Harry and it has activated the prophecy. He must be trained.”

“He is being trained. He and Mr. Malfoy began a few days ago,” Severus said.

“With who?” Dumbledore asked.

Severus crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. “You know perfectly well who. They are the only natural masters in the world.”

“A vampire known to go rogue and an immortal with no loyalties to speak of?” Dumbledore said. “I cannot allow Harry to be trained by such a person, not when our world lays on him.”

Severus glared. “That is a mistake you made. I’ve said it before, Potter is not a soldier to train and send to slaughter. He is a boy.”

“I am not the one that marked him,” Dumbledore said.

“No, but you are contributing to the belief that it means something,” Severus said.

“He is connected to Voldemort in a way no one else is,” Dumbledore said.

“Magical compatibility that morphed into a Mind Link due to the Resurrection Ritual, I would assume,” Severus said. “If you want Potter to be strong enough to fight the Dark Lord, no need to fear. Alexei can train him to be strong enough. However, he will not be sent to fight a battle that is ours to fight.”

“That is not how Voldemort sees it,” Dumbledore said.

“And we are to let him dictate our actions?” Severus said dryly.

“Voldemort is gaining power quickly, Severus. Harry must be ready.”

“To survive, not fight,” Severus said shortly.

Dumbledore gave him a searching look. “Not so long ago you did not defend Harry so fiercely.”

“Not so long ago I knew nothing but lies of my own making about the boy, lies you did nothing to disprove,” Severus said, eyes narrowing.

“Have you come to care for him?”

Severus hesitated for a fraction. “I am uncertain, but I know I will not allow him to be your sacrifice in the war you helped create.”

“You are playing a dangerous game that could risk both of you.”

“I was unaware I ever stopped being at risk,” Severus said with a slight sneer.

Dumbledore sighed. “He must fulfil the prophecy.”

“Prophecies go unfulfilled all the time,” Severus said with a hint of irritation.

“Voldemort will not stop hunting him.”

“Then we help him in the fight, not abandon him to it.”

Severus glared at the headmaster, frustrated with his obsession with the prophecy. He’d told the truth; he didn’t know how he felt about Potter or Malfoy. The only things he knew was that he did not feel the same way he did in June and he refused to leave them in Dumbledore’s plans. Dumbledore was concerned about his ‘greater good’, not two hurt and lost fifteen-year-old boys.

“Albus, I will not have this discussion again. I will not have my choices questioned,” Severus said.

“I am afraid we will have to discuss it at least once more for you are only their unofficial guardian for the summer. Come their return to Hogwarts, Mr. Malfoy’s care reverts to Lucius and Harry to me,” Dumbledore.

“Why send them to me in the first place if you did not want us involved?” Severus asked, ignoring the odd pull in his chest at Dumbledore’s veiled threat.

“I never believed anything would change. You were the one I believed would remain firm in your role and that would keep everything on track.”

“Why would that matter?”

“We all have roles to play and some of those roles are not meant to crossover.”

Severus couldn't help how his glare hardened. “They are fifteen.”

“Yes, the same age when I lost you. I hoped to avoid repeating the past,” Dumbledore said, an air of sadness and regret oozing from the words.

Severus' lip curled at the jab. “You were on track to do just that from what I have seen.”

“Perhaps,” Dumbledore said. “Take what redemption you can from this. Come September first, it ends.”

Severus didn’t know how to respond so he just glared, wondering when Dumbledore had become a stranger to him. He watched the headmaster begin to leave only to meet Potter in the doorway. Severus’ eyes narrowed at the boy’s sudden appearance.

“Ah, Harry,” Dumbledore said in a cheerful tone that was the complete opposite to how he’d been speaking to Severus. “I hope you enjoyed your visit. How has your stay with Professor Snape been?”

Potter seemed caught off guard. “Uh, alright, I suppose.”

“Excellent,” Dumbledore said. “Don’t you worry. Just a little over two more weeks and then you’ll be back at Hogwarts.”

“Yeah, can’t wait,” Potter said though Severus couldn’t help but notice the distinct lack of enthusiasm in the boy’s words.

Dumbledore smiled at Potter, but it faltered when he looked back at Severus before he left the study. Severus sighed and looked at the frowning Potter. He didn’t seem to be overly joyful considering he got to spend a few hours with his friends and the mutt.

“Eavesdropping, Potter?” Severus said, smirking slightly as the green eyes widened comically.

“No, sir, I swear, I didn’t hear anything,” Potter said quickly.

Severus raised an eyebrow. “Are you certain?”

Potter flushed lightly. “Okay, maybe the very end, but not on purpose. I was looking for you.”

“Oh?”

“I was hoping we could go back to the manor,” Potter said, surprising Severus. “I’m not feeling great.”

“Are you unwell?”

“No, I don’t think so. Just…I don’t know, stress or something maybe,” Potter said with a small shrug.

“Very well,” Severus said and he led Potter through the Floo.

He watched the boy carefully, remembering the state he’d found Potter in upon their arrival at Grimmauld Place. Aside from a stumble accompanied by a quiet curse that made Severus’ lips twitch, the return trip was uneventful.

“Would you like to do an Occlumency lesson?” Severus asked.

“Not really, but fine,” Potter said and Severus smirked at him.

He lightly pushed Potter’s shoulder to make him lead the way to the upstairs study. Neither Potter or Malfoy had made much progress in Occlumency. Malfoy was one step ahead of Potter, able to eventually replace a memory with inconsequential ones, but only after several attempts. Potter got lost in his memories easily and lost all control, only managing to eventually blast Severus from his mind using magic. Severus was beginning to wonder if he should develop a different approach with the Gryffindor. He set up the usual chair for Potter and stood facing him.

“Take a minute or two to get your mind in order. Let everything flow normally with important memories concealed amongst the ordinary,” Severus instructed and watched Potter close his eyes, taking deep breaths.

Despite the lack of progress, he was impressed at the effort both boys had put into the lessons. He waited until Potter opened his eyes and gave him a nod. He pulled his wand and pointed it at Potter.

“Legilimens,” he said and easily entered Potter’s mind. The Gryffindor had a chaotic mind, loud and scattered. While his memories and thoughts did fly in large circles, often there were memories or thoughts that succeeded in breaking away, typically followed by several others. He dove into the mess, quickly finding a memory of his Muggle relatives. He’d seen a few of them, and every one set him on fire and pulled at the abused boy inside of him. This was no different as he watched a young Potter of about eight get beat with a belt for daring to drink from the garden hose after being kept outside all day in the blaring sun. He was wrenched from Potter’s mind by a blast of power that made him take a step back.

Potter was hunched over in the chair, his face buried in his hands. Severus gave him a moment to compose himself, watching him sit back up.

“Have you been using your journal?” Severus asked casually, knowing better than to push Potter about his abuse. The boy had no interest in opening up to him and he still honestly had no idea how to deal with abused children.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good,” Severus said. “Again.”

Potter nodded and sat up straight, meeting his eyes.

“Legilimens.”

Potter struggled not to think of the things he needed to keep hidden. He’d been coming to realize that it was just how Potter was. He was desperate to understand which kept the thoughts and memories at the forefront of his mind. The boy was always thinking, haunted by what had hurt him and why. It was another reason the boy was struggling with Occlumency.

He bounced between two memories—the graveyard and Potter’s dream of the strange door—before he was thrown from the teen’s mind again.

“Ugh, I can’t do this,” Potter said, clearly frustrated as he massaged his no doubt aching head.

“What do you think of while I am in your mind?” Severus asked, wondering what other approach he could take.

Potter dropped his hands, but stayed leaning on his knees. “It changes. I try to just let everything look normal, but then I feel you looking and I guess I panic so I start thinking about hiding what I don’t want you to see. Then I know that’s not what I’m supposed to do, but it’s too late so then I just want you out, but I get…stuck for a while before I can do anything, just like in the memories. I always freeze.”

Severus nodded, understanding. “Do you think of any spell or magic specifically to force me out?”

Potter shook his head. “No, but I feel the same pressure in my chest that I’ve felt when I accidentally used my Elemental Magic.”

Severus looked at him sharply. It was Air Magic forcing him from the boy’s mind? Could Elemental and Mind Magic be used together?

“One more time, Potter,” Severus said. “However, this time, I want you to choose an element and follow me as I search your mind. Do what feels natural with it.”

Potter frowned, but nodded and sat back up. Severus gave him a moment again while he himself wondered what to expect. If this worked, he would have to talk to Alexei.

“Ready?” he asked when Potter looked at him.

“I think so.”

“Legilimens.”

Upon entering, Potter’s mind looked the same so he started searching. He reached out for one that looked promising, but let it go when it felt like he’d been burned. Curious, he tried again, pulling at another memory. This one he got playing and found it was the fight Potter and Malfoy had had the other day while flying. He was surprised at the terrible things they’d both said to each other, but was even more surprised at the guilt he felt encircling the memory. It had just gotten to when Potter and Malfoy sat on the sofa when flames began to lick their way up the memory, engulfing it before a blast of air sent it flying away. He pulled out of Potter’s mind.

He stared at Potter in wonder. He’d never heard of Elemental Magic being used to accomplish Mind Magic. It still needed a lot of work, but Potter had succeeded. Potter had accomplished Occlumency, however briefly. He summoned a Pain Reliever and handed it to the boy who was breathing heavily. Using his Elemental Magic to accomplish Occlumency was clearly draining. They would need Alexei’s guidance.

“Congratulations, Mr. Potter. You managed to occlude though in quite an unorthodox way,” Severus said with a small smirk.

“Well, that’s me, I suppose,” Potter said, almost flippantly. “Normal’s not really on the table.”

Severus’ smirk grew larger and he raised an eyebrow, amused. He grew curious when the Gryffindor began to fidget, a frown on his face.

“Professor, I…I wanted to…apologize for the other day, the fight with Malfoy,” Potter said awkwardly, surprising Severus again.

“It is not me to whom you should be apologizing,” Severus said, remembering what he’d seen, both himself that day and in the boy’s memory.

“I know, but I do need to. Apologize to you that is,” Potter said. “For fighting with Malfoy when you told us to stop and for making you so angry. Surprised you didn’t…”

“Didn’t what? Hit you?” Severus said with a slight growl at the mere idea as the boy trailed off.

Potter looked at him from beneath his fringe, clearly afraid of getting in trouble for the thought. “Or sent us away. I know you said you wouldn’t do either of those things, but…people say a lot of things.”

Severus sighed, cursing Muggles, Malfoys, and headmasters. “I suppose they do, but I do not just ‘say things’. I will not hit you, nor will I send you away.”

“Probably would’ve deserved it,” Potter said. “I did punch him off a broom.”

Severus’ lips twitched at Potter’s blunt description. “Indeed you did. However, even that does not mean you deserve to be harmed or sent away. Besides, I trust your impact with the ground and that guilt I felt in your mind have been punishment enough.”

Potter gave a half-smile. “Yes, sir.”

“Go rest for a bit before dinner,” Severus said and watched Potter nod before leaving the study. As Potter left, Dumbledore’s words echoed in his head.

Come September first, it ends.

Draco walked towards the glowing orb in the distance, determined to get it this time. He’d failed a dozen times; he wouldn’t fail again. Whatever it was belonged to him and he had to get it. He had no idea where he was, but it didn’t matter, not as long as he reached the glow.

He went to start jogging, but stopped and spun around, staring into the dark that surrounded him. Something had changed. He wasn’t alone anymore. He continued turning, trying to see through the thick black that surrounded him. All he heard was his own breathing, sounding harsher than it was.

He turned back to the glow and started towards it once again, jogging to reach it quicker. He felt his heart pound harder and harder as he ran, realizing the glow didn’t seem to be getting any closer.

He stopped suddenly when a familiar sound echoed through the dark. His heart beat faster with fear as he listened to the clunk he knew belonged to his father’s cane. He spun in the dark again, desperate to find Lucius before Lucius could find him. He couldn’t go through it again, not anymore. His hand came up to his sternum, running down the long scar that lay there.

He turned only to scream as the Cruciatus tore through his body. He fell to his knees and whimpered as his father’s wand ran down his sternum, reopening the wound that was nothing but years of painful scar tissue. He cried out, wishing it would stop, that he could finally escape.

What felt like a hand landed on his shoulder and he was going to pull away until he realized the pain had stopped. He looked to his left. He couldn’t see anything, but he could feel a presence next to him. There was strong familiarity and a wave of comfort that made him relax. It allowed him to realize the glow he’d been fighting to get to was right in front of him. It was just a glowing sphere, but he knew it was for him.

It pulsed and he was startled when he heard a whisper.

“A bond for the ages…”

He frowned and reached out a hand, wanting to grasp whatever it was. As his fingers got close, the glow disappeared and the sound of shattering glass made him jerk awake.

Draco sat up in bed with a startled gasp. His eyes darted around, confirming he was in his room at Prince Manor and he had knocked his glass of water onto the floor. He sighed at the water and broken glass, and grabbed his wand.

“Reparo. Evanesco,” he muttered, placing the glass back on the bedside table. He stared at it for a few seconds, trying to calm his heart and breathing, before running a hand through his normally perfect but currently messy hair.

He’d had the same dream at least a dozen times that summer. He was in the dark, though he could tell something like shelves filled the space around him, he just couldn’t see them. There was a glowing orb in the distance and he tried to get to it, but he never could. It always ended with Lucius torturing him though he couldn’t see his father. It was always the same…except this time. Someone else was there, had saved him from Lucius and helped him get to the orb though he still had no idea what it was. It was the first time it had changed. He absently touched his scar as it stung with ghosting pain.

Shaking his head, he threw his blanket off and slipped out of bed. He left his room, looking anxiously at Snape’s door. It wasn’t the first time he was wandering at night and he had yet to get in trouble for doing so, but it didn’t stop him from worrying especially considering how angry they’d made the man the other day from their fight. He was sure there was nothing stopping Snape from hurting them or getting rid of them now. He couldn’t expect much else when even his own father did such things to him. Why would his professor keep him or refrain from hurting him when his father had no qualms about either?

He kept his steps light as he passed Snape’s room and headed to the library. He cracked the one of the double doors just enough to fit through, closing it gently behind him. He just barely contained his jump when he realized Potter was also there, sitting on the floor at the coffee table and very slowly setting up the chessboard. The room and Potter were lightly illuminated by the moonlight, allowing him to see the tightness in the Gryffindor’s face. The other boy had obviously had a nightmare as well.

He felt awkward being there with Potter. He’d felt…off since their fight. It had been different than their other fights. Normally, he remained angry, fuelling his hatred. This time, though, he felt…well, he wasn’t sure what, but he thought it might be guilt. He didn’t like how things were between them, tense and unsure. It made him want a repeat of their day of chess or almost-fun brewing session. He didn’t know what was becoming of their relationship, but it was definitely changing and, if he allowed himself to admit it, he didn’t mind the changes. They weren’t friends, he wasn’t sure he liked Potter, but there was…an understanding that he’d never had before. For the first time ever, he didn’t feel like he had to be Draco Malfoy. With Snape and Potter, it felt like he could be Draco, though he was still learning what that entailed.

“Want to play?” Potter asked quietly, the question sounding loud in the heavy silence.

Draco was surprised by the offer, but nodded and moved to join Potter on the floor on the opposite side of the coffee table. He watched the Gryffindor finish setting up the board before turning it so Draco had the white pieces. He looked at Potter in question.

“I was white in our last game,” Potter said. “I still lost so first move advantage clearly didn’t benefit me.”

Draco felt his lips twitch as he moved a pawn. “You’re getting better.”

“High praise,” Potter said lightly. “You should play Ron.”

His sneer was automatic.

“I know you don’t like him, but he’s a really good player,” Potter said, moving a knight. “He’d actually give you a challenge.”

Draco moved a bishop. “Like I said, you’re getting better.” He could hardly believe he wanted to play with Potter, no need to push his insanity to include Weasleys.

They each made a few moves in silence, Draco taking a pawn and a rook much to Potter’s chagrin. Despite the losses, Potter was clearly learning small strategies that had been absent just a few games before.

“Hey, um, I…I wanted to say…sorry,” Potter said, “for the other day.”

Draco looked at the Gryffindor across the board in slight shock. He never expected Potter to apologize for the fight. Even he hadn’t been sure if he would ever apologize despite the odd guilt he’d been feeling.

“I shouldn’t have hit you or said anything about your father,” Potter said, furthering Draco’s shock.

“Well, there is a lot to be said about him,” Draco said dryly, unsure what to do with Potter’s apology.

“True, but not what I said. I shouldn’t have said anything, not when I’m no better, not when I get it,” Potter said.

“I shouldn’t have said anything either, same reasons,” Draco said, remembering his horrible comments about the Muggles and Potter’s parents.

“Truce?” Potter said, moving a bishop. “At least on the home-family stuff?”

Draco moved a knight and stared at Potter. He never wanted anyone to know the truth about his life, but Potter and Snape knew, nothing to be done about it now. Instead of horror that they knew, it had settled into acceptance and even relief because they knew, they understood. They all had very similar lives with the only difference being that Potter had no parents instead of being harmed by them.

What was worse? Losing and never knowing parents you knew loved you, or having parents that despised and hurt you?

Draco nodded. “Truce.” He moved a rook and smirked. “Check.”

Potter cursed and he watched, amused, as the Gryffindor fought to save his king. They played quietly for a time as Draco chased Potter around the board, picking off his pieces one by one, though Potter did manage to get a few of Draco’s pieces as well. An ease settled on them again, much to Draco’s secret delight. He enjoyed having someone around, even if it was Potter. He was beginning to see that there could be worse people to spend his summer with than Potter and Snape.

“I heard Snape and Dumbledore talking at headquarters today, well, yesterday, I guess,” Potter said.

“About what?” Draco asked, protecting his king from Potter’s surprise move that put him in check.

“Us again,” Potter said and Draco felt his body stiffen. They both knew the headmaster wasn’t thrilled about their extended stay with Snape. Draco was just waiting for Dumbledore to drag him back to Malfoy Manor or for Snape to finally listen to the old man and send him off. He didn’t want to go back and, more than that, he was discovering he didn’t want to leave.

“I only got the end of it,” Potter said, frowning at his lost knight. “Dumbledore said something about Snape getting redemption and that ‘it ends’ on September first. Neither of them looked very happy.”

“Not that Snape ever does,” Draco said, moving his king.

Potter hummed in agreement.

“Obviously Dumbledore meant us staying with Snape ends when school starts,” Draco said.

“Yeah, probably,” Potter said, moving his remaining bishop. “Just seemed like it meant more than that. Plus, what is Snape getting redemption for?”

Draco shrugged, taking Potter’s bishop. “He is an arse, but I guess that’s not quite enough to require redemption. Maybe something from a long time ago, from the first war, maybe?”

“Maybe,” Potter hummed, muttering to himself as he was checked once again. “You know, I’m not sure I want this summer to end.”

Draco glanced at the Gryffindor. “Yeah, me neither.” He moved his queen. “Checkmate.”

Come September first, it ends.

“Barlow,” Leif called, walking down the black stone, ornate corridor. He approached the man standing in front of the unusual door, the man wearing solid black, Ministry official robes.

“Marcus,” Barlow said, his hands clasped in front of him, wand in one. “What can I do for you?”

“The disturbance, was it in the Hall of Prophecies?” Leif asked.

“You know I can’t tell you,” Barlow said.

Leif’s eyes narrowed. “And I know you’ve already told.”

Barlow stiffened, staring at Leif.

“So, unless you want Wimbeldon to know you’re not the best Unspeakable, tell me what happened,” Leif threatened, his eyes hard.

“Yeah, it was the Hall of Prophecies,” Barlow said, his eyes darting around behind Leif in case anyone saw them. “A prophecy—one that no one has ever seen there before, by the way—lit up and magic has started leaking from it. No one can get near it. There’s like a barrier and the magic attacks anyone who tries.”

“An activated prophecy?” Leif said.

Barlow nodded. “Seems like, though no one’s ever seen a prophecy do this.”

“Keep me updated, Barlow. I want to know what’s going on with that prophecy,” Leif said.

“Yes, sir,” Barlow said, giving Leif a slight glare.

With another hard look, Leif turned and left the corridor. He turned a corner and found himself face to face with Dumbledore. He cleared his expression despite the anger he felt towards the headmaster.

“Ah, Mr. Marcus, just who I was looking for,” Dumbledore said.

“Is that so?” Leif said, raising an eyebrow.

“I was hoping for some records,” Dumbledore said.

“On what?”

“Life Bonds, all that have existed.”

Leif’s eyes narrowed, a desire to protect rising up in him. “An acquisition request is required to access such records.”

“Of course, of course,” Dumbledore said. “Is there no way around?”

“I’m afraid not,” Leif said shortly. “Ministry policy, you understand.”

“Yes, of course,” Dumbledore said. “Perhaps you can help me. What can happen if a Life Bond is interrupted?”

“It depends on what stage it is in,” Leif said.

“Are there any new bonds in the records?”

Leif just stared at the headmaster, refusing to give the man any confirmation about Severus, Harry, and Draco. He could feel Dumbledore’s attempts to use Legilimency and instantly blocked the man, glaring.

“I will make that acquisition request,” Dumbledore said.

