Harry did not see Draco again until supper. Both he and Snape were seated at the table when Harry walked in the dining room. Snape was sitting at the head of the table as usual, and Harry was glad to see that his own place at Snape’s right was empty. Draco had been seated at Snape’s left, across from Harry. The clock was striking seven, so Harry did not think he was too late.

Draco seemed to be pouting; that was the only word Harry could think of to describe the stubborn look on the other boy’s face. Pouting and hoping everyone noticed.

"Hope I’m not late," Harry said pleasantly as he slid into his seat.

"No, you’re fine," Snape said. He raised an eyebrow when Harry gave him an easy smile as if the man’s assurance put all his worries to rest.

The first course came: a beef broth with little bits of parsley in it. Aunt Petunia had made broth before, but hers was usually too salty or watery. Dudley refused to eat it, and Uncle Vernon said it was too weak for his growing boy and that they should save it for Harry. Harry grew to hate the large bowls of pale brown soup, often cold, that his aunt slapped down in front of him. Even with that unpleasant memory, Harry tasted the broth. As always, like anything served at Snapdragon Manor, the food was delicious. Harry eagerly took another spoonful.

"Ugh!" Draco made a face as he spooned up some of the broth and let it drip into his bowl. "I don’t want this."

Harry looked at Snape, waiting.

"Draco," Snape gave a small frown, "stop playing with your food."

Harry glared into his own bowl. If he had said or done anything like that, Snape would have sent him to the corner to stand until he could come back with a better attitude. But with Draco – Snape didn’t care how his precious Slytherin acted. Draco could do anything, and Snape would give him only a mild reprimand. It wasn’t fair.

Harry began eating his broth as if it were the best thing he had ever tasted. He savored each spoonful, and when the main course arrived, he began eating with gusto. He figured that all Draco wanted was for him to miserable, and so Harry tried to be as blissfully happy as he could be. While Draco prodded and barely tasted his own food, Harry did all but lick the plate clean.

Draco glared at him, and Harry smiled serenely.

"This really is the best meal I think I’ve had in weeks," Harry said.

"What?’ Draco sneered. "Are they starving you the rest of the year, Potter?"

Harry ripped off a piece of bread with his teeth and smiled at Draco.

The meal finally ended, and Snape said, "All right, why don’t we go into the family room for a bit? You boys can read, and then we’ll have a spot of tea before you go up to bed."

Harry had been having tea with Snape for the past three nights, and he regarded it as a sort of reward for his progress over the last month. It was something he had worked a long time for, a privilege he did not take lightly. And then Draco got to have tea on his first night at Snapdragon Manor? Harry on his first night got – wait, what was it? – a hard spanking and an early bedtime with Snape nagging the whole time? Draco just breezed in and got treated like a prince or long-lost son returning home. It really wasn’t fair.

But Harry said nothing, just followed Snape into the family room. He wasn’t going to let Draco get his chair or the teacup with the yellow rim and red handle because that was his. Harry might have to share a bedroom and Snape, but Draco wasn’t getting the teacup!

They all sat in the family room, and Snape was happy because all was calm and peaceful, just as it should be in his opinion. All going smoothly until the clock struck half past nine and he announced, "All right, boys, time to go upstairs. I want you both to take a bath and be in bed by ten."

His statement was not meet with enthusiasm.

"In bed by ten?" Draco exclaimed. "I don’t go to bed before midnight, usually later."

"I had a bath yesterday," Harry objected. "And I didn’t go outside today."

"No one cares what time I go to bed at home," Draco continued.

"And I went swimming the day before," Harry added. "I’m clean enough."

"I won’t be able to go to sleep before midnight," Draco insisted. "I’m not going to bed until then."

"If he’s not going to bed, I’m not going to bed," Harry argued.

"That’s enough!" Snape snapped. "You are both going to bed and both taking a bath, and I’m not listening to another word of argument. Upstairs, now."

"Only the person taking a bath first should have to go up now," Draco pointed out. "So who’s first? Not me!"

"I’m not going first," Harry argued. "I don’t even need a bath."

"Quiet," Snape ordered. He glanced back and forth between the boys. "Potter, you’re first."

"Why?" Harry immediately whined. "Why do I have to go first?"

"Because you’re the youngest," Snape replied. "Go on now, and wash your hair. When you’re done, I’ll send Draco up."

