With a curious gaze, Dumbledore watched the boy he had come to think of so fondly. His attention was drawn away as Severus spoke to him.

"Albus, can you watch Harry during third period Potions. The last time he had a run in with those boys they were less than civilized."

Albus waved Severus off and watched as he hugged Harry goodbye, promising to meet him for lunch.

"Tea, Harry?" Dumbledore offered.

Draco took the cup of steaming tea and sipped at it, relishing the warmth of it as it had been a chilly morning. He was even glad for the horrid jumper he had on, though it was not something he would normally wear.

Albus excused himself for a moment and Draco took the time to get up and look around at all of the things he had seen when he came in. There were several silver things, each different in shape and size, all quite lovely. What drew Draco's attention the most was the phoenix sitting on the perch. Draco had never seen a phoenix, and his urge to touch the bird brought about nasty repercussions.

Draco had walked as slowly as he could toward the bird and then reached out his hand and stroked the feathers. Fawkes jumped from his perch, squawking and pecking at him. Draco drew back his hand, but not before the beak of the phoenix had drawn blood. This was the moment Dumbledore decided to return.

"I don't know what is wrong with your bird, but it has drawn blood."

Dumbledore came from around his desk, taking Draco's hand in his and looking from it to Fawkes, who was now on the other side of the room. "Funny how this has happened."

"I don't see anything funny about it."

"I see, well, considering you are one of the few people that Fawkes will let pet him, I find it very peculiar indeed. In fact, the first time you entered my office Fawkes flew to you straight away, and now he seems not to want to be near you. Can you explain this, Harry?"

Draco shook his head. He suddenly wanted to be anywhere but in the Headmaster's office. He was saved from answering anymore questions when the door popped open and Minerva McGonagall stepped in.

"Albus, I am afraid Peeves is terrorizing a group of second years and has them cornered in the fourth floor corridor. He is insisting that it be you who comes."

Draco sat as still as he could, hoping the witch would leave and not speak to him. He hated her kind most of all, pureblood, and yet his father had told him of how she loved the muggleborns and how she still hailed Harry Potter. It sickened Draco, and when she enveloped him in a hug he could not help but flinch.

Draco was thankful that she didn't seem to notice, but in fact Minerva had noticed and, after telling Draco that his father was looking for him, she closed the door.

"Albus, is something wrong with Harry?"

"What do you mean, Minerva?"

"Perhaps it is just me, but I could have sworn he flinched when I hugged him, and I get the sense he would rather be anywhere but here right now."

Dumbledore began to stroke his beard and then stared up at the witch he had grown to confide in. "That doesn't seem like our Harry. I shall speak to Severus later."

Nothing more was said and the two of them parted ways, McGonagall going to her next class and Dumbledore sitting back in his chair, many thoughts running through his mind.

Meanwhile ...

Harry sat up on the bed, his back hurting from the insane Narcissa. More than anything he wanted to go home, but right now he knew he needed something to eat, as he was starving. Carefully he opened the door to Draco's room and, after seeing no one downstairs, he crept down and into the kitchen. Before he could peek around the corner of the kitchen Dobby jumped out from behind the door toting a plate full of sausage.

"Good morning, Harry Potter, sir. Can Dobby get you something to eat?"

"Dobby, if you can call me Harry when we are alone, then why can't you help me to tell them I am not Draco?"

Dobby hung his head, almost dropping the plate of sausage when he did. "Master Malfoy has forbidden me to say your name aloud to anyone but you while he is not here. He gave me many rules that day, but Dobby is a good house elf and he remembers them all."

Harry silenced when he heard someone coming into the kitchen and saw it was Narcissa looking worse for the wear, but apparently sober now. She made no attempt at conversation until after she had drained her cup of coffee. It was then she took in the shabby appearance of the boy sitting at the table and sighed.

"Did we not speak of you coming to this table clean and looking like a young gentleman. Why do you look like you slept in your clothes. In fact, aren't those the same clothes you had on yesterday?"

Harry dropped the piece of sausage he had been eating then, the taste of it seeming to turn his stomach. "Don't you recall, Narcissa? Don't you remember beating me last night? That is why I have on the same clothes, you twit. I fell asleep in them!"

Narcissa pushed back her chair and was standing over Harry in two steps. "How dare you call me by my first name. What has gotten into you lately, Draco? I have tried to be lenient with you, but enough is enough. You will stop with this foolish nonsense about being Harry."

Harry threw back his chair, sending it to the floor as he stood. His breathing was coming in angry short gasps now as he tried to hold in both his tears and his anger.

"You want to know why I keep saying it? I say it because it is true! I am not Draco! He is with Severus, and he left me here with you. I think he got the better end of the deal, as my father is great and you are not. I want to leave now!"

"Draco! How dare you speak to me in that tone!"

"I am not Draco! Don't call me that!"

Narcissa grabbed Harry by the hair of the head and dragged him towards the pantry. "If your father were here he would teach you how to speak to your mother, and you would not be acting like this. I think you need to be taught a lesson about who is in charge in this house, and it is not you."

Narcissa opened the pantry door, and Harry could see stairs leading down into a dark, smelly basement. Harry didn't have time to cling to the doorway before he was pushed inside. His fists beat on the door till they were scratched and bloody, and still no one came. Harry sank down on the steps of the cellar and sighed. Now is hands hurt, along with his back. He was cold and hungry and his father was probably somewhere right now having lunch with Draco. This thought alone burned into Harry's mind, and he began beating on the door again, this time not stopping till the door swung open, hitting him squarely in the head and sending him falling down the stairs.

He landed at the bottom of the stairs, his wrist bent at an odd angle, his eyes closed. Harry did not see the house elf pop into the room, nor did he feel the sparse blanket that was thrown over him, for Harry was unconscious. At least in this state he was still Harry.