“You do that,” Leif said.

“I hope you understand, Mr. Marcus, that, come September first, your services will no longer be required, as with Mr. Romanov,” Dumbledore said.

“We will see,” Leif said. “Good day, Albus.”

“They are not what you think or want them to be,” Dumbledore said.

“As a matter of fact, I think that’s exactly who they are,” Leif said. “Now, good day, Albus.”

The headmaster inclined his head and Leif watched the man leave. Feeling a muscle in his jaw twitch, he headed for the lift to return to his office on Level Ten. He walked down the long, marble-style corridor and through the gold iron gate that stood as the entrance to the Archives after touching his wand to a smooth plate of golden iron. The bars shifted enough to allow him through, returning to normal upon his entrance.

He glanced at the podium where parchments were moving around and a quill scrawled quickly over each of them. A few acquisition requests, a few returns, and the last week of Daily Prophets being archived. He touched his wand to the requests and watched them fly deep into the shelves and cabinets that filled the room from top to bottom. He waited a few moments before the requests, now rolled up, returned. They unrolled and he examined the received documents, ensuring they matched the request and were going to the correct people. He also made sure there was nothing suspicious about who was requesting what.

Satisfied, he waved his wand again and the requests rolled back up with the documents before sliding into long glass cylinders that had appeared. Once sealed, they disappeared with pops, leaving behind small slips of parchment with details for him for tracking.

He turned to his right and walked along the closest box-filled shelves to a door in the corner. He pushed through into his office, instantly moving to sit behind his messy desk. He looked across it at Alexei on the deep red sofa, his feet propped on the coffee table as he perused a few documents.

“The prophecy is activated,” Leif said.

“So is the bond,” Alexei said, floating the parchments he held over to Leif.

Leif scanned them quickly, noting the ‘In Development’ glowing green. He put the pages down with a sigh. “Dumbledore suspects a Life Bond and wants to interfere.”

“If he does?”

“Harry and Draco will lose control of their magic. Severus is their grounding point now,” Leif said. “Not to mention the pain of forced separation. It has to be by choice.”

“Do you think he will try?” Alexei asked.

Leif nodded. “He said we won’t be needed come September first.”

“Their return to Hogwarts,” Alexei said gravely, making Leif nod again. “What happens when they go back?”

“It depends on what this becomes,” Leif said, turning his gaze and drawing Alexei’s to a floating parchment that was glowing white with blue swirls. It had been there for a couple of weeks.

“What is it?” Alexei asked.

“I have a theory.”

“If you’re right?”

“Then Dumbledore won’t be able to do a thing to them.”

“Lucius,” he hissed and watched as one of many masked figures left the circle and knelt before him. He waved his wand to remove the mask and look into the man’s face. “You continue to fail me.”

“Apologies, my lord,” Lucius said, keeping his head bowed. “If I could have some more time—”

He growled and slashed his wand through the air. He watched with a snarl as Lucius writhed though, impressively, he did stay on his knees and released little more than a quiet moan of pain. He ended the curse.

“You have had nothing but time!” he yelled. “I was unaware it was so difficult to find a tracked fifteen-year-old with no place to go.”

He gazed at his Inner Circle, anger at the loss of his prized prodigy roiling inside him. He met dark eyes through another mask.

“Severus, come,” he snapped and another of his beloved Death Eaters stepped forward, standing beside Lucius.

“My lord,” Snape said, bowing his head.

“What news from the Order about Draco?” he asked. The boy got help from somewhere.

“Nothing, my lord,” Snape said.

He roared and slashed his wand at Snape. He saw the body shake violently before the man dropped to his knees. Only then did he lift the curse.

“Does Dumbledore doubt you?” he asked, ready to strike the man dead if his position as a spy had become compromised.

“No, my lord. The disappearance of Draco Malfoy has been deemed unimportant. They are assuming him Marked or dead,” Snape said.

He hummed, stroking his wand as he stared down at his two most loyal and valuable. However, as he gazed at Lucius, he wondered. The boy was gone and, if he were not found, he was unsure how much use Lucius could offer him. His position in the Ministry was tenuous these days and it was truly Draco he wanted. The boy was going to be his best aside from Snape. Draco was to be the face of the next generation of Death Eaters.

“Due to how valuable Draco is, I am giving you one last chance, Lucius,” he said.

“You are too kind, my lord,” Lucius said.

“Students return to Hogwarts in just over two weeks. If Draco shows up there, he will be out of reach, hidden behind blasted Dumbledore,” he said. “This cannot happen. Two weeks, Lucius. If you do not find Draco and bring him to me by September first, the consequences will be severe.”

“Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord,” Lucius said.

“And, Severus.” He turned to the other, quickly casting a short, but powerful Cruciatus. “If you cannot provide information from the Order about Draco or Harry Potter by September first, you will face similar consequences.”

“Understood, my lord.”

“Disappointments,” he hissed and whipped his wand at the two men, watching with satisfaction as Lucius let out a small scream as he hunched over and as Severus had to place his hands on the ground to stay up as his body trembled. However, as usual, Severus released no sound, an aspect that always impressed him.

“My lord, there is one more thing,” Lucius gasped out as he ended the curse.

“What?” he snapped, growing impatient.

“A disturbance has occurred within the Ministry, in the Department of Mysteries,” Lucius said.

“Is that so?” he drawled, intrigued. “And what was this disturbance?”

“Unclear, my lord. The Unspeakables are holding their tongues,” Lucius said.

“Then loosen them,” he hissed. “I will not lose the prophecy.”

“Yes, my lord,” Lucius said.

“You are dismissed. You had both best return with something of substance,” he said.

Both inclined their heads before getting shakily to their feet and leaving.

Harry bolted up, a scream caught in his throat. Pain was radiating through his head and his scar burning. He shook with the effects of the vision and he sobbed at what he’d done. He felt hands grasping his arms and struggled, wanting away from yet someone else he could hurt.

“Harry! Harry, it’s Alexei, you’re alright!”

He managed to recognize the voice and his eyes flew open. He found Alexei through vision blurred by tears, pain, and missing glasses. He brought his hands up to hold onto Alexei’s forearms, needing to know he was back, that he wasn’t there with the Death Eaters anymore.

“Harry, take a breath, rebenok,” Alexei said.

“S…Snape,” Harry gasped out, trying to do what Alexei said while consumed with fear over how he’d hurt the professor.

“He’s not back yet,” Alexei said, the news making Harry sob again. “Does he give you anything when you have these dreams?”

“P…Pain Reliever,” Harry said. “He…he hasn’t made the other one yet.”

He felt one of Alexei’s hands move, but couldn’t make himself release the vampire. He needed the contact and Snape wasn’t there. He was far too distraught to comprehend that he wanted Snape there. All he knew was that Snape had been there after almost every nightmare and vision, becoming a presence he’d never had before, and it was all he wanted right then.

He quickly downed the potion Alexei handed him and waited for it to take the edge off. It wouldn’t completely rid him of pain, but it would make it bearable. As it eased slightly, he released his crushing grip on Alexei’s arms and collapsed against his pillows.

“Harry?” Alexei said and he met the blue eyes, finding them full of worry.

“Th…there’s a deadline,” Harry said, breathing hard. “To…to find Malfoy. September first.”

“Your return to Hogwarts,” Alexei said.

Harry nodded. “I…I hurt him. S…Snape, I…I tortured him,” he gasped out, tears streaming down his face as he remembered seeing Snape’s pain and the joy he’d felt at causing it.

“No, no, it wasn’t you,” Alexei said. “You just saw it.”

“But it felt like me!” Harry said desperately. “What is it? Why is it happening?”

“From what I understand, it is magical compatibility and a Blood Bond,” Alexei said.

“Like me, Snape, and Malfoy?” Harry asked.

“The compatibility, yes, but it is a different kind of bond. What you three have is about protection. Voldemort used your blood to return which created the connection between you. Blood Bonds are about control,” Alexei explained.

“What does that mean for me?” Harry asked, terrified by the concept.

“This mind connection, for one,” Alexei said. “It is also possible that, if you were to come into close proximity, the bond and your magical compatibility could be used for bodily possession.”

Harry felt a ball of dread settle in his stomach.

“Your Life Bond can protect you as well against such a thing,” Alexei said. “They are opposing bonds.”

Harry said nothing, unable to accept what he’d learned. He wondered if Dumbledore knew and, if he did, why he didn’t tell Harry. He had a terrifying connection to Voldemort, but Dumbledore wasn’t helping him understand it. He shuddered as the vision returned to the forefront of his mind.

“Why does he do it?” Harry asked.

“What do you mean?” Alexei asked.

“Snape. Why does he spy?”

The vampire sighed sadly. “That is for him to tell you.”

“Did you know him in the first war?”

“We met at the very end of it, not long after Voldemort’s apparent defeat.”

“Was he a spy then?”

“He had just turned, yes.”

“Why? What happened?”

“You have to ask him, rebenok. It is not my story or secret to tell.”

Anything else was interrupted by the sound of the front door opening and closing downstairs. Harry’s eyes widened as he and Alexei listened to the heavy footsteps on the stairs. He watched Alexei go to the doorway.

“Severus, I believe Harry needs you,” the vampire said.

“He saw the meeting?” he heard Snape say and Alexei nodded. “Very well.”

Alexei stepped to the side, allowing Snape to enter, before giving Harry a small smile and leaving the room. Harry watched as Snape walked over, taking Alexei’s spot on the edge of the bed and beside Harry’s legs. Staring at the man, Harry could hardly tell anything had happened, but he could see small lines of strain in Snape’s face.

“Have you had a potion?” Snape asked quietly.

Harry nodded. “Alexei gave me one.”

“Is your scar still hurting?” Snape asked, grasping Harry’s chin unexpectedly to tilt his head up and better examine the scar.

“It’s not so bad,” Harry said even though it felt like hot coals were sitting on his forehead.

Snape waved his hand and a cloth appeared. He folded it and draped it across Harry’s forehead. The chilled material surprised Harry, but made him sigh at the slight relief it provided.

“Professor, I…I’m sorry,” Harry said after relishing the cloth for a moment. “I didn’t mean to hurt—”

“Enough, Potter, it wasn’t you,” Snape interrupted.

“But—”

“I was there, and it was not you I saw, it was the Dark Lord,” Snape said firmly. “I understand what you feel during these visions, but you are just an observer. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said. “What’s going to happen now? With Malfoy. The deadline.”

“Nothing,” Snape said simply. “Mr. Malfoy will be staying right here and then we will be returning to Hogwarts on the first.”

“But what about you?” Harry said with a frown. “Voldemort said—”

“Do not concern yourself with that,” Snape said. “I will manage.”

Harry’s frown deepened at Snape’s lack of concern for himself and dismissal of Harry’s worry. Did the man not care for his own safety, his own life? Did he not want Harry to worry about any of it because everything would go back to how it used to be like he’d heard Dumbledore imply? What would cause Snape to be willing to take such risks and be so alone?

Snape held his chin again as he removed the cloth to examine the scar again. After just a couple of seconds, the cloth was reapplied and his chin released.

“Sir, why did you become a spy?” Harry asked, taking a chance.

Snape looked at him sharply and Harry was almost positive the man wouldn’t answer based on that look. He was pleasantly surprised to be wrong. “To fix a mistake I made.”

Get what redemption you can, Dumbledore’s words floated through Harry’s head.

“Becoming a Death Eater?” Harry said.

“Among others,” Snape said vaguely.

“My mother?” Harry ventured carefully, managing not to cringe at the anger that filled the professor’s face.

“Black has been regaling you with stories of our youth, I presume?” Snape said, his tone harsh.

“Not really, more mentions in passing,” Harry said, hoping to stop Snape from getting too angry. “He said you were friends with her, but then something happened.”

“We had a…falling out and we went our separate ways,” Snape said, once again keeping his words and tone vague, distant.

“Is that why you became a spy, because of her?” Harry asked, knowing he was likely pushing too much, but wanting to know. He wanted to understand.

“I caused her harm in various ways,” Snape said. “It was sometime after the falling out that I switched sides.”

“What happened?” Harry asked. “It had to have been awful if you’re willing to risk your life like this.”

“It is my job, Potter. I do what I must,” Snape said, clearly done with the topic. “That is enough now. You need to get some rest.”

“Sir—”

“Quiet,” Snape said and he removed the cloth. Harry was startled when the man’s hand returned, brushing across his forehead as though brushing back his hair. “Sleep, child.”

“Will you tell me what happened?” Harry asked, the touch lulling him to sleep.

“Maybe one day,” Snape said, his tone strange.

Harry felt another brush through his hair before the weight on the bed disappeared and he heard his bedroom door quietly click as it closed. With the ghost of Snape’s unusual affection, Harry drifted off to sleep.

Severus woke with a groan as remnants of last night’s torture made themselves known. He glanced at his clock, surprised to see it nearing nine-thirty. Between the torture and the late-night conversation with Potter, he must’ve been exhausted. He wondered if the boys were up. Normally they would be, but mostly because he woke them each day. As he woke further, he began to feel the tugs and swirls of power, telling him Potter and Malfoy were, indeed, awake and in the middle of training with Leif and Alexei.

He dressed quickly, going more casual in just a grey long-sleeved Henley and black slacks as had become more common in recent days. He made a beeline for the kitchen and made a pot of strong coffee, draining one cup in seconds and pouring a second for slower consumption. He spotted Potter and Alexei through the kitchen window and headed out the back door to observe. He stepped off the back porch and walked around the manor, stopping once he found the two. He put one hand in his pocket while the other held his coffee.

From what he could tell and what Leif and Alexei had told him, both Potter and Malfoy had finally gained basic control of their magic. Both could direct their magic wherever they wanted, Potter kept his from wanting to mix with his and Malfoy’s, and Malfoy no longer automatically connected to signatures. He remembered the first day of training, the feeling of Potter’s exploding magic and of Malfoy draining some of his own. It had been startling, but impressive to feel such power from ones so young.

Leif and Alexei had also told him of the hesitations the boys had regarding the use of their magic. Both boys still had a deep-seated fear of being beaten by him in particular and of being sent away should they do anything wrong or hurt any of them. Despite any progress that had been made, he knew it would be some time before they finally believed in their safety. However, he supposed it wouldn’t be necessary to convince them once they returned to Hogwarts. They would be safe there and with plenty of others to look after them.

He turned his attention away from their return to Hogwarts and back to Potter and Alexei. Now that Potter had basic control, Alexei had moved the Gryffindor onto specific element use. He took a sip of his coffee and watched the session. A pile of leaves sat on the ground in front of Potter who was staring at it with his hands out towards it. Even from where Severus stood, he could see the green shimmering strands weaving through Potter’s fingers, indicating their focus on Earth Magic.

He could feel the power pulsing through the air and watched, intrigued. The green threads began to leave Potter’s hands and travelled down to the leaves, wrapping around a few. The targeted leaves shook slightly in the pile as the magical strings continued to encompass them. After several seconds, the magic moved to the stems of the leaves and, after even more time, he was stunned to see the stems begin to slowly lengthen. They grew centimeter by centimeter, beginning to curl the longer they became. Eventually the stems were guided and twisted with each other, creating a slowly growing braid. It was incredible to witness and he found himself in awe of the boy he once hated. Potter was truly something special and, as he remembered the worry the boy seemed to have for him the previous night, he realized it wasn’t just in terms of his magic.

He was startled when power rushed across the grounds and a few leaves suddenly whipped around him. Looking at Potter and Alexei revealed the pile of leaves had been dispersed across the property, unintentionally if Potter’s expression was anything to go by.

“Sorry, Professor!” Potter called to him.

“No harm done, Mr. Potter,” he said. “Do not push too hard.”

“Yes, sir!”

“You have nothing to worry about, Severus,” Alexei said.

“From you, perhaps.”

“Hey!” Potter said, affronted.

Alexei laughed while Severus smirked. He watched Alexei guide Potter to try again and returned to the manor. He finished off his coffee and sent his mug to the kitchen before heading up to the third floor. He opened the door to the training room and leaned against the door frame, crossing his arms as he watched Leif and Malfoy. Leif spotted him over Malfoy’s shoulder and gave him a wink and a grin, making him raise an eyebrow.

“We have an audience,” Leif said to Malfoy.

Severus expected the boy to turn and face him, but was surprised when he saw the silvery-white strands float around him. His skin tingled where the magic brushed him.

“Professor,” Malfoy said, still without turning around.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Severus acknowledged.

“You have someone else’s magical residue on you,” Malfoy said, making Severus’ eyebrow jump again.

“Is that so?”

“Dark Magic, a harmful spell,” Malfoy said and Severus realized the boy was likely seeing the remnants of Voldemort’s Cruciatus that was still causing him pain that morning. He looked at Leif curiously.

“We are currently learning to identify signatures, types of magic, spells, and intent,” Leif explained.

Severus nodded, understanding. As he felt and watched Malfoy’s magic continue to swirl around him and the room, he had the same thought he’d had about Potter. Malfoy was something special, both magically and in general. This boy had defied both his father and the Dark Lord he’d been promised to. It was a strength he’d barely had himself until the mistake with the prophecy. At fifteen, Malfoy had managed to turn away from the temptation that was the Dark, something he himself had failed at the same age.

The thought brought him back to the previous night’s meeting. Two weeks remained in which Malfoy would be accepted alive and recruited into the Death Eaters. After that, he knew the boy’s retrieval would still be demanded, but not to Mark him. The boy would likely be in serious danger after September first. He frowned slightly, wondering what could be done to protect the boy. As Dumbledore said, he could do little come their return to Hogwarts. Aside from being Malfoy’s professor and Head of House, he had no claim to Malfoy.

Come September first, it ends.

He was pulled from his ruminating when he felt a short, sharp, slightly painful tug in his chest. A ripple of power rushed through the room.

“Sorry, sir!” Malfoy said, finally turning around. “Our magic got tangled.”

“Not to worry, Mr. Malfoy,” Severus said, waving off the apology.

“No more hiding,” Leif said, grinning. “Draco will find you anywhere now.”

“You’re the only one I wish to hide from,” Severus said, smirking back at his friend.

“You wound me, o fílos mou,” Leif said, placing a hand on his heart dramatically.

Severus rolled his eyes. “Continue. Perhaps Mr. Malfoy is not completely hopeless.”

“I am not!” Malfoy said, offended, making Leif laugh and Severus’ eyes flash with amusement.

He left as the two resumed their training, heading back downstairs to have a late breakfast. He made himself a simple omelette with some buttered toast and ate leisurely as he read through the Daily Prophet. There were no notable stories aside from the usual calling Potter a liar and Dumbledore desperate for control of the wizarding world. He put the paper aside, allowing his thoughts to wander as he ate.

He could still feel the magic roaming around from Potter and Malfoy, and he couldn’t ignore how…normal it felt. It was as though the two and their magic were meant to be there, and, he had to admit, he’d honestly gotten used to having the boys around over the last five weeks. He could feel his magic reach out to theirs at any given time, just wanting to feel and interact. His magic seemed to surround theirs as though protecting them and there were times he swore he felt their magic settle upon proximity with his. It hadn’t been wholly terrible to have them there even with the issues they’d all run into. It would be strange to go back to how it used to be once they returned to Hogwarts, but it was necessary. He had no ties or claims to the boys, and he had to protect his role as a spy. No one could know about that summer and there were far too many enemy eyes at Hogwarts for them to act remotely differently. As much as he hated to admit it, perhaps Dumbledore was right and it all had to end on September first. A slowly growing part of him just hoped Potter and Malfoy would find safety at Hogwarts and another, even more slowly growing part of him didn’t want to let them go.

“Um, Professor?”

He looked up at Potter’s voice, spotting the Gryffindor slipping into the dining room with Alexei. Potter was lightly flushed from his magical exertion and he tapped the table to make a light lunch appear.

“Yes, Mr. Potter?” he asked as Potter slid into his usual spot, Alexei beside him.

“Am I able to change a class?” Potter asked, taking a long drink of water. “I know there’s only two weeks left and I’m in fifth year when classes were chosen in third, but, can I?”

“A request can be made,” Severus said. “You would need permission from the professor of the class you wish to take, the headmaster, and a parent or guardian.”

He watched the boy’s face fall.

“Given your situation, you would only need the professor and the headmaster as Professor Dumbledore is your magical guardian,” Severus said.

“Wait, really?” Potter said. “I thought it was you because I’ve been here for the summer.”

“My guardianship was unofficial and temporary, just for the summer,” Severus said, curious about Potter’s odd expression and tone. “What classes were you wanting to exchange?”

“Oh, uh, Alexei mentioned how runes can be used with Elemental Magic, so I thought I could take Ancient Runes instead of Divination,” Potter said.

Severus hummed, thinking. “Again, the request could be made. However, you would be two years behind and would be expected to catch up on your own.”

“I could help,” Malfoy offered as he and Leif joined the rest of them.

Severus was surprised at the boy’s offer. He’d noticed the two seemed to be getting along better, but hadn’t expected it to continue beyond the summer holidays.

“You would?” Potter said, also obviously surprised.

Malfoy nodded. “I’ve taken it since third year and I’ve done pretty well.”

“Oh, well, okay, uh, thanks,” Potter said somewhat awkwardly and Malfoy just nodded again, turning to his small salad.