It was bad enough to have to go first, but it was nearly unbearable to leave with Draco gloating silently, his eyes laughing at Harry as he trudged up the stairs.

Harry stomped up the stairs, growling and muttering mean things under his breath.

"Someone is in a bad mood today," one of the pictures observed.

"Shut up," he said crossly.

"Oh," the portrait shook his head, "naughty, naughty. No wonder you were sent up first with that sort of behavior."

He didn’t bother replying to the picture; he just went into his bedroom. At that moment, Harry wanted to slam the door like he had never slammed a door before, but he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Snape DID NOT LIKE slammed doors. Stoppering up the tub drain, Harry turned the water on. As the roaring sound filled the bathroom, he sat on the closed lid of the toilet and began untying his shoes. He wondered what they were doing downstairs. Talking? Maybe Draco was complaining about Harry, and Snape would – what? Defend Harry? Not very likely. Criticize him, agree with Malfoy? Probably. Would Snape tell Draco what the next few days would be like? Would Draco get to have another biscuit? That alone seemed the hardest idea to swallow. Harry had been banished upstairs so Snape and his favorite pupil could sit in the cozy room, sipping the rest of the tea and enjoying the biscuits.

Now undressed, Harry angrily dropped himself into the tub. Half a second later, he realized the water was much too hot. He let out a howl and scrambled out of the tub. His nearly-boiled skin was red, and little tingles of pain ran all over his body. Groaning, he sat on the edge of the tub and turned the cold handle on. He wished he could blame this new pain on Draco as well, but Harry was not that stupid. After the cold water ran for a minute, he tested the water with his hand before getting in again.

This was going to be a long week.

When Harry emerged from the bathroom in pajamas with his hair still damp, Draco was waiting.

"Took you long enough," Draco said snidely.

"Sorry, your highness," Harry returned.

Draco strode past him and slammed the door, loud enough for Snape to hear if he was on the same floor. But did Snape come barging in and order Draco not to slam doors? Nooooo! Of course, not.

It was ten minutes to ten, but Harry sat in a chair and looked at the two beds. He missed his old, queen-sized bed with plenty of room and lots of pillows. He didn’t really move around when he slept – kept huddled on the right-side of the bed as a matter of fact, but the new beds looked awfully narrow. They were pushed into opposite corners, about ten feet of space between the two, but they both had matching green spreads and only two pillows each.

Draco’s trunks were stacked at the bottom of one bed. As Harry faced the beds, Draco had claimed the one to the left. But to the person sleeping on the beds, Draco had the one to right. Draco had claimed Harry’s side of the bed! Harry stood up, outraged. Snape knew he slept on the right-side. When Snape made him take naps, right before he caught fire, Snape always placed him on the right-side of the bed. And now Draco thought he could just swoop in and take Harry’s bed?

Not bloody likely!

Harry marched over to Draco’s trunks – they all had his family crest on them along with the initials DM in fancy gold writing – and began dragging them to the end of other bed.

He had just moved the last trunk when Draco came out of the bathroom, bathed and dressed in pajamas.

"What are you doing?" Draco exploded. "That bed was mine."

"No, I sleep on that side," Harry stated. "You can have the other bed."

"Snape said I could choose which bed I wanted, and I took that one!" Draco pointed to the other bed.

"Snape made a mistake. I get that one."

"You do not," Draco yelled. "You stinking, rotten, half-blooded –"

"Shut it, you slimy prat," Harry retorted. "You think you get to have everything you want? Well, think again. I’m not some whiny Slytherin that you can scare with your threats and your father and –"

"You leave my father out of this!" Draco nearly screamed.

"What? Afraid he’s going to rot in that dirty prison like a mangy dog?" Harry taunted. "That you’ll never see him again? Of course, why would he want to see you at all? You’re just a disappointment, right?"

He expected Draco to hurl back an insult. Draco could scream out something about Sirius or the Weasleys or even Harry’s own parents, and Harry would have to try to think of something even meaner to say. But Draco did not yell anything. He stared at Harry, then blinked several times. Harry could have sworn that he saw the other boy’s eyes glisten with unshed tears; he would have sworn that Draco was fighting back tears and trying to keep his face under control. And suddenly, Harry had no idea what he would do if Malfoy broke down and cried. Harry could only stand there, watching Draco’s face.

But the moment passed, and Draco gave Harry his reply.

He thrust out both hand sagainst Harry’s chest and shoved Harry backwards. Caught off balance, Harry fell back against the bed. He didn’t think he weighed that much, but the bed banged against wall loudly.

"I’m sleeping in that bed!" Draco roared. "And you’re sleeping with your face ground down into the floor where it belongs."

Tears Harry knew nothing about, but another fight he could do. He rolled over, barely missing being kicked, and jumped to his feet. "Come on, Malfoy," he jeered. "Show me how a Slytherin fights without his henchmen or his wand."

"Who says I haven’t got my wand?" Draco smirked.

Harry stopped. "But – but we aren’t allowed – Snape wouldn’t – ugh!"

Draco landed a punch while Harry was off guard. Harry got it right on the nose, and he staggered back. He barely gave himself time to access the pain before he lunged for Draco.

If he had been asked, Harry would not be able to tell anyone exactly why they were fighting. Did he expect to kill or beat Draco so badly that the other boy would no longer be a threat? No, that would not be practical – even Harry would have admitted that in a rational frame of mind. Had he been asked any other time, Harry would have agreed that physical fighting solved nothing, that it was a waste of time, and that he would prefer not to engage in such brutality.

But in the rage of moment, his one intent was to give it to Malfoy good, until the other boy begged for mercy.

They were rolling around on the floor when Snape came in. The man took one look – Harry had Draco in a headlock, but Draco was slamming an elbow in Harry’s stomach over and over again as Harry choked him – and Snape growled loudly.

"That is it!" he bellowed.

Both boys jumped, looking up at a very unpleased potions master.

"He started it – he hit me first," Harry protest, unwilling to let go of Draco lest the blond try to get in one more shot.

Draco struggled to break free. "He deserved it, nasty little –"

"In bed now!" Snape said in a voice that could be heard all over the manor. He grabbed Harry and dragged him up.

Draco rose, rubbing his sore throat and looking daggers at Harry.

"Draco, bed," Snape directed.

The blond headed for the right-sided bed.

"That’s my bed," Harry objected. "I sleep on that side."

"Draco is our guest, Mr. Potter," Snape said firmly. "We had this discussion before he came, and I would hate for us to have another discussion of a more unpleasant kind."

His eyes said spanking, and Harry angrily looked away. Maybe he had provoked Draco, but Draco had thrown the first punch, and that should count for something.

Meanwhile, Draco had climbed into the right-sided bed and sitting there, proudly as if he had conquered an entire kingdom. He continued to gloat as Harry trudged to the other bed and got in. It was all wrong, sleeping on this side – he would try to roll over and hit the wall. A dozen other bedrooms in the manor, and Snape had to put them in the same room.

"All right," Snape surveyed both boys like a man weary of fighting an endless war, "these are the rules for tonight. No getting out of bed, no talking, no throwing things, no name-calling, nothing but being quiet and going to sleep. I don’t want you out of bed until eight o’clock tomorrow at which time you’ll both get up, Harry first, go into the bathroom to get dressed and washed, and come down to breakfast at 8:30. Am I understood?"

"Yes," Draco muttered.

"Yes, sir," Harry mumbled, knowing to add the sir or Snape would ask again.

"Good. Draco, lie down," Snape said. As Draco pulled up his own covers and lay on the pillows, Snape walked over to Harry. The man held out his hand for Harry’s glasses, and the boy handed them over without a word. Harry was already laying down, but Snape pulled up his covers, gathering them firmly over Harry’s shoulder. The tightness of Snape’s hands worried Harry more than having Draco see him get tucked in like a five-year-old. Harry knew Snape was not happy with his behavior, and Harry wished he could apologize or say something to abate the man’s displeasure. But all Harry could do was squirm uneasily and try to avoid Snape’s eyes.

"Good, now go to sleep," Snape landed a single pat on Harry’s hip. Well, it was a bit too hard and stern to be a pat, but Harry prayed that Draco would think that’s what it was. He did not want Draco to realize what Snape intended it to be: a this-is-your-last-chance warning to behave or face the consequences.

"Good night," Snape said from the doorway.

Draco gave a disgruntled huff, but Harry replied, "Good night, sir."

And Snape closed the door.