“I will send a request to the headmaster for you,” Severus said.

“Thank you, sir.”

What a wonder that summer had become.

Harry chewed his lip as he perused the massive library, consumed with the vision of last night. He couldn’t stop thinking about it; the danger Malfoy was in, the risks Snape was taking, and Voldemort’s mention of a prophecy in response to learning of the Ministry disturbance. He was confused at his apparent concern for the two Slytherins, but he was more preoccupied with the mention of a prophecy. It wasn’t the first time he’d overheard talk of a prophecy that summer and he was convinced something important was being kept from him. Not that it was anything new, but he was sure this prophecy could have something to do with him and Voldemort. Why else would Voldemort be after it?

However, he also realized he knew nothing about prophecies in general so he didn’t actually know what it could mean if a prophecy existed involving him and Voldemort. He wanted to ask, but he didn’t know who he could trust. If a prophecy was the cause of the disturbance in the Ministry, then the Order knew about it and were choosing to keep it from him. That included Snape and, while he didn’t really trust the professor, it had felt like enough changed that he could have considered trusting him. After all, Snape had defied Dumbledore to keep him and Malfoy for the summer, surely, he would defy Dumbledore for them on other matters as well. Yet, it seemed that wasn’t the case for Snape had not addressed Lucius’ mention of the Ministry disturbance or Voldemort’s mention of a prophecy. He didn’t know why Snape had chosen to keep him that summer, but he was doubting it was truly for his safety. He was sure there was something else driving Snape.

Get what redemption you can from this.

Harry frowned as he remembered Dumbledore’s words. Was that it? Was Snape using him as redemption for something?

He had a hard time ignoring the little pit in his stomach giving him a bad feeling about the whole thing. He tried to for the moment, though, and returned to searching the library. He hoped to find anything about prophecies, needing context beyond the drivel Trelawney had spouted the last couple years in Divination. The woman was a fraud.

He paused as he thought back to third year, the night in the Shrieking Shack. He’d had an odd interaction with Trelawney earlier in the day. He’d brushed her off as mad, but…

She had said innocent blood would be split and that the servant would return to the master. It had seemed crazy, but, when he thought about it, it had happened. Pettigrew had escaped and returned to Voldemort. Ron had been hurt and so had Snape. He also couldn’t help but draw a connection between what she’d said that night and the graveyard. She’d said that ‘he will return tonight’. What if she hadn’t been talking about that night, but the night of the graveyard instead? That night Voldemort had returned, the Death Eaters had reunited with him, Cedric had been killed, and Harry had bled.

Was Trelawney capable of real prophecies? Were prophecies real in general? Could life be predetermined, predestined in that way? Could prophecies go unfulfilled?

Frowning even deeper, he resumed his search with more fervour. He glanced up at the very top shelves, remembering Snape tell him and Malfoy to never touch those books. They were filled with Dark Magic and some were dangerous to even touch, let alone read. Prophecies didn’t seem like Dark Magic, so he turned away from the top shelves.

He blew out a breath, for a moment wishing Snape didn’t have so many damn books. He was losing hope as he got to about halfway around the room when a silver title on a dark blue spine finally caught his eye.

The Divining Arts.

He pulled the book down and flipped to the table of contents. He was excited to find a chapter specifically on prophecies and quickly turned to the correct page. He moved absently to sit at one of the tables as he began reading.

The Prophetic Arts are some of the most complex within the Divining Arts. Only those born with Seer abilities can utilize the Prophetic Arts.

He turned the page, not caring about Seers and who could create prophecies. Skimming a few paragraphs, he stopped on one that seemed to be on the nature of prophecies.

The simplest definition of a prophecy is ‘a prediction’ and, due to the fluid nature of time, humanity, and freewill, it is important to recognize any prophecy as just that: a prediction. Prophecies tell of a possible future event if certain natural circumstances occur and align. This does not mean this is what will happen, only what could. No actions should be based around a prophecy. In fact, it is well known that no prophecy is fulfilled or even valid if deliberate actions are taken to set up the circumstances required for prophecy fulfillment. Such actions make a prophecy become void and nothing more than meaningless words. Any possible futures it spoke of will no longer happen or occur in a positive way because the journey to complete the prophecy was unnatural.

Life is natural, even foretold life. However, it is possible for prophecies to go unfulfilled as they often refer to people and things in vague terms and cannot be applied to any given time or persons. A prophecy will remain unfulfilled until the proper natural circumstances occur, which can take centuries from the time of the prophecy’s creation. No impacts are made on potential times or people if they are not the ones to fulfill the prophecy. It will simply wait for the natural moment. Additionally, unless anyone is aware of the prophecy, it will be completely unknown when a prophecy is fulfilled.

Harry looked up from the book for a minute to think, chewing his lip again. Prophecies seemed more like a hobby than something to be taken seriously. Why would anyone take them seriously if you couldn’t do anything with them without making them null and void? He continued reading.

Unfortunately, there are hundreds of reports and stories in which a person or persons have taken prophecies into their own hands. While prophecies themselves are not dangerous, an overreliance on and obsession with them can be. Witches and wizards throughout history have done everything they could to make prophecies take place, going so far as to control the lives of those prophecies could refer to. Reports describe anything from making someone live somewhere specific to what they study to torture and even murder to get what they want and believe is necessary for the fulfillment of a prophecy. This is where the danger lies and is the reason all prophecies are required to be kept within the Hall of Prophecies in the Ministry of Magic to prevent anyone from hearing the dozens of prophecies that are told each year. Unfortunately, Seers often do not know when a prophetic vision is going to occur and are unable to stop it when it does occur. As such, anyone who may be in the vicinity at the time of a prophetic vision can hear it and be left to interpret it however they wish.

Harry frowned, tapping the page absently and his leg bouncing anxiously. So, prophecies themselves were really nothing but words, but, if someone believed it to be more than a prediction, then it could be an excuse to control to get the outcome someone wanted.

Voldemort had said he didn’t want to lose the prophecy and he knew it was in the Department of Mysteries. If there was a prophecy involving Voldemort, how did he know about it? He assumed this prophecy was what the Order was trying to protect, but how did they know about it? And what was going on with it given the disturbance that seemed to have rocked the Ministry? Why would the Order feel the need to protect a prophecy, unless they worried Voldemort would act on it? What did it say that could be so dangerous?

Snape was in the Order and a Death Eater. He had to know about the prophecy. He threw the book shut and dashed downstairs, determined to get answers. He found the professor in the study, standing at the fireplace and speaking to someone through it. He ignored the man’s occupation.

“What’s the prophecy and how does Voldemort know about it?” Harry said, drawing Snape’s surprised attention to him.

“Excuse me?” Snape said.

“The prophecy,” Harry said again and he saw Snape’s face tighten.

“I do not believe—”

“No, do not keep this from me, not anymore,” Harry interrupted. “I am tired of secrets. Tell me. How does Voldemort know about it? How does the Order? What is it?”

Snape sighed and turned to fully face Harry, crossing his arms. “Only a couple of members know about it. There is a prophecy that speaks of a boy that will be marked by the Dark Lord and have the power to defeat him.”

Harry felt his stomach drop and he touched the scar on his forehead. Voldemort believed him to be the boy in the prophecy. “Is that the whole prophecy?”

“No, there is more."

“That’s why he wants it?”

“Yes.”

“How does he know about it?”

“It was brought to him.”

Harry’s heart began pounding. “When?”

“Nineteen-eighty.”

Harry’s eyes were darting around wildly, but then he brought them back to Snape. The professor’s face was completely blank as he stared back at Harry.

“Is it why he killed them?”

“Yes.”

Harry swallowed thickly. “Who told him?”

There was a brief pause.

“I did.”

Get what redemption you can.

Harry felt everything he knew, thought he knew, and had learned spin out of control. This was the reason his parents had died, leaving him alone and to endure the Dursleys. They had been targeted because of him, because Voldemort chose to act on the prophecy, the prophecy he only knew about because of Snape. It all came back to Snape.

“You got them killed,” Harry muttered, the horror and rage setting in. “This is why you became a spy, why you need redemption.”

Snape didn’t say anything and Harry felt his anger grow.

“She was your friend! How could you do that to her?” Harry said loudly, remembering what Sirius had said about Lily and Snape before and in Hogwarts. “Is that why you helped me, what all of this has been? Some sick way of trying to get her or someone’s forgiveness for what you did to her?”

“Protecting you has been a part of set terms to atone,” Snape said, his voice low and stiff.

“Set terms? By who?” Harry demanded.

The Floo flared brightly and Dumbledore stepped out, clasping his hands in front of him as he gazed at Harry over his glasses.

“By me,” Dumbledore said.

Harry grew hot and he clenched his fists at his sides, hardly registering the pressure growing in his chest.

“You’re a part of this?” Harry said.

“I knew you would need protection and Professor Snape was the ideal candidate,” Dumbledore said.

“You think you’ve protected me?” Harry said, outraged. “What about everything that’s happened the last four years? Voldemort’s been trying to kill me every year because of the prophecy you gave him!” He pointed aggressively at Snape.

“Harry—”

“No! You are no better!” Harry said, glaring at Dumbledore. “You’ve let it all happen! You left me with them! You think I’ve been safe?”

Without thinking, he ripped his shirt off over his head and spun his back to Snape and Dumbledore.

“This is what you left me in! This was safe? Protected?” Harry yelled. He spun back around. “You have controlled my entire life and, for what? A prophecy that’s not even valid anymore?”

“It is valid, my boy. It has activated,” Dumbledore said. “You are the only boy it could be speaking of. You will be the one to—”

“No!” Harry shouted. “I will not do anything for you again! You both did all of this, to my parents and to me! Congratulations, Headmaster. You wanted me to stay away from Snape and I will.” Harry turned to Snape. “I don’t know what’s going to happen to you when you fail to bring Malfoy to Voldemort, but, whatever it is, you’ll deserve it.”

“Harry—”

“Get away from me!” Harry yelled when Dumbledore took a step toward him. “Come September first, it ends. Your words, Professor, and you were right. Everything goes back to normal, Snape, and I will never speak to you again, Headmaster. You wanted me alone and I am. You will not control me anymore.”

“Harry, we must train your magic and stop your connection to Voldemort,” Dumbledore said.

“I’ll figure it out,” Harry said. “Just stay away from me, both of you.”

He turned to leave, but whipped around with a cry when a hand landed on his shoulder. The pressure in his chest exploded and fire engulfed Snape and Dumbledore. It dissipated after only a few seconds, revealing the protective bubble Dumbledore had summoned around them.

Harry felt a touch of fear at the uncontrolled blast, but pushed it aside and fled. He was too hurt and angry to feel or think of anything else. He ran outside, ignoring Malfoy, Leif, and Alexei who had exited the sitting room to investigate. Once outside, he stopped, breathing hard. He could feel the pressure still in his chest and tears pricking his eyes. He gazed down at his hands, finding them shaking and sparking with colours he knew was his Elemental Magic. Feeling the pressure intensify and the tears fall, he let out a prolonged scream. The pressure released and he felt a power surge out away from him before hot air whipped and swirled viciously around him.

Draco couldn’t help the concern he felt when Leif and Alexei went to the study and raised voices were heard. He was also concerned at the state Potter seemed to be in and the surge of power that shook the manor. He, Leif, and Alexei had heard some of what Potter had yelled, but it made little sense to him.

He could still feel Potter’s magic as his tried to latch onto it given the mass availability. He frowned at the yelling coming from the study before deciding to head outside. Whatever was going on was making Potter lose control. He wasn’t sure what he could do, if anything, but Potter seemed to need someone. Considering their relationship, he knew he wasn’t the right person to help Potter, but anyone that would be was unavailable or a potential source of Potter’s anger.

Stepping outside, he was stunned by the sight. Potter was standing and screaming, air with orange flames mixed in whipping around him like a tornado. The Gryffindor’s power was pulsing through the air as it reacted to the tumultuous emotions. The rushing air warmed Draco even from his place on the porch and whipped at his hair and clothes. His own magic was jumping inside of him, desperate for the compatible magic surrounding him in droves. He held it back, not wanting to risk draining Potter or hurting him in some other way. The pain and distress he could feel from Potter pulled at him, and he was surprised at the sympathy he felt for the boy he once hated so much.

He wasn’t sure what to do, but decided to just follow his instincts. He left the porch and slowly approached Potter, circling him so they could face each other. As he got closer, he realized Potter was holding his shirt in his hands and his eyes widened at the sight of the Gryffindor’s back. The skin was marred with scars of varying size, depth, and colour. Some were small, thin, and white. Others were thick and wrinkled like ropes and dark pink. Some were in the very distinct shape of a belt buckle. As he stared, he knew he was seeing the result of what had brought Potter to Prince Manor, or at least the years that had led up to it. He finally tore his attention away from the scarred back and continued moving around Potter.

The rushing magic became stronger and hotter the closer he got to the Gryffindor, but, he noticed, it wasn’t harming him. His own magic was responding, but it felt different from anything he’d felt while interacting with it the last couple of weeks. It almost felt like his magic was trying to wrap around Potter’s, not to drain or use, but to…he wasn’t sure what.

He stopped in front of Potter, finding the Gryffindor’s face covered in tears and his magic still swirling around them.

“Potter?” he ventured carefully.

“They did this to me. All of it!” Potter shouted.

“Who? What did they do?” Draco pushed, allowing his magic to seep out and do whatever it was trying to do.

“Them!” Potter yelled, his magic pulsing across the property. “They all believed a prophecy and made it all happen! My parents, the Dursleys, everything at school, the graveyard! They controlled everything!”

“Potter, it doesn’t mean anything. This prophecy wouldn’t be real now if that’s all true,” Draco said, remembering what he’d learned in the Malfoy Manor library. The Divining Arts weren’t in his prescribed pre-Hogwarts education run by Lucius, but there had been little else to do but read at Malfoy Manor in between lessons and ‘training’.

“They think it is! Dumbledore, Voldemort…they’ve decided it’s my fate!” Potter sobbed.

“Fate doesn’t exist,” Draco said.

“What the hell do you know, Malfoy?” Potter snapped.

“You think you’re the only one whose life has been decided for them?” Draco said.

“You don’t—”

“I do! I was sold to Voldemort before I was even born, remember?” Draco said angrily, not necessarily with Potter, but with what they’d both been forced to go through. “You’re not the only one with marks tying you to a so-called ‘destiny’.”

“What are you—”

Realizing Potter’s magic had lessened slightly and his had begun to tangle with it, Draco swiftly unbuttoned his shirt, revealing the angry pink, raised, wrinkled scar that ran down the length of his sternum, about fifteen centimeters in length. He watched Potter’s eyes fall on it.

“Fate does not exist, Potter, or neither of us would be here,” Draco said, his tone softening.

Potter released a sob and fell to his knees. Draco went with him, putting a hand on the Gryffindor’s shoulder in solidarity. He watched as the tornado of fire around them slowed and sank down to the ground. He realized then what his magic was doing. His magic was helping to ground Potter’s, had helped to keep it contained, and had held it as though comforting it like he’d comforted Potter. He didn’t understand it, it wasn’t anything Leif had mentioned he could do with Aether Magic, but he didn’t care in that moment. Right then, he just wanted to calm Potter down and his magic was helping with that.

“None of my life has been mine,” Potter said quietly, still crying steadily.

“Neither has mine,” Draco said and met Potter’s green eyes as they slid up to his. “What do you say we take them back?”

“Why?” Potter whispered.

At first, Draco wasn’t sure what Potter was asking, but then he realized.

“Because he may be a bastard, but Snape’s right. We deserve to have actual lives and I’m tired of being what everyone else expects or wants me to be. I’m tired of hiding and I’m tired of pretending,” he said. He moved his hand from Potter’s shoulder and held it out between them. “What do you say? Screw destiny?”

Their eyes held for a long time as Draco awaited a response. After what seemed like forever, Potter reached out and clasped his hand. The moment they touched, their magic twisted together and danced around them, and their hands grew warm.

“Screw destiny,” Potter said and Draco smiled.

He wasn’t sure, but he was positive something had evolved between them and he figured it was the Life Bond. Whatever it was, something had officially changed and a connection was being weaved between them.

“Harry?”

Harry finally looked away from Malfoy, and up at Alexei and Leif. Both men were gazing down at them, clearly worried.

“Did you know?” Harry asked.

“Draco, can you give us some time?” Leif asked.

Harry turned back to Malfoy and let go of his hand. The Slytherin gave him a half smile.

“Chess later?” Malfoy said, buttoning his shirt.

Harry blinked and nodded, overwhelmed by what had just happened between them. He watched the Slytherin climb to his feet and head to the manor, receiving comforting hands on his shoulders from Leif and Alexei as he passed. Harry quickly pulled his nearly-forgotten shirt back on.

“Come over to the tree, paidí,” Leif said, gesturing to the willow.

Alexei offered a hand and helped Harry up. They walked over to the tree in silence and sat against it, the immortals on either side of Harry. He gazed across the grass at the manor, frowning at everything simmering within him and the thoughts racing around his head.

“Now, did we know about the prophecy or did we know what Severus did?” Alexei asked.

“Both,” Harry said.

“Yes, we knew,” Alexei said.

“In fact, it is what caused the decade-long rift between us and Severus,” Leif said and Harry looked at him curiously. “When we both met Severus, it was in nineteen-eighty and eighty-one in Italy where he was getting his Potions mastery. We learned he’d been a Death Eater, which caused its own problems, but he claimed he’d turned spy. It seemed like a good enough thing, but then we learned why.”

“He told us of this prophecy and that he’d brought it to Voldemort to gain favour, not caring what a madman would do with something like that,” Alexei said. “He told us how Voldemort decided to stop the prophecy from happening and targeted two families with baby boys born just twenty-four hours apart: the Longbottoms and the Potters.”

Harry looked at the vampire sharply at the mention of Neville.

“Severus was destroyed at the thought that Lily was going to be targeted, so he went to Albus Dumbledore to get her protection,” Leif said. “In exchange, Severus gave his life over to Dumbledore’s control, becoming his spy only for Lily to still die.”

“When he told us all of this, we were furious, disgusted even with his complete disregard for others’ lives and his part in passing around a dangerous prophecy into dangerous hands,” Alexei said.

“We left him there in Italy and never spoke to him again until this summer,” Leif said. “However, we kept an eye on him and Britain, wondering what would happen.”

“Because, you see, prophecies cannot be knowingly acted upon,” Alexei said.

Harry nodded. “It’s why they’re put in the Ministry, so no one hears them and they can happen naturally.”

“Exactly,” Leif said. “This prophecy is no longer real.”

“But, they think it is,” Harry said. “Dumbledore’s controlled my life and Voldemort’s going to keep coming after me, and it’s all because Snape gave it to them.”

“Just to Voldemort,” Alexei said and Harry frowned.

“Then how did Dumbledore know about it?”

“He was there when it was spoken,” Leif said and Harry felt himself spiral again.

“It seems Dumbledore also hoped to impact the prophecy and hoped to end the war or to create the one who would,” Alexei said. “He seemed to forget that that is not how prophecies work, or decided it didn’t matter. He was desperate and tried to control many lives.”

“And he succeeded with many, allowing him to continue pursuing the fulfillment of a now false prophecy,” Leif said.

“Have you forgiven him? Snape?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Leif said, contemplatively. “But we acknowledge the things that have happened to him since in the name of his redemption through Dumbledore that helps us look past it. His actions were terrible, but so was his life and so are Dumbledore’s actions.”

“It is more we believe he has been punished enough, both by himself and by others,” Alexei said. “After all, he was not the sole participant in the entire affair.”

Harry pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, staring out at the manor again. He was conflicted, fighting an inner battle over how to feel or react. He was angry, devastated, betrayed, but, most of all, hurt. He’d trusted Dumbledore, believed everything in his life had to be that way for a good reason, but there wasn’t a good reason, only a reliance on a prophecy that shouldn’t have been acted upon. His life had been controlled and determined by a prophecy. His life had been destroyed for the sake of Dumbledore’s misguided campaign for the ‘greater good’ and defeat of Voldemort. A war Dumbledore had helped create had been put on him to finish.

Then there was Snape.

“So, this summer wasn’t real?” Harry said quietly, feeling the pain tearing at him.

“What do you mean?” Alexei asked.

“Snape. It was all because Dumbledore told him to,” Harry said. “Nothing was actually changing.”

“Did you want things to change?” Alexei asked.

“No…I don’t know,” Harry said and he let out a huffed breath. “It hasn’t been terrible here, better than what I’m used to. He seemed…real.”

“No one can control how you or Severus feels,” Leif said. “If you felt things were changing, then they were.”

“Severus was told to protect you from a distance,” Alexei said. “There is a reason Dumbledore did not approve of you and Draco staying here.”

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Harry said. “I can’t forgive him and we’ll go back to normal at Hogwarts. The prophecy might not be real, but Dumbledore and Voldemort think it is, and they’ll get what they want. I’ll be alone.”

He dropped his face to bury it in his knees as tears suddenly welled up and spilled over, the pain unbearable.

“You were wrong,” he whispered, agonized. “This isn’t home.”

“Oh, rebenok,” Alexei said with a sigh and wrapped an arm around Harry’s shoulders.