Harry lay in the dark, listening to Snape’s footsteps fade away and Draco’s impatient breathing.

"‘Good night, sir’," Draco mocked. "Really, Potter, you’re such a suck-up."

"We’re not supposed to talk," Harry told him.

"Oh, so now you’re the golden boy who does exactly what he’s told?" Draco jeered.

Harry wanted to retort, wanted to make Draco shut up, but he said nothing but, "Well, I’m going to sleep. You can stay awake and talk to yourself if you like."

A snort was the only reply from Draco.

Harry snuggled down in his pillow. He would have to ignore the fact that his enemy was sleeping only a few feet away. He wondered what Snape would say if he strangled Draco in the night, just choked the life right out of him.

And he didn’t believe that Draco would sleep for a minute – the blond would wait until he thought Harry was asleep and then get out of bed to do something painful to him. Well, Harry wasn’t going to sleep. He planned to stay awake all night, watching Draco. And if Snape asked in the morning why Harry looked so tired, he would tell Snape that if he wanted his ward to get some sleep he shouldn’t have put him in the same room with his archenemy.

He would just lie in bed, listening to Draco’s rhythmic breathing and the sounds of the old manor creaking as it settled for the night. Just lie there in the dark, listening and breathing softly . . .

------

Something scurried across Harry’s bed. He opened his eyes to slits and squinted. Though the morning light shone through the window, everything was a bright blur without his glasses. He reached for them and put them on. Then he gave a short yell and sat up.

Five huge tarantulas were crawling over the end of his bed, over the covers and around his legs.

Having lived in a cupboard with spiders for years, Harry did not panic. But at the same time, he didn’t want to share his bed with the huge, hairy creatures. He tried to kick them off. Then the spiders disappeared.

"What?" he blinked in confusion.

"Morning, Potter," Draco drawled from the other bed. He stretched his arms up lazily, a nasty satisfied smile plastered on his face. "Fancy a greeting from some furry friends?"

"So clever," Harry threw back the covers and stood up. "An optical allusion or whatever with a bunch of spiders. I’m trembling now. What else can you do, Malfoy? Fill my pockets with mice? Have frogs nest in my hair? Better hurry before Snape finds out you have a wand."

"Someone’s cranky in the morning, "Draco noted.

"How could I sleep with your snoring?" Harry asked, unwilling to admit that he had slept soundly the whole night. "You were like a foghorn."

"Your talking kept me up," Draco retorted. "Mumbling, like you were trying to carry on a conversation with your pillow."

Harry hesitated. Did he talk in his sleep? He had also wondered that before, but surely Ron or one of the other boys in his dormitory would have said something. "Shut up," he told Draco.

"Are you going into the bathroom, or should I ask the house elves to start laying down newspapers?" Draco inquired.

Harry stalked into the bathroom and shut the door.

------

Somehow they made it downstairs without further incident. But breakfast was a disaster. Harry was reaching for the last piece of toast when Draco snatched it from under his fingers. Harry could have asked a house elf for more toast, but instead he yelled, "That was my piece, jackass!"

"Potter!" Snape snapped.

"Too slow," Draco jeered. "No wonder you don’t get fed at home with those slow reflexes."

"Draco," Snape began, but once again no one was listening.

Draco reached for the jam pot, but Harry grabbed it first.

"Oooh, who’s slow now?" Harry taunted.

"Give it me – you can’t eat the whole thing," Draco demanded.

Before he had stop himself, Harry said, "You want it? Fine." And then he ran his tongue over the top of the jam pot, licking the edge of the pot and the top of the jam inside.

"Ew!" Draco made a face. "You’re disgusting!"

Harry grinned meanly until he caught sight of Snape’s face. Then Harry realized he had ruined the jam for everyone, not just Draco (and not to mention showing atrocious table manners). "Sorry," Harry mumbled, putting the pot back on the table sheepishly.

"That is it," Snape threw his napkin on the table. "Your meal is over. Both of you, leave the table."

"But my toast," Draco protested. "He’s the one that gave the jam pot a tongue-bath."

"Out, out," Snape escorted them both to the hallway. "Go play and give me a moment of peace, won’t you?"

Harry and Draco made it as far as the entrance hall before another fight broke out.

------

"All right," Snape sat down in his desk, "let’s see if that helps."

Draco shifted in his chair. "How long do we have to stay here?"