He flinched automatically, but let himself melt into the touch. For once, he didn’t care that he’d only known Alexei for a couple weeks. He needed what was being offered and had no energy to deny the fact. So, he let himself be pulled to the vampire’s side, let Leif’s hand settle on his knee, and he cried for all he’d lost and had taken away.

“Leif.”

He looked over at Alexei, pulled from his raging thoughts, concern for his friend, and hurt for two young boys he was still just coming to know. As much as the three wizards were now hurting, he couldn’t help but feel glad the damned prophecy was known. It was time to remove it as the weapon it had been made to be.

“He is interfering,” Alexei said and Leif looked at the manor, his eyes hardening. He turned back, gazing at Harry still buried in the vampire’s side, though the tears seemed to have stopped. “I’ll stay with him. Go.”

He nodded, squeezed Harry’s knee, and returned to the manor. He quickly glanced into the kitchen and sitting room, glad their emptiness indicated Draco was upstairs. He approached the study quietly and stood outside the closed door to listen, wanting to know how Dumbledore was going to try and use the new conflict to his advantage.

“It is for the best,” Dumbledore was saying.

“For whom, precisely?” Severus snapped.

Leif sighed at the anger Severus was projecting and the hurt he knew the man would be refusing to acknowledge. He knew Harry, Draco, and Severus were still confusedly navigating each other and had yet to truly acknowledge how they were changing. Thus, they would be unable to understand or accept why this conflict was hurting them, and he was sure Dumbledore would use their individual pain, hesitations, and confusion for his own gain.

“I told you that any relationship between the three of you was unwise and dangerous,” Dumbledore said. “You each have enemies desperate to discover and exploit weaknesses.”

Leif could imagine the flash of pain that likely occurred in Severus’ eyes and clenched his own hands in fists in anger on Severus’ behalf.

“What is it you are suggesting?” Severus asked, clearly through clenched teeth.

“You know well my thoughts on the matter. You know what needs to be done, by all of you,” Dumbledore said. “Come your return to Hogwarts, you must each forget anything that may have occurred this summer. This cannot continue.”

“You would have me abandon them?” Severus said and Leif could hear how much Severus would struggle with such a thing, whether he was aware of it or not.

“You each have a role to play, a job to do,” Dumbledore said. “You cannot be what each other needs. You know better than anyone the danger affection poses, the consequences of allowing such a distraction.”

Leif couldn’t take it anymore and crashed into the study, throwing the door open more violently than necessary. He glanced at Severus, noting the stiff stance, crossed arms, and blank face. Yet he was able to see what most couldn’t in the hard, dark eyes: confused hurt. He turned a harsh glare on Dumbledore.

“Severus, might you excuse us for a moment?” he said. “I need to speak with Albus.”

He kept his eyes on Dumbledore, but saw Severus give a small nod after some hesitation in his periphery. He tracked the Potions Master until the door was closed behind him and he instantly cast a Silencing Charm over the room. Unlike the headmaster, he did not enjoy having potentially harmful conversations overheard by those it would harm.

“You’ll kill them,” Leif said harshly. “You did this to them.”

“They have their roles.”

“That you helped created,” Leif snapped.

“The prophecy—”

“Isn’t real because of you and Voldemort, and you know that.”

“Voldemort believes it is real and it is our only hope.”

Leif glowered at the old man. “You would destroy them for a false prophecy?”

“Belief is a powerful thing, Mr. Marcus, and Voldemort has plenty of it. Harry must do this or our world is doomed to fall to him,” Dumbledore said, putting an air of regret into his voice that Leif didn't believe for a second.

“I would rather it be doomed than you break them,” Leif said, his jaw clenched.

“They are strong.”

Leif wanted to snort. As if that was a good reason for what Dumbledore had done and was continuing to do. “Not with this. You know this isn’t the way. You know what they are, what they mean.”

“It isn’t possible,” Dumbledore said and Leif's eyes narrowed. The man was really going to deny the other prophecy?

“It is. It was a prophecy in the Ministry, but you know it was not Trelawney’s,” Leif said.

“We must fight Voldemort with his belief,” Dumbledore said.

“I will not let you do this to them,” Leif said, shaking his head slowly at the headmaster.

“I think you will find you have little sway here, Mr. Marcus. Mr. Romanov as well. It is best you also do as I have instructed Severus; leave and forget,” Dumbledore said and Leif's eyes narrowed again at the clear threat in the words.

“We will not leave them to you to be sent to their deaths. We cannot ignore them, abandon them,” Leif said, the mere idea of leaving Harry and Draco, and even Severus, behind threatening to rip his heart from his chest. He couldn't leave the boys and he refused to leave Severus the way he did in Italy ever again.

“You must.”

Leif took a step towards Dumbledore, eyes hard. “I think you will find, Albus, that not everything can be under your control. You have created what’s happened to them, but they will break it. You know what they will be.” 

“Make your peace, Mr. Marcus. They cannot have this,” Dumbledore said with far more sereneness than was acceptable in the moment.

“They will.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Marcus. Make the best of your remaining time.”

Leif watched with blazing eyes as the headmaster stepped calmly into the Floo and disappeared with a final hard stare from those blue eyes. He couldn’t believe what the man was willing to do, who he was willing to sacrifice for a foretold fate that wasn’t even true because of him. The moment he allowed Severus to hear the prophecy, it was null. Yet, because it allowed him control, he continued, willing to destroy the three people that needed each other more than anything whether they knew it or not. There was a destiny, but it wasn’t this one and pursuing this one was going to kill them in any number of ways.

He could see it, feel what Severus, Harry, and Draco could be to each other. It was like nothing he’d ever experienced before. The depth, the purity…it was overwhelming, and he couldn’t let it be lost.

Screw what the world needed.

It was time Severus, Harry, and Draco got what they needed. If they didn’t, they would be lost forever.

The tension in the manor in the following days was even more palpable than it had been when he and Potter had first gotten there. The only time any of them spoke was when they were talking to Leif and Alexei. They only saw Snape at meals and even those seemed to be becoming sporadic. Despite their conversation, Potter refused to interact with him, only leaving his room for meals and training with Alexei. Occlumency lessons were no longer happening, nor was brewing. Potter had abandoned their daily walks and chess, and, if the boy was being woken by visions and nightmares, they never heard and Potter never left his room. Snape seemed to be ignoring everything to do with both of them, never even bothering to give them a glare, let alone a comment.

Whatever had been happening that summer, if anything, had clearly ended. They were all taking steps back, returning to what they used to be, doing as he’d heard Dumbledore tell Snape. He never thought he’d agree with the headmaster, but he did. Nothing could ever truly change between him, Potter, and Snape. They hated each other too much, had too much history, and they were a danger to each other.

Associating with him kept Snape in a risky position given his role. It would be well known among the Slytherins that he had turned his back on Voldemort and the Death Eaters. If Lucius didn’t find a way to get to him at Hogwarts, the Slytherins would do the job fine. Anyone that associated with him would be at risk of whatever the Slytherins would likely do to him. It would be best for him to deal with it alone. It was his decision to leave, after all. He would bear the consequences.

He studiously ignored the growing loneliness and fear inside him, kept them hidden behind the person he’d pretended to be all his life. He had a week and a half to get that person back. He’d been too lax that summer.

Foolish.

He glanced out the kitchen window when he saw a flash of light. Alexei was putting out the relatively large fire that was consuming the grass between him and Potter. It seemed like Potter was struggling to control his Elemental Magic again.

He frowned at his scone, knowing he was no better. He had been training with Leif every day despite believing it to be pointless with their fast approaching return to Hogwarts, and he was struggling as well. He could barely get his magic to leave his body and, when he did, he fought not to drain the first signature he found. His magic was reacting to something, but he didn’t know what, or, maybe he did know, but refused to admit it.

“Draco?”

He looked up at Leif. He and Alexei had been acting odd as well, and Draco assumed they were readying themselves to leave…and forget. He may have only known the two immortals for going on three weeks, but he was going to miss them. They’d brought something to the manor and it would be hard to let it go. Everything about that summer would be hard to let go.

“Time for training,” Leif said and, abandoning his scone, Draco followed him upstairs. “Severus has told me you have a magical tracker.”

“I suppose,” Draco said. “I never knew about it.”

“We are going to get rid of it. Well, you are,” Leif said.

Draco frowned. “How?”

“You can use your magic to cancel any other magic,” Leif said. “Somewhere within you is your father’s magic. You will get rid of it.”

“But…I haven’t done anything like that yet,” Draco said, unsure considering the current instability of his magic. He’d still only been working on exploring and identifying, not interaction. He’d kept his fear about doing more to himself.

“It is time to move beyond identification,” Leif said. “It is time you learned more about your magic.”

“Why? What’s the point?” Draco snapped before he could stop himself. “We go back to Hogwarts soon and all of this is over. There’s no point in doing any more training when it can’t even continue.”

“Is that what you think will happen?”

Draco sent the immortal a sneer. “I heard Dumbledore and Snape that day, and Snape didn’t disagree. So, yeah, that’s what I think, what I know will happen. This summer meant nothing.”

“You would be surprised at what this summer has meant, paidí,” Leif said gently.

Draco scoffed, ignoring the pull in his chest. “Whatever. Let’s just do this.”

Leif sighed. “You will have to explore your own body to find the tracker. Try to see yourself with your magic the way you see others.”

Draco gave a sharp nod and let his eyes close. He tried to relax as he gathered his Aether Magic. Once he had it relatively under control, he guided it around his body, searching for magic that didn’t look like his. It was difficult as his magic wanted nothing more than to run and connect, likely with Potter and Snape. They were who his magic always sought out. He chose not to think about the implications.

After some time spent searching, he finally found it. Hidden close to his core was a swirling dark spot and, as he pushed his magic towards it, he recognized Lucius’ magic.

“Have you found it?”

Draco just nodded, not wanting to risk his still fairly tenuous hold on his magic.

“Good,” Leif said. “Interacting with it will feel different from identifying and draining. Your magic wants other magic. You have to control what it does with other magic. Let yourself feel the tracker, feel the magic’s intent, and listen to what your magic wants.”

Draco took slow breaths as he got closer to the little ball of magic. He could feel the harshness of it, the darkness in such direct contrast to his Aether Magic. He could feel the sinister intent and wanted to pull away, but stayed where he was.

He pushed his magic to the ball and watched it almost instantly wrap around and dive into the center of the magic. Leif was right. It felt completely different. His magic was trying to meld with the other magic as well as possible, wanting to do anything with it. He focused on his hate of Lucius and desire to destroy the tracker, and watched his magic swirl more vigorously around the ball, consuming it. It didn’t take more than a few seconds for his magic to completely devour the ball and he could no longer see or feel Lucius’ magic.

He had a brief moment of relief at knowing Lucius would be unable to track him before he was pulled away from himself by his now out of control magic. It went tearing through all the other magical signatures and systems around until it found Potter.

He immediately began to panic as his magic pulsed, excitedly tangling with Potter’s very active multicoloured strands. Anytime this happened, it was like their magic was playing and he was overwhelmed by the odd feelings and sensations it fostered deep within him. Some of his magic went further until he was staring at Potter’s core, the coloured tendrils bleeding out at they were used. He continued panicking, trying to pull his magic back before it could attach to Potter’s core and begin to drain him, but his magic refused to listen. Instead, a small tendril reached out and touched Potter’s core. He waited to feel the pulsing of magic, but it never came. Rather, he was overwhelmed with emotions: pain, sadness, rage, betrayal, confusion, fear, and, the strongest of all, loneliness.

He barely had time to comprehend before his magic was carefully detangling from Potter’s and rushing around again. There was nothing he could do but follow. He knew he could open his eyes, lower his hands, end it immediately, or ask Leif for help, but a part of him wanted to keep going. There was something about being with Potter’s and Snape’s magic like this…he couldn’t explain it. And, knowing everything would be over in just over a week…well, he wanted to ‘see’ them before that happened.

So, he followed his magic to the massive bundle of gold and black with hundreds of threads constantly ebbing and flowing and swirling around that he knew was Snape. Just like with Potter, his magic rushed out to meet Snape’s, tangling with it. His and Snape’s magic interacted differently, not quite as playful as his and Potter’s magic. He could almost swear Snape’s magic was trying to hold his like an embrace and a deep sense of…something came with the interaction.

He watched as, just like with Potter, a few of his threads floated past the tangled magic and to Snape’s core. He briefly worried about draining, but, then, the same thing happened and he was filled with emotions again: self-hatred, pain, despair, loss, loathing, rage, fear, and, again the strongest of all, loneliness. There was also a very faint undercurrent of what seemed to be affection.

He frowned, watching his magic float happily around Snape’s, his chest aching.

How was he supposed to just forget about all of this?

Harry shook as he struggled to control the air current he was currently guiding around Alexei in steady circles. His magic wanted to explode away from him, wanted to go and mesh with Malfoy’s and Snape’s, but he couldn’t allow that. It made him lose control and he had to stay away, especially from Snape. He needed to forget whatever had been happening that summer, go back to Hogwarts, and pretend it had all been his imagination. It was all a lie anyway, just like his entire life.

“Stay calm, rebenok,” he heard Alexei say and knew his Air Magic must have started getting more violent in response to his simmering emotions.

He drew in a deep breath, trying to keep the magic calm and steady. It seemed to settle a bit and he decided to try something. Alexei always had his hair pulled back in a low ponytail with a strip of loose leather. He focused and directed the circling Air Magic around the vampire and to the leather. He gathered the magic to wrap around the hair and tie, and began to tug. He knew Alexei would realize what he was doing, but continued until one particular rush of magic had the leather coming undone and falling from Alexei’s hair.

“Harry!” Alexei said loudly, laughing.

Harry grinned, watching the vampire push his now loose and messy hair out of his face and behind his ear. He undid the action with another gust of air, making Alexei huff good-naturedly. He was going to keep messing with the vampire when he felt something brush against his magic. He froze and closed his eyes, wanting to see what was happening.

He saw it almost immediately, the silver-white threads that were tangling with his. He watched, feeling an ache bloom in his chest as his and Malfoy’s magic danced around as though playing with each other. It brought emotions with it that he couldn’t identify, similar to when his magic got to be wrapped up in Snape’s. Whatever it was, was overwhelming and addicting. It was part of the reason he refused to interact with their magic anymore. He couldn’t keep feeling it, not if he would have to give it up in ten days.

Yet, he couldn’t pull away. He let their magic twist and play, reveling in whatever it was filling him with. Then Malfoy’s magic disappeared and the warmth he’d felt with it. He jerked at the sudden change and felt his magic begin to whip around. It happened fast, the pressure in his chest exploding outwards in a burst of heat.

His eyes flew open in time to find his fireball engulfed in Alexei’s ball of water. He dropped his hands, pained and defeated, ceasing his Elemental Magic. He clenched his hands into fists as everything he’d been able to push away in his moment of fun with Alexei came rushing back, and he remembered the hurt, the betrayal, the loneliness.

“Harry?” Alexei said softly and he met the blue eyes.

They were misty, but still so piercing, filled with a kindness and affection and concern that he’d thought existed in other blue eyes. Only those eyes had hid betrayal, had convinced Harry they cared when they controlled instead. They’d been involved, no different from hateful black and evil red.

Everything was a lie.

“Harry, you need to talk about this,” Alexei said. “You can’t control your magic with such emotional turmoil.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Harry said. “They lied. They caused all of it. My entire life has been nothing but lies and control.”

“Severus did not lie, rebenok, he simply didn’t tell you,” Alexei said. “He didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Never stopped him before,” Harry snapped. “He was doing what he was told, using me for some sick redemption. As if I could forgive him for what he did.”

“No one expects you to, but I do expect you to try and have some perspective,” Alexei said. “He is not solely to blame.”

“But he is to blame!” Harry shouted. “Nothing he’s done has been real!”

“Did it feel real?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Harry said. “It all goes back to the way it should be back at Hogwarts. It won’t have meant anything.”

“You don’t believe that.”

“I have to.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t do it again. I can’t be left alone.” Harry shook his head slowly, clenching his fists tighter as he fought back the tears that prickled in the corner of his eyes.

“You’re not alone, rebenok,” Alexei said gently and Harry so badly wanted to just accept and believe the vampire's words.

He stared hard at the ground between them, tears threatening the very edges of his eyes. “I’m always alone.”

Alexei stormed into the upstairs study though he managed to do so far more calmly than he thought he was capable. He knew most of his anger was for Dumbledore, but the headmaster wasn’t there, leaving the second source of his anger: Severus. He marched up to stand in front of the desk the man was sitting at, seemingly doing some kind of work. However, given that they returned to Hogwarts in ten days, he knew there was no work for Severus to be doing. He had finished his preparations a week earlier already. Instead, Severus was stewing and denying. He crossed his arms and glared down at his friend.

“What the hell are you doing?” he said and met Severus’ narrowed eyes steadily.

“Excuse me?” Severus drawled.

Alexei hardened his glare. “What is the plan? The three of you go back to Hogwarts and you ignore them? Pretend they don’t exist?”

Severus snorted derisively. “I should be so lucky that I could pretend such a thing.”

Alexei couldn’t help the small growl that escaped him at his friend’s callousness. He saw the man’s eye twitch minutely, the only reaction to the more animalistic sound that didn’t often escape Alexei.

“It is for the best,” Severus said.

“For who?” Alexei snapped, using Severus’ own response to Dumbledore saying the same thing. “For you? Because this is hard? Because it could mean something? Because they could mean something?”

“Do not presume to know anything about my actions,” Severus ground out.

Alexei leaned his palms on the desks and leaned in, matching Severus’ glare. “I think I can presume. More than ten years and you still run when things get too hard.”

He knew it was low, but he couldn’t let Severus think what he was doing was right. He didn’t want to fight, didn’t want to allude to their last fight back in Italy, but he also knew Severus wasn’t one to listen to kind words when in such a state of denial.

“Stop being a bastard, moy drug,” Alexei said, still firmly but with less anger. “You cannot possibly believe this will be best for them, not after this summer.”

“It was a temporary situation,” Severus said stiffly. “Seven weeks is not enough time to erase the past.”

“You’ve fought for them already to keep them from Dumbledore,” Alexei said. “Why won’t you fight for them again?”

“It was necessary in the moment. It is not what they need or want,” Severus said. “I cannot do my job with them around.”

“You’ve seemed to manage fine,” Alexei pointed out.

“Short-term. It is too dangerous.”

“Why are you listening to Dumbledore, after everything?” Alexei said, frowning. Was Severus really so lost to Dumbledore's control?

“Nothing has changed and any of us would be a fool to believe otherwise,” Severus said and Alexei's eyes narrowed again, hearing the underlying meaning and feeling that he was sure even Severus wasn't aware of.

“Magic doesn’t lie, Severus! Your magic chose this place, chose each other! How can you say nothing’s changed?”

Alexei pulled away and straightened when Severus slammed his hands on the desk and jumped to his feet. The dark eyes blazed with rage, but Alexei could see past it, could see the self-hatred and the pain Severus would never admit.

“Because if we all want to survive, nothing can ever change!” Severus shouted.

“So, you’ll abandon them? You’ll break two already broken boys?” Alexei said, purposely making his tone harsh. Severus needed to listen, needed to understand.

“So they survive, yes!”

“But they won’t! Not now! Not without this! Without you!” Alexei yelled. “Whether any of you realize it or not, something’s changed and it means something! Life Bonds don’t activate for no reason! You have no idea what you can be for each other!”

“Nothing but misery and death! Do remember who you’re talking to, what I am, what I’ve done!” Severus said angrily, bitterness heavy in his voice.

“A lost, broken man that’s made mistakes and been taken advantage of! No different than those two boys!" Alexei said, feeling his own regret at causing Severus to return to Dumbledore boil up inside him. What had he and Leif done? "You want redemption so badly, fight for them! They are your redemption!”

“My death will be my redemption!” Severus ground out.

“And what about theirs when they are left to Dumbledore’s grand plans?” Alexei shot back.

For the first time, Severus faltered.

“There is more to this summer than you know, moy drug, but you cannot abandon them. You cannot be like everyone else,” Alexei said almost pleadingly, desperate for Severus to understand.

“I am worse than everyone else," Severus said, his voice falling in volume.

Alexei's hard eyes softened as he watched his friend deflate. “Except you are the first to care.”

“I do not care.”

Alexei nearly snorted at the pitiful denial. “Whether you realize it or not, you do, or they would have been gone last month. You all deserve this, a life.”

“They do, but not with me,” Severus said with a small shake of his head.

Alexei's heart ached at the pain he could hear in Severus' voice. How desperately the man wanted anything to convince him he wasn't the monster he believed himself to be, the monster Dumbledore had only encouraged, yet he would never admit to wanting such a thing.

“Do not lose them,” Alexei said quietly.

Severus looked at him before slowly sinking back down into his abandoned chair. “They are not mine to lose.”

“Then make them. Do something right,” Alexei said.

“This is right. I will not hurt them,” Severus said.

Alexei stared at Severus whose own eyes were gazing absently at the paperwork on the table. He could see the tension in the man, the pain in the eyes that refused to meet his, and he sighed sadly. “You already have.”

Harry stared out at the dark grounds, spotted with the little orbs of soft light that came out every night. It was late, really late, so late it was probably bordering on really early, but he couldn’t sleep. He’d tried, tossing and turning for hours before finally just leaving the bed and curling up on the window seat. He wanted to not like it, the window seat, the view, the manor, so that it would be easier to leave behind, but he couldn’t muster up the hate he wanted. Despite everything with the people he’d shared the space with, the space itself had, in a mere seven weeks, become the most comfortable place he’d ever inhabited. He could hardly imagine leaving, even for Hogwarts, but he had to and he had to make himself okay with it. He tried to focus on the people, Snape and Malfoy, people he couldn’t wait to get away from…normally. Just like the manor, he couldn’t seem to find that once so common hatred he’d had for the two Slytherins. There was undeniable rage, certainly, for Snape and what he’d learned about the prophecy, but there was also undeniable hurt.

Seven weeks and his life had unravelled.

He ran a hand through his hair roughly and left the window seat. He had one more day at Prince Manor which meant only one more night of a comforting kitchen with comforting tea at four in the morning. So, down he went, keeping his steps light to avoid alerting Snape or Malfoy, and he entered the kitchen. He made a cup of tea quickly, no longer terrified of consequences for being up and doing so. It had happened a handful of times, both alone and with Malfoy, but every time, Snape had simply joined, sometimes talking, sometimes not. He glanced over his shoulder at the thought, wondering if Snape was there yet; he wasn’t.

He finished making his tea and took his usual seat at the table. As he waited for it to cool, he looked at all the empty seats; Snape to his left at the head, Malfoy across from him, Alexei and Leif in any of the others as they often moved around. What an odd thing to not want to leave behind, the simple act of eating meals, sitting at this table. Yet, it was more than that. It was normal despite the abnormal company. He and Malfoy shared looks in response to the adults’ comments and stories. Snape made sure he ate, more than anyone else had ever done. Leif and Alexei told stories and encouraged steady conversation, even ensuring Snape engaged.

He liked it, but he hated that he liked it. Hated that, soon, it would be like it had never happened and he hated how much it actually hurt. It wasn’t like they’d become friends or anything. They barely tolerated each other, but they’d become…something.

He took a sip of his tea and moved his gaze to the window behind Malfoy’s seat, watching the glowing orbs dance. He wished it could be easy, that he could just hate the place and them the way he had seven weeks ago. He wanted to hate it all, but…something had changed.

He jumped and nearly spilled his tea when a box was placed on the table beside his arm. He looked from it to Snape who settled into his place at the table, tea in hand. This was the first time in two weeks that he’d been near the professor outside of meals. He’d done quite well avoiding the man, needing to sever whatever had grown between them in the face of the prophecy and their return to Hogwarts. He needed to be okay with things going back to how they used to be, and he was…mostly. Until he was face to face with it, like now. This wasn’t how it used to be and it made it hard to remember what that was.

“For your headaches and scar pain should you continue to experience visions,” Snape said and Harry frowned.

See, this wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

“Thought we were supposed to help with it?” Harry said.

“It proved to be more complicated than I anticipated, beyond fifth years,” Snape said.

Harry nodded slowly. “Thanks, I guess.”

Snape said nothing, simply drank his tea. It didn’t take long for the rage he wished was hate to rear up inside him. He was well aware Snape was not the only one involved in the murder of his parents, but Snape was the one directly in front of him. It was easier to be angry at someone in front of him rather than just the thought of someone. Snape he could yell at, glare at, try to curse if he was so inclined to risk his life. Besides, being angry at Snape was their normal and that’s what they had to get back to in just over twenty-four hours.

He glared down at his tea, using his lifetime of pain and loneliness to fan his anger. He may be unable to gather hate, but rage he could do.

“Did you really hate them so much you wanted them to die?”

His eyes flicked up to see Snape’s tea pause millimeters from his lips.

“No,” Snape said, resuming his drink of tea.

“What did you want then? Why did you do it?” Harry asked, needing the anger to stay alive.

“I do not have a good reason, if that is what you are hoping for. I was loyal. I wanted to gain favour and I did.”

“You became his right-hand man,” Harry said.

“I did.”

“You still are,” Harry said. “It’s why you can spy.”

“Yes.”

Harry turned back to his tea, frowning again as he felt his anger fizzle. He tried to bring it back.

“I know you don’t give a damn about me, but I know you’ve protected me. Was it just because of this, getting your redemption as Dumbledore called it?”

Snape seemed to have to think about his response, making it more confusing than angering when he said, “Perhaps at first.”

Harry’s frown deepened. “And now?”

Snape took a sip. “You deserve protection.”

Harry couldn’t help but huff, frustrated at his confusion. “You saved my life this summer, but, whatever this has all been, it’s done. I can’t forgive you.”

“I do not expect you to,” Snape said and his continued casualness helped keep Harry’s anger simmering.

“So, we go back,” Harry said. “To how it was. We keep hating each other.”

He studiously ignored the odd pain in his chest.

“If we wish to survive,” Snape said.

“Right,” Harry said, tapping his finger on his teacup. “What about Malfoy?”

“He is in Slytherin. I will do what I can to protect him.”

“Guess it shouldn’t be too hard. You’ve managed to protect me while making everyone believe you’re actually trying to kill me.”

“Indeed.”

When he looked at Snape, he swore he saw a flash of amusement in the dark eyes. It made the pain in his chest grow a little, made it a little harder to ignore.

“Get some sleep, Mr. Potter,” Snape said after a long silence.

Harry looked at him again. That wasn’t normal for them either. Snape wasn’t supposed to care if he ate enough or got enough sleep. Maybe he wasn’t the only one that would struggle to go back. He eventually nodded and left the kitchen, leaving Snape behind with the nearly empty tea. He walked up the stairs and to his room, still keeping his steps light so he didn’t disturb Malfoy.

He let the door close behind him and threw himself on the bed. He stared up at the ceiling, knowing sleep would continue to elude him for reasons unknown to him. He tapped his fingers on his chest before rolling over onto his stomach and snatching his journal from his bedside table. He flipped to the next blank page.

I should hate him. I’ve always hated him. I have to hate him.

He paused, tapping the page with his pencil as he chewed his lip.

Why don’t I hate him?

He frowned down at the words, annoyed writing them hadn’t miraculously solved everything. He flipped to a blank page at the back and quickly scrawled a short question.

Will you still protect me?

He stared at the little symbol in the bottom corner, contemplating. He hadn’t used it before, never wanted the others to see his truths. Before he could stop himself, he tapped the symbol and his writing shimmered. He stared at the page, his eyebrows furrowed, unsure what he was waiting for. Then the page shimmered again and he was looking at a single word in familiar, elegant writing.

Always.

The pain in his chest pulsed and he closed the journal, sliding it back onto the table. He folded his arms under his pillow and dropped his head onto it. Somehow, this time, he dropped off to sleep.

“How are we getting to King’s Cross?” Harry asked at breakfast the next morning, their last in Prince Manor.

“You will be sent to Headquarters in the morning, and you will take a Portkey with the Weasleys and some Order members,” Snape explained. “Mr. Malfoy will be Apparated by myself to an area we will not be seen and left to board.”

Harry couldn’t help his shudder at the idea of a Portkey. He wasn’t sure he could ever be okay with the travel method again. He took a small bite of his banana pancake, a surprising but delightful final breakfast. He wanted it to last, though he refused to acknowledge why. It would make it too hard.

“What if—”

He looked up at Malfoy’s quiet start to a question. The blonde looked tense, almost worried, and he was reminded of Voldemort’s deadline. It ran out tonight.

“Yes, Mr. Malfoy?” Snape pressed, looking at the blonde over the Prophet.

Malfoy looked uncomfortable, but still worried. “What if something happens on the train?”

Harry frowned slightly at the other boy. He knew Malfoy was in danger from Lucius and Voldemort, but would Slytherin house turn on him? Would others have heard about his disappearance and do something about his return? His own friends were unlikely to be thrilled when they saw Malfoy was returning to school with them rather than dead. Was Malfoy in danger at Hogwarts too? Did he care?

He continued ignoring the painful pressure in his chest that had yet to go away that was giving him the answer to that very question.

“There will be a couple of Order members on the train for Mr. Potter,” Snape said. “Should anything occur for either of you, you are to locate them.”

The answer didn’t seem to satisfy as Malfoy just looked down at his own pancakes with a tight frown.

“I have one last thing to teach you, Harry, and it could help in some situations,” Alexei said. “It is quite advanced, far beyond where your training currently is, but I would like for you to know it.”

Right. Not only were they leaving behind Prince Manor, but also Leif, Alexei, and their training. That hurt he was willing to admit. He was going to miss the two immortals and he knew there was so much he didn’t know about his magic. How was he supposed to learn?

“If it’s so advanced, will I even be able to do it?” Harry asked.

Alexei smiled. “I’ve got faith in you, rebenok.”

It was impossible not to believe the vampire.

“Come along, gentlemen,” Alexei said, rising to his feet.

“Excuse me?” Snape said, raising an eyebrow while Malfoy frowned.

“You are all required to participate,” Alexei said with the playful, mischievous grin Harry was going to miss.

“Thrilling,” Snape drawled. “Guinea pigs for powerful magic in the hands of Potter.”

Harry scowled at him. “Hey! I haven’t burnt the place down, have I?”

“Small miracles,” Snape said and Harry huffed.

“Going to now just for that,” Harry muttered, shoving his last bite of pancake in his mouth before yelping when he felt a sting on his thigh. He looked at Snape who just gave him a raised eyebrow in clear challenge. “Bastard,” he mumbled, noting the twitch of the man’s lips.

He was supposed to pretend none of this had happened?

“Come on, all of you,” Alexei said and they all stood, following the vampire to the backyard.

Harry stood somewhere near the middle of the yard and watched as Alexei directed the others to stand in seemingly random places around Harry. When the vampire was done, they were all varying distances away: Snape was leaning almost casually against the willow tree, Malfoy was about three meters to his left and sitting in the grass, and Leif was standing on the back porch with his arms crossed. He waited curiously as Alexei walked back to him.

“Now, Harry, this is a complicated skill using Air Magic. You’ve shown some good skill with Air Magic so far, so I think you’ll be able to catch on,” Alexei said.

Harry knew he was talking about the few times he’d used Air Magic to remove Alexei’s hair tie and, just the other day, he’d used it to settle a leaf very carefully on top of the vampire’s head.

“It is possible to communicate using Air Magic by sending short messages through the air to a targeted person,” Alexei explained.

“Talk through air?” Harry said, surprised.

Alexei nodded. “The phrases ‘a whisper on the wind’ or ‘a voice in the air’ or any variation is a result of this ability. It is called Air Speak. With it, you can get a message to someone if you need.”

“Brilliant!” Harry said, excited for the first time in days.

“You have to be careful, though, it does take a fair bit of magic, so you must only use it when necessary until your magical endurance is stronger,” Alexei said and Harry nodded in understanding. “This will be difficult, more so because your magic is going to want to connect with Draco and Severus since you will be interacting with them directly.”

“Can I hurt them?” Harry asked.

“It is always possible while you learn,” Alexei said and Harry hesitated, glancing over at Snape. “No one here will hurt you if you make a mistake, you know that.”

Harry swallowed, trying to remember that fact. He couldn’t help but wonder if that would change once they returned to their old relationship. He and Malfoy had certainly never held back on each other, and Snape had manhandled him before to shove him out of a room or his way. With everything going on, his nightmares had gotten worse, reviving his Dursley-induced fears that he hadn’t realized had decreased unconsciously over the weeks. They had returned full force, however, in the last couple of weeks since he learned about the prophecy.

“Harry,” Alexei said, pulling Harry back to him. “He will not harm you.”

Harry blew out a breath and nodded again. He knew Alexei was right. In seven weeks, even when he’d screwed up, Snape hadn’t even given an indication he would hit Harry.

Alexei smiled at him. “Good. Ready to try?”

“Definitely.”

“Alright, so, the way it works, you have to essentially put words in a pocket of air that you will then send to a specific person. When done correctly, the air pocket will…pop, so to speak, and the recipient will hear the message.”

“Can other people hear it?” Harry asked.

“No. If they are close enough, it will just sound like whistling wind or like when you think you hear something, but nothing was said,” Alexei said.

“Is there a limit on how far a message can be sent?” Harry asked.

“I am unsure. I have never tried long distances,” Alexei said.

“What about the length of messages?” Harry asked.

“A few words at most,” Alexei said. “Long sentences get lost.”

“Can we get a move on? Some of us have things to do,” Snape called from the tree.

“No, you don’t!” Alexei called back without even turning to look at the professor. Harry glanced at the man and, while he was a fair distance away, he could still make out the signature glare. “However, he is right. Give it a try. Get your Air Magic ready.”

Harry closed his eyes and flexed his hands, digging for his Elemental Magic. He took a quick moment to note how many more colour strands were mixed with the normal gold. It seemed to be more than double what he’d seen over a month earlier. He focused on them, but, instead of pulling at the full strands, he tugged at just the yellow ones, encouraging them to detangle from the others and flow to his hands.

However, as soon as he started gathering it, it was as though his magic woke up and exploded out of him. He saw the coloured threads dash through the air in opposite directions and he knew they were going for Snape and Malfoy. He had never used his magic in such close proximity to them and it was clearly desperate to connect with the direct sources rather than just what could be found in the wards.

“Oi!” he heard Malfoy shout and his eyes flew open.

Luckily, his Fire Magic had not made an appearance. Instead, it seemed his focus on Air Magic had made it take the lead as both Malfoy and Snape were smoothing down hair and adjusting clothes.

“Sorry,” he said, getting a small glare from both Slytherins.

“To be expected,” Alexei said with a small chuckle. “Try again.”

Harry was a little hesitant, but allowed Alexei to encourage him. He did the same thing, this time noticing the pulsing of his magic. He pushed the other elements down calmly and held tight to the Air Magic threading through his fingers. Even though neither Snape or Malfoy were using their magic, his magic knew it was nearby. To settle his magic so he could focus, he let the other elements hover around, able to feel the others’ magic, but not allowed to follow it. It was almost like their magic was reaching out to meet his, knowing his couldn’t come to them or act out. It seemed to work and he put all his focus on the Air Magic in his hands. The Air Magic still wanted to join with the others, wanted to be a part of the interaction with Malfoy and Snape, but it remained relatively calm, ready to be used.

“Steady?” Alexei asked and Harry nodded, not wanting to break his concentration by speaking. “Good. Now, you need to try and make a ball, a hollow ball of air.”

It was vague instruction, all of Alexei’s explanations were like that. The elements were vague, he would say, and they could only guide them to do what they wanted. Specificity did not exist in the natural elements; they just were. So, he imagined what he wanted and moved the Air Magic he held. He could see the yellow wispy threads in his hands and watched it leave to hover in front of him as he created what he needed.

The strings fluttered around, floating on the air and waving as they wrapped together, creating an orb.

“Good, good,” Alexei said, pleased. “Now, think of something to say and whisper it into the air. Picture the words inside the air.”

Harry decided to go with something basic and whispered, “Hello,” into the bubble of swirling air. He tried to picture the word, but frowned when it seemed to dissolve. He could feel a dull ache spreading across his body, and knew he was beginning to exhaust himself. Alexei hadn’t been exaggerating; it was advanced and draining. He repeated the tactic again, but it once again disappeared from the orb. He decided, then, to try another method and, as he whispered the word once again, he pictured it being inscribed on the inside of the air bubble. He watched his messy writing appear, the letters a sparkling white against the yellow magic.

“Think of who you want to send the message to and push it away from you,” Alexei instructed quietly. “It should be able to naturally find who you think of.”

Harry thought hard about Snape, urging the air bubble to find him, and then shoved it away as though a gust of wind had taken it. He watched, but it didn’t get far. It was as though the rest of his magic realized the message was searching for Snape and took off, wanting to join in the search for the opportunity to interact with Snape. The other elements went crashing into the air bubble, bursting it and making him huff. He opened his eyes and looked at Alexei chuckling beside him.

“You have excitable magic, rebenok,” Alexei said, grinning. “Try again.”

With a sigh, Harry repeated the process, including letting the other elements hover around to mix with Malfoy’s and Snape’s. When he blew the air bubble away, his magic flared again, but he held it close, forcing it to be content with the wisps of Malfoy’s and Snape’s magic that hovered in the air naturally. After several seconds, he felt a release in his magic, indicating the bubble had popped.

“Hello, Mr. Potter,” he heard Snape say and his eyes flew open to look at the man still leaning against the tree.

“Wonderful, Harry!” Alexei exclaimed. “You got it much faster than I anticipated. How do you feel?”

“Alright,” Harry said. “It definitely takes a lot.”

Alexei nodded. “Do you feel you could practice more? It’s far more beneficial when you don’t have to build it so much and can do it in an instant.”

“I can keep going,” Harry said, understanding how useful the mode of communication could be.

And, so, the session continued for another couple of hours. Snape, Malfoy, Leif, and Alexei moved around, making him adjust to varying distances across which to send his air message. While he grew steadily more exhausted over the two hours, he did get far more efficient with the skill. By the end, he no longer had to close his eyes, meticulously separate his Air Magic, or build the air pocket. He could do it in mere seconds, almost without thinking.

The session was called to a close when Harry fell to his knees in the grass, breathing hard and trembling. Alexei knelt beside him, a gentle hand on his back that he managed not to flinch at.

“You pushed too hard,” Alexei said, a gentle admonishment.

“I’m okay,” Harry argued though weakly.

“Apologies, gentlemen,” Leif called and Harry looked up at the man who had, at some point, replaced Snape at the tree. It looked like he had pulled a kind of pocket watch from a pocket on his trousers. “Something has come up at the Ministry and I must be off.”

“Not to worry, moy drug,” Alexei said. “I believe we are done for today.”

“Very well done, Harry,” Leif said with a smile before walking around the manor, heading for the front gate about a kilometer away.

“Let’s get you some lunch,” Alexei said, helping Harry shakily to his feet.

They headed back into the manor, Snape and Malfoy following behind. Harry was surprisingly grateful to sink into his seat at the kitchen table. He felt exhausted and somewhat weakened, but it was more apparent following the exertion of walking. Harry rolled his head on the back of the chair and watched Snape swiftly prepare some chopped, raw vegetables and leftover Shepherd’s Pie. It wasn’t long before the plates were being levitated to the table along with glasses of water and, presumably, blood that Alexei required at least once a day. Harry dug in immediately, completely famished from the intense session.

“Keep practicing, within reason, of course,” Alexei said. “If you need help this year, this can be a way to get it.”

Harry nodded.

“You were…impressive, Mr. Potter,” Snape said and Harry stared at him with wide eyes.

“Was that a…compliment?” Harry said, stunned.

“Your first and last, I’m sure,” Snape said, lips twitching as he raised his glass for a drink.

Harry blinked dumbly, recognizing the comment as a joke and floored that Snape had made it at all. Eventually his own lips curved into a small smile and he let out a huffed laugh, in disbelief and legitimate amusement. He turned back to his food, silently basking in the ease and bit of pride he felt, momentarily forgetting about all that had been troubling him the last two weeks. Despite all of that, he wanted to enjoy his final day at Prince Manor.

After dinner that evening, Draco found himself back in the library and laid out on his back on the sofa by the fireplace. He stared up at the ceiling, frowning slightly as his thoughts bounced around. He wondered about Leif and Alexei. Leif had finally returned from the Ministry part way through dinner, pulling Alexei away immediately and sequestering them away in the downstairs study. Once dinner ended, Snape disappeared into the lab and Potter returned to his bedroom.

This was it. In a little over twelve hours, whatever that summer had been would be over. He, Potter, and Snape would go back to how they used to be, and Leif and Alexei would leave forever. He would never see Prince Manor again. The thought of all of it filled him with emotions he was sure he’d never felt before; he couldn’t even really identify them. He didn’t want to know. It would only make it harder to leave. He needed to be ‘Malfoy’ again and he should have gotten back to that version of himself long before now. He should have prepared for the return to reality, and his reality did not include anything from the last seven weeks.

Yet, he couldn’t just leave. He couldn’t just forget. So, he let his magic out one last time. His eyes drifted shut and his magic instantly began searching, but it wasn’t out of control. It seemed completely happy to stay calm because, for once, it was allowed to do what it wanted.

There were remnants of all their magic all over the place and his magic twirled with every bit as it reached further away from the library. He directed it downstairs first to find Leif and Alexei. He hadn’t interacted with their magic often as his was always distracted by Snape and Potter, but there were still incredible feelings connected to the two immortals. He wasn’t so deep in the magic that he could see it, but he could feel it and knew immediately when he found Leif and Alexei. Both were familiar given they were the same magic he and Potter had, but they were more powerful and still felt different in ways. He almost felt rejuvenated whenever he connected with Leif, likely due to the shared magic type. He also felt what seemed to be a mix between what he felt with Snape’s and Potter’s magic: playfulness and protectiveness. It was the same with Alexei’s magic. There was so much, dare he say, care and affection in both men’s magic.

He smiled to himself as his magic tangled with theirs, feeling the way theirs twirled around and encompassed his. He would never say, but he was going to miss Leif and Alexei.

He gently pulled his magic away, feeling the reluctance in Leif’s and Alexei’s magic to let him go. It increased the little spot of painful pressure in his chest that he had been ignoring for days now.