"Until you learn to be civil to each other," Snape replied, picking up his mail. The owl that had delivered it glanced into the study, then quickly headed for the window.

Snape had placed two chairs in the center of the room with the backs four inches apart. Harry sat in one, Draco in the other. They couldn’t see each other, but Harry knew that Draco was right behind him. If he slung his head backwards, Harry knew he could conk Draco’s own head.

They sat like that for over an hour. Snape basically ignored them except when they tried to talk. Then he ordered them to be quiet, though Harry thought the man’s tone was a little harsher when he spoke to Harry. So unfair.

" . . . and I expect you to stop this fighting."

Oh, wait, Snape was talking. Same old lecture – behave, stop fighting, obey me, blah, blah, blah. Did the man really think they were listening?

"We still have a whole week to get through," Snape continued sternly. "Now, I want you to stop all this before someone gets hurt. Am I understood?"

"Yes, sir," both Harry and Draco spoke at the same time.

"Draco, I want you to go to library and study those books I showed you yesterday. Potter, you go outside and finish weeding the last corner of the garden."

Harry stood up, trying not to glare at Draco. Draco, Snape’s little pet, got to study in the library (the place Harry felt was reserved for his own studies) while Harry had to toil in the dirt like a dog.

They headed towards the door. Harry glanced over his shoulder and saw Draco smirk for the countless time that day. That did it.

Harry reached the door first. He stepped into the hallway and swung the heavy door back towards Draco. Draco would see it coming and have to use his quick reflexes to catch it in time from bumping into him.

But then Snape called to Draco, and Draco stopped, turning back with his hand on doorframe.

Then it happened.

The heavy oak door closed on Draco’s fingers.

Harry heard the door hit his fingers, heard the sound of wood smashing flesh. For a moment, there was awful, eerie silence in which Harry could not move, could not breathe.

"Aaa-oohhh!" Draco’s cry, primitive and heart-breaking, rang out.

Harry pulled the door back to see Draco standing there. Draco’s face was contorted in pain, and tears were spilling out of his eyes. But what made Harry feel absolutely sick was Draco’s right hand. He was holding his right hand with his left, but blood was seeping out between his fingers. Had the door been any heavier or swinging faster, it would have cut off his fingers. Harry stared, unable to think or speak.

Snape was there in a flash, pulling out his wand.

"Snape," Draco cried, nearly choking over the words, "Snape, it hurts. Please, it hurts. Snape, please."

"Draco, Draco, I’m sorry," the words left Harry’s mouth in a rush. ‘I’m – I’m sorry."

Draco looked at him, barely able to make him out through the tears and pain. He was whimpering, a low keening sound that made tears come into Harry’s own eyes out of sympathy.

Snape said an incantation, and a spark shot out of his wand.

Draco stopped crying. Taking a few steady breaths, he pulled his left hand off his right. There was still blood smeared on both hands, but now small little bandages were wrapped around each of Draco’s four fingers.

"They’ll still take a while to heal," Snape told him. "But that will take care of the bleeding and the pain." Draco nodded. Snape handed him a handkerchief, and Draco first wiped the tears off his face before cleaning the blood off his hands. Then they both looked at Harry.

Draco seemed nervous, as if Harry scared him now. The blond boy edged back towards Snape, refusing to take his eyes off Harry.

But Snape looked livid. He seemed too angry to speak. He was shaking his head, and Harry felt even sicker.

"It was an accident," Harry spoke in a very small voice. "He stopped – I didn’t mean to hurt him. It was an accident."

"Upstairs," Snape ordered in voice as cold and hard as ice. "Upstairs to your room. Wait there. I’ll be up to deal with you shortly. Go now!"

Harry turned and fled towards the stairs. Several of the pictures asked him what all the fuss was about, but Harry didn’t answer them. He went into his bedroom and sat down on the left-sided bed.

He closed his eyes, but all he could see was Draco clutching his hand as the blood ran down . . .

Harry wrenched his eyes open.

But he could still hear Draco’s scream. That one cry – oh, it was awful, so full of pain and hurt. And it was all Harry’s fault. Snape would never look past this. This was just one more mistake in a summer of long mistakes. He could not remember one thing he had done right since coming to Snapdragon Manor.

In complete despair, Harry sat there, waiting for Snape to come up.