He guided his magic back upstairs and to Potter, feeling the instant pulse in his magic when it found Potter’s. He didn’t need to see to know his silver-white threads were twirling, twisting, and dancing with Potter’s multicoloured ones. There was such joy when their magic connected, it was nearly overwhelming, especially when the emotion didn’t transfer to them and their actual interactions. There was something about their magic when it connected, the feeling of strength and protection and support. It was like their magic was meant to connect and work together. How unfortunate that he and Potter were definitely not meant to work together, given the polar opposition of their lives. While he doubted he would miss Potter, it would be odd not to have his magic around like this. He wasn’t sure how to feel.

Once again, he tugged his magic away. If magic could pout, he would swear that’s what Potter’s magic was doing as it released his. The pressure in his chest got just a little larger.

Finally, he pushed his magic down to the lab, it jumping excitedly to meet with Snape’s. The professor’s magic was so different to the others’, but he couldn’t explain it. It was like a power being pulled in different directions, each hoping to win the fight. When he interacted, it was like the pulling stopped and all sides focused on him, filling him with the strangest feelings. His magic wrapped around Snape’s, happily accepting the way Snape’s seemed to try and hold it. Like with Potter’s magic, it was overwhelming, but one of the best, unexplainable things he’d ever felt. If he was honest, he loathed to let it go, knowing, after this, he would never feel it again, whatever it was.

How was he supposed to act like none of this had happened? How could he ignore it all when it felt so…right? How could they all abandon this?

They had all helped him accept this magic as his, as something he was worthy of. How could he leave that behind without a second look or thought?

His contentment had waned and he was about to pull his magic back when he felt something he’d never felt before. Even Snape’s magic reacted, partly pulling away, partly shielding. There was a new magic, a throbbing power that had Snape’s magic on guard.

Confused, he dove deeper so he could see the magic. His magic had mostly stopped fluttering around, encompassed by Snape’s golden strands, the spots of black glaringly obvious against his own silvery-white threads. He saw a large amount of the man’s magic flowing away from him and his core, so Draco reached around with some of his magic to follow. It didn’t take him long to find the source of the throbbing, draining power. There, sitting on some currently unknown to him spot on Snape, was a deep back mess of magical threads. These, however, were different and nearly made him recoil.

This magic was the deepest black, looking like a void, and sat in a tight ball. The threads, instead of being light and wispy, were solid and sharp. He reached out tentatively and quickly pulled back with a hiss of pain. The sharp, coiled magic burned and felt like it wanted to rip him apart. He watched as it pulled Snape’s magic to it and as the thick, jagged strand that connected the ball to Snape’s core pulsed ominously.

It was dark magic, purely dark magic. It wanted nothing more than to hurt and control. It was one of the various directions constantly pulling at Snape’s magic, twisting the magic together so Snape had no choice but to feel it. He knew then what it was.

It was the Dark Mark and it was active. Snape was being summoned.

Draco’s eyes snapped open and he flew up on the sofa with a gasp. The loud dong from the grandfather clock in the sitting room downstairs startled him and his eyes swung to the clock on the wall above the fireplace.

Midnight.

And he understood.

The deadline to bring him to Voldemort had just ended.

He gazed down at the two bowed heads before him, contemplating how to deal with their failures. He had given them every opportunity to get him the boy that was meant to lead the new generation of Death Eaters, yet they failed repeatedly. They were his best, yet they had been unable to complete the simple task of finding and delivering a fifteen-year-old boy. Perhaps they needed to be reminded of whom their loyalties were meant to be with. They seemed to have forgotten their place.

He flicked his wand with a sneer and watched as both men’s bodies trembled and twitched, their only reaction to the torture ravaging their bodies. He cancelled the curse and saw a shiver of relief run up their spines.

“Severus,” he said in a drawn-out hiss.

“My lord,” Severus said, remining knelt and bowed.

“Have you brought any news of value?”

“Potter will be brought to King’s Cross by members of the Order, my lord,” Severus said. “The boy has learned of the prophecy and Dumbledore intends to begin training him.”

“So, the Ministry disturbance was the prophecy?”

“Yes, my lord,” Severus said.

“I need the prophecy. I must hear it in its entirety,” he said. “You are to do this, Severus, however you must. Now that the boy knows, he will not be vulnerable to my…enticing dreams.”

“Yes, my lord,” Severus said.

“While this information has its value, you have failed to discover anything about Draco, or to bring him to me.”

“Apologies, my lord.”

“Such failure from my best, from my spy,” he drawled. “What to do about such failure?”

“I will accept anything you deem necessary,” Severus said. “I will not fail you again, my lord.”

“No, you won’t,” he said and flicked his wand, moving it slowly through the air. He watched as thick black ropes snaked their way around Severus’ arms, moving from wrist to shoulders. They kept slithering along, one wrapping around Severus’ neck and another around his chest. Then, they stopped and he flicked his wand again. The ropes began to tighten and pulsed red every few seconds. The robes and clothing underneath tore under the ropes and, each time they pulsed, the now visible skin cut apart under the ropes and began to trickle blood. He watched with sadistic glee as Severus’ bent leg fell so he was on both knees, more stable as his fists clenched and his back straightened as he rolled his head minutely, clearly wanting to fight. He didn’t make the rope on the neck go any deeper, but the ones around the arms and chest kept digging deeper and deeper, the trickle of blood turning to steady rivulets.

Finally, he cancelled the ropes and they disappeared, Severus letting out a barely audible gasp as he was able to breathe fully. He gave the man little reprieve, however, as he, almost immediately, cast a Cruciatus. Severus’ body shook and his eyes narrowed, flashing, while his knuckles turned white, but no sound escaped the man. Normally he loved the stoicism, but not this time.

He pushed at the curse, making it stronger, as he strolled slowly behind the man. He bent down so he was level with Severus’ ear.

“Scream for me, Severus,” he whispered and felt the shudder that ran down the man’s back, a shudder that had nothing to do with the torture he was still experiencing.

After several more seconds, he cancelled the Cruciatus when no scream was forthcoming. He let the tip of his wand rest on the nape of Severus’ neck, dragging it lightly around as he returned to stand in front of the man. He lifted the man’s head with his wand under Severus’ chin.

“Nothing?” he drawled. “Clearly you have not learned from your failure.”

Severus’ dark eyes just met his. He moved his wand to Severus’ sternum and poured magic into it. It wasn’t long before the man started trembling violently as his blood began to heat as it flowed through his body.

Excruciating. Especially as he interspersed it with short Cruciatus Curses. He saw Severus fight back his reaction, but soon couldn’t and released a reluctant cry of agony.

He relished the moment of weakness and cancelled the torture, leaving Severus gasping for breaths, his hands splayed on the ground before him to hold him up. Blood pooled on the wood around his pale hands.

“Have you learned your mistakes, Severus?” he drawled.

“Yes, my lord,” Severus said, his voice more raspy than normal.

His lip curled in a sneer. “Return to your place. I believe it is Lucius’ turn.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Severus stood shakily, though he tried to hide it, and returned to the circle that surrounded him and Lucius. His satisfaction disappeared as he turned to Lucius who, wisely, had not moved at all during Severus’ torture.

“Lucius,” he hissed. “Your failure and incompetence have lost me the most promising legacy sworn to my service.”

“There are no words, my lord,” Lucius said and he sneered again.

“No, there’s not,” he snapped and slashed his wand. Lucius was unlike Severus and released a cry of pain immediately as he writhed on his hands and knees, fighting to stay upright. “Did I not warn of severe consequences if you were to fail in retrieving your traitorous son?”

“You did, my lord,” Lucius said, a slight wobble in his voice.

He looked over Lucius’ head and nodded at two Death Eaters at the back of the circle. They disappeared briefly, returning with Narcissa between them. Her head was held high, keeping hold of her reputation in the face of her fear. It was clear in her eyes. She was stood a few meters behind Lucius, her eyes briefly flicking down to her husband.

“Turn, Lucius, and look upon your punishment,” he ordered.

Lucius did so, remaining knelt but lifting his head to gaze at his wife.

“You have taken something dear from me, Lucius,” he said. “Thus, I will take something dear from you.”

He saw the tremble in Lucius’ body as he stared at his wife. Narcissa gazed back, her face remaining blank, but a small tremble wracking her body as well. He gave them that singular moment before waving his wand and watching the green light hit Narcissa in the chest. She fell in a heap on the floor, her empty eyes staring straight ahead. Lucius released an agonized choking sob and crawled over to Narcissa, pulling her into his lap.

He sneered at the display, but ignored it to look at his circle of Death Eaters.

“Tomorrow students return to Hogwarts,” he said. “If you have a child that attends, go home and tell them this. If Draco Malfoy returns to Hogwarts, they are to show him what happens to traitors.”

A murmur of assent ran through the circle.

“Whoever finds a way to get Draco to me will receive a wonderful honour,” he said. “Now, go.”

He watched with satisfaction as they all disappeared in black smoke, leaving him with the sobbing Lucius and dead Narcissa.

What a pity.

Harry flew up in bed, flailing and a strangled scream still leaving his throat. He could feel hot tears pouring down his face and his skull was splitting in half. His screams settled into heavy sobs as he pulled his knees to his chest, pressed his forehead to his knees, and buried his fingers in his hair, clenching tightly. He flinched and whimpered when a weight fell on his knee.

“Potter, it’s just me,” a deep, calm voice said. “You are alright. You are in your room.”

Harry recognized Snape’s voice and presence, but couldn’t stop shaking with pain and fear. He’d had plenty of visions that summer, but never one so terrible.

“Potter, look at me,” Snape said, his tone commanding, but still gentle, at least for Snape.

Harry released his hair and raised his head, still sobbing as the movement caused searing pain in his head while his scar burned. It all made him feel ill.

“Drink,” Snape said and when the glass of a vial touched his lip, Harry immediately opened his mouth.

As soon as he swallowed, the effects were immediate, telling him it was the modified Pain Reliever Snape had created for him, and he’d never been so thankful for the man in his life. In that moment, he didn’t care that he was supposed to be angry with Snape and distancing himself. He’d do that later. Right then, he wanted whatever the professor was willing to give him and he didn’t give a damn that it was Snape of all people.

He was still shaking and his scar burning, but the headache was ebbing away. He let his head fall back against the wall, eyes closed and hands falling between his thighs and stomach. He jumped when his damp hair was pushed from his forehead, but relaxed as gentle fingers covered his scar with a cool gel. As the burning eased, he knew it had to be the other concoction Snape invented for him.

Once applied, the hand retreated, much to Harry’s confused disappointment, but returned, much to Harry’s confused delight, as a comforting weight on his knee. It wasn’t like Snape at all, but he didn’t care. He needed it, the grounding feeling. Despite all their issues, Snape had been there all summer and he needed it this one last time.

Aside from his own shuddering breaths that echoed in his ears, it was completely silent around him, as it usually was. He wasn’t sure Snape realized how much he appreciated the quiet that allowed him to calm down and gather clear thoughts. He had to stop himself from thinking about the odd comfort he’d begun to feel with Snape’s presence. It would be gone forever tomorrow, so best not to acknowledge it.

“Potter?”

He finally opened his eyes and they instantly fell on the professor who was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching him with the dark eyes he realized he was no longer terrified of. They were as unreadable as always, but the paler than usual complexion made him remember and his eyes widened as they flew to the man’s neck, the only part of the injury he could see.

“Professor! You…you’re…I…” he stuttered, the horror of what he’d seen setting in. He started coughing as his strained throat stung. His eyes watered and his chest restricted at the harsh coughs. He managed to open his eyes when he felt something tap against his arm and found Snape holding a glass of water. He took it and gulped it down gratefully before lowering it to hold against his thighs, glad for another distraction.

“I am alright, Potter. It wasn’t you,” Snape said and Harry nodded, trying to remember that truth. “What did you see?”

“All of it,” Harry whispered. He then noticed movement behind Snape and his eyes flicked over the man’s shoulder, finding Malfoy hovering in the doorway with wide eyes. He knew it was worry he saw in the grey eyes and cursed everything that had allowed things to change only for it to have to be taken away.

“What happened?” Malfoy asked quietly.

Harry swallowed thickly as he remembered, squeezing his eyes shut as they burned with tears and the vision. “He…he killed her,” he breathed, pained, “as punishment.”

“Who?” Malfoy asked and, meeting the grey eyes, Harry could tell the blonde was terrified to know.

He felt a squeeze on his knee and choked on a sob at the softness he swore he could see in Snape’s eyes. Tears fell as he moved his eyes back to Malfoy.

“Your mother,” he whispered, watching the grey eyes shatter and the face turn white. “He killed her to punish Lucius for failing to find you.”

Snape’s hand on his knee tightened again. This was so unlike Snape—the comfort, the physical touches, the near affection—that it compounded all of Harry’s already existing pain. He wished it was real, wished it was his, wished he could keep it forever. It didn’t even matter that it was Snape. It felt like more because it was Snape. He so badly wished they were all someone else so he could keep hold of it and it would make sense.

He watched the professor turn and gesture for Malfoy to join them on the bed. The blonde did so with faraway eyes, falling heavily beside Snape near the foot of the bed, staring ahead unseeing. In another astonishing action, Snape settled his free hand on Malfoy’s thigh.

“It’s my fault,” Malfoy whispered brokenly into the deafening silence.

Harry felt his heart twist, remembering the Dursleys. He wanted to say something, wanted to tell Malfoy that, if what they’d been saying all summer was true and he wasn’t to blame for the Dursleys, then Malfoy certainly wasn’t to blame for this. Malfoy had done nothing but refuse to be trapped in clearly potentially fatal servitude and escape to survive.

“No, child, it’s not,” Snape said and Harry watched Malfoy turn teary eyes to the professor. “They made their choices.”

“They…she didn’t choose to die,” Malfoy said.

“Perhaps not, but they also did not choose you as they should have,” Snape said. “They chose him and that was their mistake.”

Harry remembered then the rest of the vision. “Sir, Malfoy’s in trouble.”

Snape looked back at him and nodded gravely. “Yes.”

“What do you mean?” Malfoy asked, fear joining his agony.

“He…he told all the Death Eaters with kids at Hogwarts…he told them to tell their kids to…to show you what happens to traitors,” Harry said.

Snape’s hand tightened on his knee for a third time and Malfoy’s ashen face pulled at his heart. A death warrant had just been assigned to Malfoy the second he entered Hogwarts.

Severus closed the door to Malfoy’s room, having finally gotten both boys back to sleep and released a shuddering groan of pain. He headed downstairs quietly, not wanting to disturb the sleeping teens, no matter how fitful their sleep may be. As soon as he entered the downstairs study, he wordlessly summoned the Pain Reliever tailored to the effects of the Cruciatus and downed it. He dropped the vial carelessly on a desk and moved to the fireplace. How badly he wanted to just heal himself and go to bed, but the conversation had to be had.

So, he tossed in the Floo Powder and called out, “Albus Dumbledore!”

“Severus?”

“Might you step through for a moment? There is much to discuss,” Severus said.

“Of course, my boy.”

Severus grabbed the back of a desk chair to stay steady as he watched Dumbledore step out of the fireplace.

“Are you alright, Severus?” Dumbledore asked.

“I’m fine,” Severus snapped, ignoring the tears in his clothing and the blood that was continuing to soak into his shirt under his robe.

“The hell you are. Sit down.”

Severus turned his head and rolled his eyes at Alexei and Leif. “Join us, please, I insist,” he said dryly, glaring at them.

“Enough of that,” Leif said.

“You are seriously injured. I can smell it,” Alexei said. “Now, sit.”

Considering the strength of a vampire, Severus really didn’t have a choice as he was pushed into the chair he had been leaning on. He gave Alexei another scowl for good measure as he somewhat cooperated in getting his robe and tattered, bloody shirt off. He winced as the shirt pulled the skin, having begun to dry to his body in spots. He listened to Alexei mutter away in Russian while summoning items from the lab to begin treating the deep gashes that encircled his arms, chest, and neck and were still seeping blood. When Leif joined in with his own Greek accent-laden Russian, Severus turned back to Dumbledore.

“He wants me to find a way to make Potter get the prophecy,” Severus said. “He is aware of the link they share. He had been sending the boy dreams to make him eventually go after the prophecy.”

“Harry’s Occlumency?” Dumbledore asked and Severus glared.

“No recent progress given we have been at odds for the last two weeks since he discovered the prophecy,” Severus said.

“He must learn, especially if Voldemort is aware of the connection,” Dumbledore said. “Who knows what he may do with it.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Severus snapped, hissing as Alexei touched a wound, gaining a quiet apology from the vampire. “Trust is needed and any I may have gained has effectively been broken. Not to mention, you are the one who said we must all break ties made this summer. How am I to do that if you also wish me to teach Potter Occlumency?”

“Given you do not care for young Harry, I have faith in your ability to remain professional as you have the last four years,” Dumbledore said with an oddly pointed tone. “Gentleness is not what Harry needs now, not if he is to survive and learn to fight.”

Leif and Alexei’s Russian conversation seemed to grow more fervent, both shooting glares at the headmaster.

“And what of Malfoy?” Severus asked, choosing not to argue about Dumbledore’s continued insistence that Potter be treated like a soldier. “The Dark Lord no longer wants him for recruitment. Malfoy is a traitor that he wants dead and he has put a bounty on the boy’s head the minute he enters Hogwarts.”

“What are you asking of me, Severus?” Dumbledore asked.

Severus’ eyes narrowed. “You know perfectly well.”

“What would you have me do?” Dumbledore asked. “Expel any suspected Death Eater children? Pull Draco out of Slytherin house? Have an armed guard follow Draco around?”

“Some protection, yes! The boy is in danger,” Severus said loudly.

“He has made his choices,” Dumbledore said almost lightly.

Severus glowered. “He did not choose his parents. He did not choose this.”

“He chose to leave.” It was said so casually, Severus was surprised the headmaster didn't shrug.

“Would you have rather he become a Death Eater?” Severus snapped.

“No, but there is nothing I can do for him,” Dumbledore said.

“No, there’s nothing you will do,” Severus spat.

“We will,” Leif said suddenly and Severus frowned at his friend. “I think you’ve been allowed to play your game for far too long.”

“I am sorry, Mr. Marcus, but, outside Hogwarts and with no connection to the boy, there is truly nothing you can do,” Dumbledore said.

Severus watched as Leif stepped up to Dumbledore, a cold smirk accompanying his hard, green eyes. “Well, Lady Magic seems to have her own ideas.” He pulled out a roll of parchment and held it out to Dumbledore who read it curiously. “Best make some room at the dinner table, Albus. We’ll send along our schedules.”

Severus watched the two curiously. Whatever Leif had given Dumbledore had not made the headmaster overly happy. He couldn’t find it in him to care, not when Dumbledore was so adamantly refusing Malfoy protection and forcing Potter to be a soldier. How was the man so willing to harm these two boys? Couldn’t Dumbledore see that they weren’t what he wanted and, if he forced it, they would break, the way Severus himself had?

“You keep going like this, you can expect another document soon,” Leif said, his voice low. “You will have no ties or claims to them beyond ‘headmaster’. Best be ready to lose your soldiers.”

Dumbledore handed the parchment back to Leif. “I appreciate the quick report, Severus. I will see what I can do about the position you have been put in. I will see you tomorrow, my boy. Good night.”

Severus just gave a sharp nod and they all watched Dumbledore disappear back through the fireplace. He, Leif, and Alexei were silent for a moment while Alexei finished healing Severus’ lacerations.

“Do you see now?” Leif said, turning around.

“What would you have me do? Risk our lives?” Severus said.

“You are already at risk, all of you,” Alexei said. “But Dumbledore will use that risk against you.”

“You can’t let him have them,” Leif said. “What do we want you to do? Fight, for them, because besides us, no one else is going to.”

“Their powers need us,” Alexei said. “Their hearts need you.”

Draco closed his trunk, latching it, and sat on his perfectly made bed beside it. His hands hung between his knees, fingers twisting together as he gazed around the room. He’d spent all summer refusing to admit or acknowledge anything and he would continue to considering he had to let it all go. However, in that single moment, alone and to himself, he was willing to admit that some part of him had found something at Prince Manor; acceptance, safety, comfort, happiness, strength…dare he say it, maybe even home? He wasn’t sure exactly, but he could admit to it in that second before he had to leave it behind forever.

“Mr. Malfoy.”

He looked up at Snape in the doorway and he remembered the previous night. The man, while in his own agony, had taken the time to comfort him and Potter. He’d never realized before what he’d been missing from his parents, had never known more than the Malfoy way, but he’d seen it last night. In a professor that hated him, he’d found a comfort he should have gotten from his own mother and father, but never had. Such a feeling denied him for fifteen years, only to get it and have to lose it immediately.

Such cruel fate.

“It is time to go,” Snape said.

“Yes, sir,” he said and stood, smoothing down his smart trousers and tucked button-down shirt. He cast a quick Featherlight Charm on his trunk and carried it downstairs, following Snape. They walked into the study, joining Leif, Alexei, and a nervous-looking Potter. He met the Gryffindor’s eyes and was sure he saw some other emotions, but, as they were moments from re-entering reality, he didn’t want to identify them all. It seemed Potter thought the same as the Gryffindor broke their eye contact and looked down at his trunk in front of him.

“Harry, Draco,” Alexei said and they both looked at the vampire. “We want you to try and be prepared. With your magic active and thriving, it is going to be difficult and overwhelming to be around so much other magic. Harry, you will struggle with the emotional side of your magic. You know what is happening at Hogwarts, the Ministry painting you as a liar and instituting an official as a professor to try and control you, Dumbledore, and the school. You must try to reign in your emotions or you will very easily lose control of your magic with so much other power around.”

Potter’s face tightened and Draco felt a touch of sympathy. They’d seen the Daily Prophet every morning with Snape reading it, and they had been able to track the Ministry’s slander against Potter and Dumbledore. Both were being called mad liars as the Ministry denied Voldemort’s return, and made ridiculous claims that they were working to overthrow Fudge and the Ministry. Hence, the instatement of Dolores Umbridge as the new Defense professor in an attempt to keep Hogwarts under control and stop Dumbledore from building his alleged army. He and Potter had already been warned against engaging with Umbridge. Potter would have to try not to retaliate against the ‘liar’ claims and Draco would have to look out for recruitment attempts.

It was going to be a rough year.

“Draco, you will struggle with being around hundreds of signatures,” Leif said. “You will have to find a way to ground your magic. It is, unfortunately, something only you can figure out. Do your best not to connect with cores, but let yourself feel the magic. It may help with control.”

Draco nodded, another thing to be nervous about added to his pile.

“We will see you soon, but be safe,” Alexei said and, shocking Draco, hugged both Potter and him. Leif followed moments later. Too stunned by the embraces and his suddenly teary eyes, Draco didn’t fully register all of what Alexei had said. He had no time to try either as Snape was finally herding them along.

“Mr. Potter, it is time to get you to Headquarters,” Snape said, stepping over to the fireplace and looking at Potter expectantly.

“Right,” Potter said. He grabbed his trunk and headed towards the fireplace. When he stopped in front of Draco with his hand out, Draco frowned at him in confusion. “Thanks for not being a Death Eater hell bent on my death.”

Draco couldn’t help his smirk and clasped the Gryffindor’s hand. “Sure, though I can neither confirm nor deny my desire for your death.”

Potter smirked back. “Still a ferret.”

“And you’re still a prat.”

They released each other and he watched Potter disappear into the green flames with Snape, his grin slowly falling until it was gone. In its place, a dull ache in his chest. He waited with Leif and Alexei who conversed quietly in Russian behind him until, a few minutes later, Snape returned alone. He headed out of the study at Snape’s gesture, but stopped in the doorway to watch the three men whisper to each other. There were nods and both Leif and Alexei touched Snape’s arm or shoulder before the professor broke away.

Snape gave him a light push to leave the study and they walked to the front door. Snape locked the doors behind them and they followed the path side by side to the large iron gate, stepping through it and the wards. Draco felt the difference immediately. He was no longer surrounded by their mixture of magic, could no longer feel Leif or Alexei as strongly, and it left him…empty. He frowned back at the manor.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Snape said and he took the man’s arm, readying himself for the side-along Apparation.

When the squeezing stopped and Draco opened his eyes, they were in some narrow, tucked away corner of King’s Cross Station. Muggles were hurrying everywhere as whistles blew and bells rang.

“I cannot take you further,” Snape said quietly.

Draco looked up at him and nodded. “I can manage, sir.”

Snape stared at him oddly. “Be safe.”

Draco nodded again. “Thank you, Professor.”

They both knew it was for more than bringing him to King’s Cross or telling him to be safe.

The feel of Snape’s hand squeezing his shoulder lingered long after the man was gone. After taking a few breaths, he left the corner and casually joined the rushing throngs, heading for Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. He ignored the few bumps he received as people ran by, relieved when he finally spotted someone disappear through a brick barrier. He walked up to it and carefully stepped through when there was a lull in Muggle eyes.

As soon as he was through, he gasped and his hand flew to his chest. Leif had been right. The magic was overwhelming. There was so much and they were all different and it was everywhere. It was like being crushed and his magic felt staticky as it tried to figure out what to do. He could tell he was panicking and slammed his eyes shut, taking deep breaths. He kept his magic inside, but he let all the other signatures brush over him. Nothing felt overtly dangerous and that helped his magic settle minutely.

However, it still wasn’t enough. He needed something stronger to keep his magic calm. What did his magic want? It wanted to find something—someone—specific. It was worked up because there were too many unfamiliar signatures. It wanted the familiar magic it had become used to, had bonded with.

Would memory be enough?

Fighting through the growing pressure in his chest from his erratic magic, he dragged up the previous evening when he had reached out for Potter’s, Snape’s, Leif’s, and Alexei’s magic. He let the feelings of their magic fill him. His magic jumped around, clearly hoping the memory meant the real thing was nearby. It tried to take off, as though angry at being tricked by a memory, but he held it close, continuing to replay the memory. Eventually his magic relented and accepted the memory of their magic. It swirled around inside of him, pulsing with the imagined magic. As it settled with the memory, he was able to open his eyes as the magic surrounding him was no longer bombarding him.

He straightened up, collecting himself, and headed into the masses to the Hogwarts Express. He handed his trunk to a worker to be stored and was going to board when he spotted Potter standing with his friends. Potter had his back to Draco, but Weasley noticed him. The redhead’s face turned disgusted and he said something to Potter who spun around, his eyes searching until they found Draco.

Something passed between them.

It took him a moment to remember they were supposed to be going back to normal and looking at each other without glaring was not normal. He also realized his simmering magic had noticed a familiar signature in the vicinity.

He made a quick decision then. Pulling a sneer onto his face, throwing his head up high, and putting his hands in his trousers’ pockets, he sauntered along the platform, heading directly for the trio of Gryffindors. Potter was closest to the train, allowing for him to rather aggressively shoulder-check him as he walked by.

“Watch it, Potter,” he spat, glaring at the Gryffindor with all he had. Yet, at the proximity and contact, his magic instantly reached out to wrap around Potter’s Elemental Magic. The contact brought a calm to Draco, helping his barely contained magic settle even as it was forced to leave Potter’s behind within seconds.

“Sod off, Malfoy,” Potter shot back after his eyes widened just slightly, indicating he’d felt the brief tangle of their magic.

“Oi, you should’ve stayed gone, ferret,” Weasley said angrily and Draco made sure to keep his sneer to avoid showing any other reaction.

“Can’t get rid of me that easily, Weasel,” he drawled and boarded the next car he passed as Weasley hissed something to Potter and Granger, pulling their attention away from him.

He let out a breath as he found himself alone in the car and quickly slipped into an empty compartment. He pulled the blind over the door window and flicked the tiny lock before collapsing onto one of the seats by the window. He peered out, watching all the milling students, finding the three Gryffindors once again. Whatever they were talking about seemed to be intense if Weasley’s disbelief, Granger’s annoyance, and Potter’s anger were anything to go by. Eventually Potter shook his head and walked away down the train, Weasley and Granger chasing after him. Once they were out of sight, he resumed watching the other students. He let himself be distracted by his amusement over the frantic first years, but it didn’t last long as he soon found a group of Slytherins he had been dreading.

Theodore Nott, Pansy Parkinson, Gregory Goyle, Vincent Crabbe, and the Carrow girls were looking around the platform and he knew they were looking for him. He sunk back slightly, but still kept an eye on them. Nott was clearly the new leader of the group as he said something and headed to the train, the others following close behind. He quickly pulled the blind over his window and leaned back in his seat, sinking down unintentionally. He stayed completely still and quiet as a variety of voices grew louder, students going back and forth past his compartment. His heart beat violently when his locked door was jostled, followed up by unintelligible to him mumbles before whoever it was moved on. He released the breath he didn’t know he was holding and let his head fall back against the seat.

It was going to be a long trip.

He pulled his bag into his lap, opening the clasps and flipping it open to dig through. Trying to decide what to do to pass some of the trip made it clear how little he had now. He only had what Snape had managed to get from his room which wasn’t much in and of itself. The Malfoys were materialistic, yes, but only in regards to what could build power and show status, leaving him with little time-passing activities. As he pushed aside his, at this point, well-used journal, school notebooks, and a couple of class texts, he found a couple of books he knew he hadn’t put in his bag. He pulled them out, finding one to be a text about Aether Magic—Magic of the Gods, it was called—and one to be what seemed to be a Muggle novel called Frankenstein. Jostling his bag to put it back on the seat, he heard off jingling and dug into the bag again. He found a small pouch with a handful of coins in it and a short note in familiar scrawl.

Ensure you eat something, Mr. Malfoy.

Something bubbled inside of him and he sighed at the sense of loss. Leif had given him what was likely a very rare text, and Snape had given him a book of his and money so he could have something on the train. How was it, Snape had done more for him and seemingly cared about him more in seven weeks than his own parents had in fifteen years?

His chest tightened painfully as he thought of his mother, as little of one though she may have been. She had never been very involved, had never shown him a hint of anything other than indifference. He knew early on she hadn’t wanted him, had only had a child out of obligation to produce an heir for the Malfoy line and a prodigy for the Death Eaters should Voldemort ever return. Yet, she was still his mother and her murder devastating, especially since it was his fault, regardless of what Snape said. He’d selfishly abandoned who he was supposed to be because he was weak and she had died as a result. He could feel the guilt clawing its way deeper and deeper into him, but he didn’t care; he deserved it.

Not bothering to try and chase away the depression he was now settled in, he put his bag back on the seat beside him and flipped into Magic of the Gods just as the train started to move. It was a fascinating text, reading more as a narrative of the history, discovery, use, and views of Aether Magic than an academic text. It was made up of facts put together in a story-like format, creating an academic and analytical foundation of the magical branch within intriguing and relatable stories.

It was hours later that he finally put the book aside, reaching just the third chapter, but loving every word he read. It was enlightening learning more about his magic as well as enjoyable reading something so far removed from everything he’d been forced to consume growing up. He had to thank Leif somehow.

He frowned and looked up at the wall across from him when he suddenly felt a rush of magic, familiar magic. It wasn’t strong, coming from a distance and attempting to be controlled, but he could still feel the hints of Air Magic mixed with Fire Magic. What was going on with Potter that had his magic acting up on the train?

He got to his feet and opened his compartment, peeking his head into the corridor to see if he could find out what was going on. He saw a group of students several compartments down walking in the opposite direction, but that was all. He couldn’t see Potter and the magic was just as muted in the corridor as in his compartment. He pushed away his odd concern and pulled back into his doorway as the lady with the meal trolley came by.

“Anything for you, dear?” she asked.

He snatched up the little pouch of coins from the seat and examined the items on the trolley. He grabbed a small hand pie and a couple of liquorice wands, dropping the required coins into the woman’s hand. She gave him a smile and slowly pushed the trolley down the corridor to the next compartment. He had just turned to re-enter his compartment when a large hand gripped the back of his neck and shoved, sending him flying into the compartment. He caught himself on the window, dropping his food but stopping himself from crashing into the glass. He spun as Nott and Goyle stepped into the compartment, Flora and Hestia Carrow behind them in the corridor. He stiffened, his eyes flickering between all of them with a nervousness he hoped they couldn’t see. The hate in Nott’s face was terrifying.

“Shouldn’t have come back, traitor,” Nott said. “You know what’ll happen.”

Draco just glared at them, refusing to give them the satisfaction of any response. He wasn’t sure what they had planned. He knew traitors of Voldemort were meant to be taken care of slowly and in the most painful way possible, but these Slytherins clearly had ideas of what to do for now in the confines of the train. While he knew they were all far more proficient with torturous magic, he also knew Nott had some physical skill and Goyle just had brute strength.

“Nothing to say for yourself?” Nott taunted. “Turn into a coward?”

Draco’s glower deepened with hate. “I’m not the one willing to live my life as a slave.”

The fist that came at him was not unexpected, but the pain was. After seven weeks free of pain for the first time in his life, this pain was jarring. He felt his lip split instantly, but he managed to stay steady and threw his own punch, landing his own hit.

It spiralled after that. Nott and Goyle flew towards him, pinning him against the window while throwing fists and knees and feet. He wrestled free the best he could, throwing out a knee of his own and catching Nott in the intended spot. As Nott fell to the side in pain, Goyle took his place, trying to slam his head back against the glass. He slammed a hand into Goyle’s throat, hoping to throw the Slytherin off of him, and, while Goyle certainly stumbled, it didn’t stop him from managing to finally slam Draco’s head into the window.

Dazed and in pain, Draco hardly noticed when his magic rose up and blasted outward, throwing Goyle out of the compartment, crashing through and shattering the compartment door. In the brief reprieve he got, Draco tried to get his bearings back and tried to get out of the compartment, only for Flora and Hestia to grab him and throw him to the floor together. His magic blasted out again, throwing them into the ceiling and dropping them hard onto the seats, unconscious. By then, Nott had finally recovered and Draco found the Slytherin on top of him. He wrapped a hand around Nott’s throat, trying to push him off, but Nott’s arms were longer and he was able to hit him again and again. Draco felt skin and bone break, felt blood pour into his mouth and out of his nose.

He was growing weaker in the pain and trauma he was enduring, and his attempts to fight back were becoming less effective. His vision was tunneling as the hits became more and more aggressive. He wasn’t sure how long it had been going on for by the time a hit threw him into darkness.

Harry slowly circled his room, dancing his fingers over every surface almost reverently. He could hardly believe what that room—that manor—had become, despite the people, or, maybe, because of the people. He wasn’t sure, to be honest, just like he wasn’t completely sure about his entire range of feelings. He didn’t want to think about them too much since they were going to be back at Hogwarts in mere hours and the last seven weeks were no longer allowed to have happened. It was hard, though, to let go of whatever it had all been.

“Mr. Potter.”

He turned away from the window, ending his gaze at the grounds that had him remembering his lessons with Alexei, his meals and conversations with Leif, his walks—and fights—with Malfoy, and his summer with Snape. Looking at the professor in the doorway, he remembered last night and glanced at the man’s arms. He remembered the pain he’d been in, the abject fear he’d felt, and how, in the middle of bleeding, Snape had offered comfort. None of them were ending the summer on solid footing, unsure where they really stood while knowing what they had to do, so receiving and accepting comfort from Snape was odd. Yet, it had been everything he’d ever wanted all his life. Why did it have to come from Snape and right when it had to end?

Such vicious irony.

“It is time to leave,” Snape said.

There was that tug he’d been feeling—and ignoring—for days now. He nodded and walked over to the bed, pulling his trunk off and swinging his bag over his shoulder. He headed downstairs at Snape’s gesture as the man crossed the wide area to Malfoy’s room. In the downstairs study, Leif and Alexei were there. He stood next to Alexei who briefly rubbed his back, putting his trunk in front of him to wait. He glanced at the fireplace, remembering when he first came through it all those weeks ago with a busted leg. He’d never expected his time there to turn out the way it had.

He wasn’t sure what to expect now, returning to his friends and Hogwarts and the way things were before. He was sure it wasn’t going to be as easy as he hoped.

Snape and Malfoy entered the study then, and he met the grey eyes. Something ran through him, something he couldn’t—wouldn’t—identify and a similar something flashed in Malfoy’s eyes. He didn’t want to ignore it, pretend he hadn’t seen it, but he had to. Real life was about to resume. So, he looked down, tapping the handle of his trunk.

He hardly heard Leif’s and Alexei’s warnings about the struggles he and Malfoy would likely face with their magic as they rejoined throngs of students and staff. He couldn’t help the dread and already simmering anger about the Ministry’s interference at Hogwarts. They expected him to just take this professor and the entire Ministry calling him a liar? He scoffed to himself. They had all better lower their expectations. He would not hesitate to argue for the truth. He would not allow Cedric’s memory to be disrespected by people lying about how he died.

“We will see you soon, but be safe,” Alexei said and he was startled when the vampire pulled him into a firm hug, followed by Leif. He blinked quickly and avoided eye contact.

Leaving all of this was feeling more and more impossible.

“Mr. Potter, it is time to get you to Headquarters,” Snape said and Harry watched him wait expectantly by the fireplace.

“Right,” he said, grabbing his trunk again. He started toward Snape, looking at Malfoy. He couldn’t leave like this. He stopped in front of the Slytherin and held his hand out, watching the confusion cross the other boy’s face.

“Thanks for not being a Death Eater hell bent on my death.”

Malfoy smirked at him and Harry thought it could have been a laugh if they had such a relationship. He was pleasantly surprised when Malfoy did finally grasp his hand.

“Sure, though I can neither confirm nor deny my desire for your death.”

Harry had to hold back his own chuckle, settling for an amused grin. “Still a ferret.”

“And you’re still a prat.”

He dropped Malfoy’s hand then and his grin slid off his face as he joined Snape at the fireplace. He took some powder from Snape and stepped in, turning to look, one last time, at the place, the people—the home?—he was being forced to leave behind.

“Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place!” he said and dropped the powder, saying a silent ‘goodbye’ as he spun away.

He more or less fell out of the fireplace in Grimmauld’s sitting room, as he usually did, cursing quietly when he dropped his trunk, narrowly missing his toes. As he righted it and looked up, he became extremely aware of the insistent tugging and dull ache in his chest. He frowned at himself, absently massaging his chest as though it would suddenly make the feeling go away. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t, no different from the last several days. He stepped aside to allow Snape through.

“You have everything, Potter?” Snape asked, looking down at him.

Harry nodded. “Yes, sir.” There wasn’t much to have.

He was shocked when Snape put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “Be safe.”

He had no time to respond as footsteps and voices echoed in the house, and Snape disappeared back through the fire. The ache increased and his frown deepened. However, he wiped it away as Hermione, the Weasleys, Sirius, Moody, and the woman he’d finally learned was named Tonks entered the sitting room.

“Hey, kid,” Sirius said, flinging an arm around his shoulders. “Bet you’re glad to get out of that safe house and back to Hogwarts.”

Was he?

“Yeah, I guess so,” Harry said. “It ended up not being so bad there.”

“Wish I could go to King’s Cross with you,” Sirius said. “Dumbledore said it’s too dangerous.” The bitterness in his godfather was even more palpable than Snape’s bitterness.

“It is, Sirius,” Harry said. “We don’t know who might be there watching. I don’t want to see you back in Azkaban.”

“I know, just feel like I’m going a little crazy in here,” Sirius said, a shadow coming over his face.

Harry gave a small smile. “I know, but it’s better here than Azkaban or dead.”

“Yeah,” Sirius said and Harry couldn’t help but think his godfather didn’t completely agree. “Send an owl or call me with the mirror once you’re settled, yeah?”

“I will,” Harry said and he hugged the man before watching Sirius leave the room with a frown. He couldn’t help but feel a small prick of hurt at the thought that Sirius didn’t seem to care about his safety despite how it would hurt Harry. Wasn’t he worth staying safe for?

It wasn’t long before they were all Flooing to the Leaky Cauldron and then taking the horrible Portkey that nearly made Harry sick to King’s Cross. The platform was already bustling and he felt his magic act up for the first time. He wasn’t impacted by magical signatures the way Malfoy was, but, being surrounded by so much magic, his wanted to know if anything was compatible like Snape, Malfoy, Leif, and Alexei. He could tell it would be difficult to keep his magic under control with so much other magic around. There was something about the four people he had left behind that just seemed to help his magic stay calm, in control, and even happy.

He pushed it down for now, knowing the loss of control would happen in response to his emotions, and followed his friends across the platform. Mrs. Weasley forced them to a halt as she drilled them all on what they may have forgotten, to eat on the train, to listen to Moody and Tonks, and to stay out of trouble. She swatted at Fred and George as they joked that they wouldn’t be in trouble, everyone else would be, for they couldn’t control what was done with their product after it was sold.

Mrs. Weasley pulled the twins aside for scolding. Ginny hurried off to find her friends. Moody made his way onto the train while Tonks began strolling the platform. Harry was left with Ron and Hermione. They gave their trunks over to be stored and then gazed around, both on guard and to find any of their other friends.

“Oh, bloody hell,” Ron said and Harry looked at him, seeing disgust twist his face. “The little bastard’s alive.”

He knew exactly who Ron was talking about and he spun around. It was hard to spot anyone with how crowded it was, but, eventually, he managed to find Malfoy near one of the first train cars. Just like at the manor, their eyes met and something passed between them. He could see little tremors periodically running through the blonde’s body and knew he was fighting for control with all of the signatures and systems around.

He watched as Malfoy schooled his features, pulling his classic sneer onto his face and strutting towards them, not caring if he bumped people on the way. He knew what Malfoy was doing. This was normal; staring at each other was not.

When Malfoy intentionally threw his shoulder into Harry’s as he passed, Harry quickly gathered a glare.

“Watch it, Potter,” Malfoy spat even as both of them looked at each other for a second with wide eyes again as their magic tangled happily. He saw a minute decrease in Malfoy’s tension and knew his magic had helped to settle Malfoy’s in that moment.

“Sod off, Malfoy,” he snapped, ensuring their normal was kept up.

“Oi, you should’ve stayed gone, ferret,” Ron said and Harry had to stop from frowning at his friend. He saw Malfoy’s sneer twitch and knew the blonde had felt a sting at being confronted with the fact that no one would want him at Hogwarts.

Well, almost no one.

He wanted Malfoy there.

And wasn’t that just something.

“Can’t get rid of me that easily, Weasel,” Malfoy drawled before pulling himself into the next train car, disappearing inside.

“Since he’s not dead, he has to be a Death Eater,” Ron said and Harry turned back to his friends, frowning this time.

“He’s only fifteen,” Harry said.

“So what?” Ron said. “Don’t need a Mark to be a Death Eater in training. They’re all mini Death Eaters.”

Harry furrowed his eyebrows. “Who?”

“Slytherins,” Ron said. “Not surprising considering their Head of House probably recruits them on day one.”

“Snape’s a spy,” Harry said, keeping it quiet so no one overheard.

“Has to be a Death Eater to spy on them,” Ron said.

“Yeah, fine, he was a Death Eater, he’s got a Mark, but he’s not one of them,” Harry said, unsure why he felt the need to defend the man he was supposed to be furious at and hate.

“You don’t know that,” Ron said. “Look at how he’s treated all of us, especially you.”

“Being a bad teacher and hating students means he’s a Death Eater?” Harry said. “We’re pretty bad students and hate him, does that mean we’re Death Eaters?”

“What, no!” Ron said, appalled. “We’re Gryffindors.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Peter Pettigrew ring any bells?” he said angrily. “Being a bastard doesn’t mean Snape’s a loyal Death Eater and Malfoy definitely isn’t one.”

“Why are you defending them?”

Harry glared. “Because maybe they could be good to have on our side one day.”

Ron gaped in disbelief, making Harry shake his head. He pushed his way through the crowds and to a close train car, pulling himself inside.

“Harry!”

 He glanced over his shoulder as Ron and Hermione quickly caught up to him.

“Is everything alright?” Hermione asked, clearly confused and concerned about his behaviour.

Harry snorted to himself.

Not even a little bit, he thought, glancing into compartments to find an empty one. He was unsure what to tell his friends. He couldn’t tell them about his summer, but there were some things they needed to know. They would find out eventually.

He found an empty compartment and slipped inside, Ron and Hermione close behind. They closed the door and sat down on the seat across from him.

“Look, there’s a lot I need to tell you,” Harry said. “Just lay off Snape and Malfoy, yeah? We don’t know anything about them for sure, and we could need them later on.”

“But—”

“Not all Slytherins are Death Eaters and not only Slytherins can be Death Eaters,” Harry said. “Voldemort is only getting stronger. We’re going to need all the help we can get.”

“You’re right, Harry,” Hermione said. “It’s bad enough the Ministry is interfering at Hogwarts. We should all be trying to work together.”

Ron scoffed. “Not with the ferret.”

Harry glared again at Ron instantly doing exactly what he told them not to. “Enough. You don’t know what happened to him this summer. Stop assuming.”

Ron didn’t have a chance to answer as their compartment door opened, revealing Seamus, Dean, and a few other Gryffindors.

“Shouldn’t be surprised to hear you defending snakes, Potter,” Seamus spat.

Harry tensed, glowering at the Irishman. “The hell does that mean?”

“A snake defending snakes,” Seamus said.

“I take it you’ve been reading the Prophet,” Harry said.

“Damn right. The only way to find out about anything around this place,” Seamus said. “Between your and Dumbledore’s secrets.”

“Oh yeah, got loads of those with him,” Harry said sarcastically. “Got a club and everything. Want to join?”

“With liars? Not bloody likely,” Seamus said.

“You really think I’m the liar, not the Prophet?” Harry said in some disbelief, though, he supposed, he shouldn’t be surprised. It wasn’t as though it were difficult for Hogwarts’ student body to turn on him, if the last four years were any indication.

“I think no one really knows what happened in that maze,” Seamus said and Harry leapt to his feet, rage filling him as he remembered. He felt his magic begin to swirl, reacting to his building emotions.

“You know what happened,” Harry growled. “I told you and Dumbledore told you.”

“Yeah, well, Dumbledore’s a bit off his rocker, isn’t he?” Seamus said. “And being his favourite, can’t trust much from you. Covering up what you did, Potter?”

Harry clenched his fists, feeling his magic leaking into them. “And what do you think I did?”

Seamus stepped so close their noses were nearly touching, fury rolling off both. “Well, Cedric didn’t drop dead on his own, did he?”

There was nothing Harry could do to control the power that poured out of him as his rage exploded. A vicious wind picked up and started whipping around the compartment, heating up at the same time. As he threw his fist and it connected with Seamus’ nose, he barely registered the yellow and red tendrils twisting around his hand, wrist, and forearm.

“The hell are you doing, Potter?” Dean shouted, catching Seamus as he stumbled backwards, his hand flying to his bloodied nose.

“You’re crazy!” Seamus yelled. “Going dark, he is!”

“Get out of here, you wanker!” Ron shouted from behind Harry.

“Stay away from me, Potter,” Seamus spat.

“With pleasure,” Harry snapped and watched as Seamus stormed out with Dean and the other Gryffindors. Ron shoved past him to close the door of their compartment before spinning around to stare at him with wide eyes. The magic was still acting as a tornado around them, heating up the space and throwing all of their hair around.

“Harry?” Hermione said and he looked at her. His chest tightened at the fear he saw in her eyes and he dropped his eyes to his still clenched fists. He needed to bring his magic back, he needed to stop. He couldn’t risk hurting someone.

He slammed his eyes closed and, even though he needed to leave them behind, he thought about Prince Manor. He thought about his sessions with Alexei, the calm of Leif, the moment with Malfoy’s magic on the platform, and of the feel of Snape’s physical and magical comfort. Memory was all he could have, it would have to be enough to help settle his magic. He couldn’t have them, their magic, so the remembrance of them had to be enough.

“Paidí?”

Harry’s eyes flew open and he stared up at Leif, astonished to see the man standing in front of him. He hadn’t thought he’d ever see Leif or Alexei again.

“Can you get a hold?” Leif asked and Harry shook his head. Leif reached out then to gently, but firmly grasp Harry’s wrists. “Feel me, paidí. Same magic as his.”

Harry nodded and tried to focus, feeling the familiarity of Aether Magic. It felt like Malfoy’s magic, but different. There was more power behind it and it was calming, but not nearly as easily connected to as Malfoy’s or even Snape’s. Something about their magic felt like his was supposed to connect with it. Despite this, his magic still loved Leif’s and allowed the immortal’s to tangle, tugging his gently into submission. There was still a comfort to it, a steadiness Leif was able to bring that allowed his magic to slowly calm.

“What happened?” Leif asked quietly, still working with Harry’s wild magic.

“Seamus…said I’m lying,” Harry said.

Leif sighed. “Try to push past it. You know the truth, as do your friends, and all of us.”

Harry nodded, trying to listen. Acknowledging the truth was hard as Cedric fell in front of his eyes over and over, but he forced his way through it. Seamus was an idiot. He knew the truth. They knew the truth.

Slowly, the pressure in his chest lessened and the hot wind storm died down. He was still trembling slightly and his breathing was heavier, but his magic was settled. He opened his eyes to meet Leif’s again.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, aware of Ron and Hermione behind him and staring at them.

“Alexei’s here too,” Leif said. “We’ll explain more at another time, but we are going to be at Hogwarts part-time with you. We’ll be continuing your training.”

“Really?” Harry said hopefully, thrilled that he didn’t have to forget about everything. “But Dumbledore—”

“Has no say in this,” Leif said and gave a mischievous grin. “It’s like magic.”

Harry chuckled, so glad to have Leif and Alexei still in his life. He didn’t have to forget all of it after all.

“Will you be alright?”

Harry nodded. “I think so.”

Leif smiled, squeezed his hands and left, closing the door behind him. Harry let out a breath and turned to his friends.

“What the hell is going on?” Ron demanded.

“Who was that? What is going on with your magic?” Hermione asked.

Harry sighed and collapsed back onto the seat. “I told you, there’s a lot that you should probably know.”

Ron and Hermione sat across from him again and waited, staring at him expectantly. He took a deep breath and told them everything except for what his uncle did to him and anything to do with Snape and Malfoy. He changed and embellished details to fit with the narrative that he was alone at a safe house. He explained Leif and Alexei as trainers Dumbledore had enlisted to help with his new Elemental Magic during his stay at the safe house. He explained the prophecy, saying he learned all about it through a vision and that he learned about Snape’s involvement with it from Dumbledore when he confronted the headmaster. He finished with the final vision, hoping explaining Snape’s role and Malfoy’s death sentence would help them understand. He couldn’t like the Slytherins—he didn’t like them, he tried to convince himself—but his friends needed to understand that they weren’t the enemy and they were all on the same side.

Shockingly, Ron and Hermione had managed to remain silent throughout his account. Once done, he leaned back and looked at them, waiting for the explosions and questions. The silence stretched and he raised an eyebrow.

“You can’t just be normal once, can you?” Ron said deadpanned and Harry devolved into laughter.

“Where would be the fun in that?” Harry quipped once his laughs died down.

“Wouldn’t mind it on occasion,” Ron said in a mock grumble and Harry chuckled again.

They settled back to discuss all he’d told them before moving on to theorize about what the year would hold with the Ministry’s Umbridge teaching. He told them what Leif and Alexei had said, that she would try to push the story that Harry and Dumbledore were lying and would try to control what they were learning since the Ministry believed Dumbledore was building an army of students. Hermione was appalled that their education could be in peril during such an important year. Ron gave some insight into the mess that was the Ministry ever since June. He wasn’t as broken up about the possible disruption to their schooling as Hermione, but he was still anxious that they wouldn’t learn to defend themselves against the threat growing and looming outside Hogwarts. He was appalled at the Gryffindors’ seemingly easy belief that Harry was a coldblooded murderer at fourteen.

“Idiots, the lot of them,” Ron said. “Don’t listen to them. Seamus, Dean…they’re just scared.”

“They should be,” Harry said.

“But not of you. You’re not dark.”

“No, but it’s out there and it will find a way into Hogwarts if Umbridge and the Ministry keep it all quiet.”

Hours had passed and it had grown dark by the time their conversation halted. They were, at some point, joined by Neville and a girl Harry had never met, Luna from Ravenclaw. She was odd, but Harry could appreciate the calm optimism she seemed to exude. She also didn’t believe a word the Prophet said which certainly earned her points in Harry’s book.

Harry stepped out into the corridor to stretch and get himself a sandwich, having found a small pouch of coins and note from Snape telling him to eat. As he chose a roast beef sandwich and a chocolate frog, a scuffle down the corridor drew his attention. He looked just in time to see a group of Slytherins disappear into a compartment. He frowned, instantly remembering the call put out for Malfoy’s punishment.

“Harry?”

He looked at Ron and Hermione who had joined him in the corridor and were giving him questioning looks.

“A bunch of Slytherins just went into a compartment down there,” Harry said. “Sounded like they were fighting or something.”

“So what?” Ron said.

“What about Malfoy?” Harry said. “I told you they’re going to be after him.”

“It’s only Malfoy,” Ron said with a shrug.

“You shouldn’t get involved,” Hermione said. “You don’t want to become a target as well.”

“I’m a target no matter what, Hermione,” Harry said, looking between his friends with furrowed eyebrows. “And you think we should just let them hurt Malfoy? Maybe kill him or bring him to Voldemort to be tortured and killed?”

“Of course we don’t want that,” Hermione said, “but it really isn’t something you should be worried about.”

“Well, I am!” Harry snapped. “Just because we don’t like someone, we let them die?”

“It’s what he would do,” Ron said. “I say he’s made his choices. Let him deal with the fallout.”

“He chooses not to be a Death Eater, so he deserves to suffer?” Harry said.

“No, of course not,” Hermione said, “but…it’s still Malfoy.”

“Exactly,” Ron said. “He deserves to pay for everything he’s done to us. Malfoys deserve to suffer.”

Harry glared at his friends. He couldn’t believe them. Even when he hated Malfoy, he never would have wanted anything as awful as what was likely waiting for the blonde to happen to him. Even the Dursleys, as horrible as they were, hadn’t deserved to die.

He was going to continue arguing when the door to the compartment the Slytherins had disappeared into suddenly shattered as Goyle flew through it into the corridor, clearly unconscious. He heard muffled yelling and banging, and he instantly knew Malfoy was in trouble.

Dropping his sandwich and ignoring his friends calling for him, he dashed down the corridor, skidding into the compartment Goyle had fallen out of. He stepped over Goyle’s crumpled body and shoved aside what was left of the sliding door to see Flora and Hestia unconscious on the seats, and Nott standing over the limp body of Malfoy, punching over and over. He didn’t understand the feelings of rage and fear that filled him at the sight of a helpless and bloody Malfoy, but he didn’t dwell. Instead, he used them to channel his Air Magic and he flung Nott off of Malfoy, slamming him against the opposing wall and window, dropping him into a heap like Goyle just above Malfoy’s head.

Harry fell beside Malfoy, taking in the bruised, battered, and bloodied face. The blonde was breathing, but it was hitching every few inhales and blood was trickling from his mouth.

“Harry, what are you doing?”

He quickly glanced over his shoulder. Ron and Hermione were staring at the scene with wide eyes.

“He needs help,” Harry said. “Find Moody or Tonks.”

“But—”

“Go!” Harry yelled. “He’s just a kid like us! We can’t let him die!”

Ron and Hermione were clearly still hesitant, but they took off after a few moments, leaving him to turn back to Malfoy. He didn’t know if the blonde was actually dying, but he did need help regardless. Looking at the hurt Slytherin, he could tell he would be unable to just turn his back on everything from the last seven weeks.

“Just hang on, Malfoy,” Harry muttered only to curse when the blonde released a deep, shuddering breath and blood poured from his mouth.

They’re taking too long, he thought desperately. He looked around the compartment, hoping to somehow find help there. Then he remembered.

In seconds, he had the ball of air created and whispered, “Malfoy needs help.” He let it go and felt it go in search of Leif.

Harry felt the Air Magic release a few seconds later and knew his message had been received. “Okay, you’ll be okay. Leif’s coming,” he said to Malfoy, reaching out without thinking and grasping the blonde’s hand.

At the contact, a power rushed through him. His Elemental Magic rushed out of him, meeting with Malfoy’s swirling Aether Magic. Like it had so many times that summer, their magic tangled together, but something was different. Malfoy’s magic was pulling at his, similar to when Malfoy had accidentally drained his core, but this was gentle, guiding his to wrap around Malfoy’s body and core. His magic was going willingly and he could feel Malfoy’s pulse the more they both connected.

“Harry!”

Still holding onto Malfoy’s hand and keeping their magic intertwined, he swung his gaze over his shoulder, relief filling him at the sight of both Leif and Alexei.

“He needs help,” Harry said despite the situation being obvious.

Leif squeezed into the compartment onto Malfoy’s other side. “Is your magic connected?”

“I…I think so,” Harry said, unsure exactly what Leif was asking. “I think he’s using mine somehow.”

Leif took Malfoy’s other hand and put his free hand on Harry’s shoulder. “This is part of what your magic can do together and the Life Bond. He is weak and is using your magic to help himself heal. Can you hold on?”

Harry nodded. There was a definite drain on his power happening, but it almost felt symbiotic. For every bit of magic Malfoy took, he seemed to replenish a little of it. Gripping Malfoy’s hand, Harry watched as Leif proceeded to cast numerous spells on the Slytherin, seeming to heal at least some of the damage. The more minor injuries closed while the more severe simply lessened. Blood stopped leaving Malfoy’s mouth and his breathing evened out. As Malfoy was healed, his magic began to pull back from Harry’s, detangling and ceasing its draw.

“You can let go now, paidí,” Leif said. “He will be alright.”

Harry glanced at Leif, unsure, but pulled his magic back completely and released Malfoy’s hand at the man’s look of encouragement. He looked up at Alexei when the vampire touched his back.

“Are you alright?” Alexei asked and Harry nodded again. “Come. Let’s give Draco some space.”

Harry looked at Malfoy, realizing he was stirring. He began to get to his feet when a hand lightly grasping his stopped him. He met the barely open grey eyes.

“Potter,” Malfoy whispered. “Thank you.”

Harry gave a small smile. “Screw destiny, remember?”

Malfoy just squeezed his hand slightly and let go. Harry pushed himself to his feet and allowed Alexei to lead him away, back to his compartment of friends though his thoughts remained with Malfoy.

“They will be okay.”

Severus managed not to react when Alexei came up next to him despite being tucked away in a corner and Disillusioned. He just gave the vampire a sidelong glance before returning his gaze to the crowded platform.

“Leif and I will be there,” Alexei added.

“And why is that?” Severus said, keeping half his attention on the two boys.

“Lady Magic has been busy,” Alexei said. “A document appeared in the archives declaring me and Leif the mentors of Draco and Harry. They have been legally made our apprentices.”

Severus pulled his eyes from the boys, frowning at Alexei. “How is that possible?”

Alexei gave him a wry smile. “Lady Magic knows what she wants. There is a powerful force around those boys and it is bringing us all in.”

“Magic created a legal apprenticeship contract?” Severus said, raising an eyebrow skeptically.

“Is it truly that hard to believe considering the magic those two have and all we’ve discovered?” Alexei said, gesturing back out to the crowds.

Severus turned back in time to see the very obviously deliberate shoulder-check Malfoy gave Potter. Harsh comments were said, but, even from his distance, Severus could see the lack of sincerity in their faces. Malfoy disappeared onto the train, leaving just Potter and his friends in view.

“We will be able to help protect them, but we won’t be at Hogwarts all the time,” Alexei said. “You need to protect them too.”

“We cannot risk it,” Severus said, watching Potter argue with his friends.

“You have protected Harry with no one knowing for the last four years,” Alexei said. “Keep doing that and help Draco. It is going to be a hard year for both of them.”

Severus sighed lightly and watched Potter board the train. There was a stirring in his gut as he lost sight of the boys and he frowned, unfamiliar with the feeling. The tightening in his chest he did recognize as worry. He’d felt it consistently every time he heard or saw the next ridiculous stunt Potter had performed or danger Potter had put himself in.

The train’s whistle echoed across the platform and all the students began flooding onto the train.

“Moy drug,” Alexei said, putting a hand on Severus’ arm. Severus turned to look at him. “We will take care of them, but they need you as well. They need more than just protection, as do you.”

Severus said nothing, watching his friend head towards the Hogwarts Express and board. The platform emptied of students, leaving behind smiling, crying, and waving families as the train whistled again before beginning to move. Severus found himself stepping forward to watch the train leave the station, frowning at the odd twisting in his stomach.

Once the train was gone, he shook his head at himself and quickly left the platform, heading back to the place where he had left Malfoy. He Disapparated away, appearing at the edge of Hogsmeade village. He put his hands in his pockets and began the trek up to Hogwarts, allowing his thoughts, for the time, to float to Potter and Malfoy.

He could admit to himself that it already felt strange to not have the two boys and their magic around. It had come to feel normal to have Potter and Malfoy around, to feel their magic constantly, and, if he was honest, a part of him felt…bereft. The two boys had become surprisingly pleasant company, having turned out to be vastly different from what he’d believed. It had been…difficult to have Potter become so angry and distant as a result of the prophecy discovery. The relationship between the three of them had been consistently rocky all summer, but there was still something that had developed and it had made the end of summer difficult to accept. Despite what Leif and Alexei said, he knew what he had to do. He could not remain attached to the boys, not if they were to all be safe. He could not fathom putting them in danger and, if that meant he had to abandon them and the summer they had, he would do so. Their safety from Voldemort was more important than anything.

Dumbledore was right. They all had roles and those roles could not entangle further.

He sighed as he pushed into his rooms, needing to prepare for the arrival of the students. He was heading for his bedroom when he noticed a door in the back-left corner of the room, behind and to the left of the raised area that held his desk. His eyebrows furrowed. That door had never been there before. He crossed the room, passing the desk and sitting area and kitchen. As he approached, he raised a hand to open it, only to have the door shimmer and to feel strong magic. He frowned. What was preventing him from opening the door? What room had been added without his consent and why? Whose magic was he feeling? It felt familiar, but he couldn’t place it.

He hovered his palm over the magical barrier covering the door, his frown deepening as it pulsed and he felt a wave of warmth wash over him. It was similar to what he’d felt each time Potter and Malfoy had interacted with him with their magic.

He pulled away, unsettled, and headed back to his bedroom with a final confused glance at the mysterious door.

He spent the next few hours preparing. He gathered and sorted all the timetables to be handed out during dinner. He set up his office and classroom, readying it for the first day of classes. He read the missives from Dumbledore and McGonagall regarding the new Defense professor, OWLs, NEWTs, the schedule of Hogsmeade visits, and the first staff meeting. The bell rang out, then, signalling the looming arrival of the students, and he changed into his teaching robes, donning his signature heavy outer robe.

Taking a deep breath and clearing his mind, he left his rooms and headed up to the Great Hall. He entered alongside Flitwick and Sinistra, inclining his head in greeting to the both of them as he passed behind the Head Table to his seat. He was at the far-right end in order to better see his Slytherins though, this time, there were an additional two seats to his right.

“Take your seats,” Dumbledore said as he entered the hall and all the staff sat, gazing out at the doors to await the students.