Dragging a heavy backpack, Draco slid down the grand staircase at Malfoy Manor. He’d spent the entirety of his time since last evening’s ritual concluded pouring over the third chapter in each of his textbooks; that is, once he was able to move. He’d nearly lost hope he’d be allowed back to Hogwarts early as his father hadn’t mentioned it again.

He crawled through the parlor toward the dining room, far too weak and with too many broken bones to walk. He was dreading being commanded to stand in the middle of the rug - he knew he wouldn’t be able to and that would start the beating before the first question was even asked.

The bells chimed and Fiora went running for the entrance hall. Draco pushed himself out of sight. Knowing his father would follow to greet the guest, he crouched beside the giant china cabinet.

“Ah, Severus, always a pleasure,” drifted from the front hall.

Draco felt infinitesimally relieved and finally succumbed to the intense physical pain. He wept, cowering in the darkest corner of the dining room.

His mother frolicked in to take her mark on the stage. He daren’t wish she would comfort him; indeed when she heard him and approached she hissed, “Draco, you idiot child, be silent and get up at once! You know what will happen if your father sees you!”

He hated himself when this admonishment thickened his sobs. Narcissa stepped back as her husband and guest entered.

“I don’t know what to do with him, Lucius!” Narcissa proclaimed indignantly.

The man strode over, gripping his staff like a club. As he swung heartily the serpent’s head connected with Severus’ back; the professor had thrown himself over Draco and forced a vial of liquid down his throat. He’d worked most of the day on a strong mixture of three healing potions that would be extremely fast-acting. Before stalking up to the Malfoy’s door he’d uncorked it and held it at the ready, not knowing what he’d find. One who’d been a double-agent for years only survived by anticipating the very worst. Unfortunately, he had found it. He was glad he’d had the foresight to include Skele-Heal in the mélange of draughts.

Once Draco swallowed Severus clapped his hand over the boy’s mouth and pulled him to a standing position, on tenterhooks to know if his voluminous robes had hidden the prohibited action. Swaying, Draco leaned against his protector, basking in the attention and care.

“Keen on taking a beating tonight, Severus? That can be arranged,” Lucius smirked. The dinner was played out according to the high-society script.

After dessert Lucius ordered, “Draco, books. Go to the library and wait.”

The boy was thrilled to be able to walk again, and ambled down the corridor to take his place in the spotlight. He cast a sharp hearing charm on himself, suspensefully hoping to hear his father give permission for the stay at Hogwarts.

“What’s this rubbish, Snape?” his father asked cruelly as a piece of parchment rustled.

So his father didn’t think the offer was genuine. ‘Why would he?’ thought Draco scathingly. ‘I’m not smart enough to be chosen for such a programme.’

“I would like to tutor Draco in advanced potions,” Professor Snape responded. “He has quite an aptitude for –”

The man was cut off as Lucius cast “Crucio!”

Draco fought himself not to run into the next room, wand drawn. He knew that would only make the situation graver.

The professor did not cry out, and the curse ended with a warning.

“That was a reminder, Snape. Do not treat me as an imbecile. What are you willing to sacrifice to take Draco?”

“Whatever you desire, Master Malfoy.”

Lucius cast cold eyes on Severus, who still hadn’t succeeded in puling himself from the shiny marble tiles.

“You will join me for dinner every night until school begins. And I will expect absolute obedience from you, Severus. I can promise you our times together will become much more congenial.”

“Yes, Master Malfoy,” Severus sighed from behind hooded eyes.

“Until the school term, I may summon Draco at any time.”

Severus got to his feet, meeting Lucius’ gaze. “Once a week, only.”

“Twice.”

“Not on consecutive nights.”

“Fine.”

Draco’s ears grew hot. They were like auctioneers, bargaining for his life.

Severus took a steadying breath, then added, “I want all holidays spent with me until the boy’s seventeenth birthday.”

Lucius was incensed. How dare he ask this! The elder Malfoy was about to set another curse on the Potions Master, but reconsidered. Severus was highly intelligent. He must have more to offer.

“What are you offering?” he quizzed.

Severus smirked this time. “My house elf. I believe you’re short one?”

Lucius sat back in his throne-like chair, calculating. House elves were extremely valuable, and he still rued the day that insufferable Potter brat tricked him out of Dobby.

“I accept. The summoning rule for you and Draco will stand for each school break. Beckon the elf.”

“I want an Unbreakable Vow first,” Snape sneered.

“Don’t trust me, eh? Narcissa!”

Moments later the dutiful wife curtsied into the dining room and performed the binding magical contract. Her mouth popped open in surprise at her husband’s agreement, but she knew better than to question him. Lucius cast Obliviate after, never taking chances with his wife’s fidelity.

Once the bewildered house elf was bonded to the Malfoy family, Lucius tested his son and exploited Snape’s loyalty. Draco was beaten viciously, mercilessly. By Snape. Because Lucius demanded it.

However this wasn’t enough for the sadistic Malfoy. Lucius seemed to take pity on his son, bidding Fiora to bring a glass of wine for Draco. Severus attempted to get the boy’s attention, signaling him not to accept it. But Lucius swooped in between them, lifting the glass to Draco’s lips. He even cradled his son’s neck, supporting him as he drank deeply.

More tears fell from gray, puffy eyes. The beaten boy was overwhelmed; his father had never shown him any kindness. This gesture filled his heart with hope. Could it be that he was loved after all?

Lucius guided his son to sit on the chaise to his left. Draco’s face exploded into a bright smile; he’d never sat as an equal when they had callers. He looked to his professor, wanting to share this magnificent moment with him.

Severus’ brow was furrowed, eyed shadowed with worry. Draco looked back to his father, who had a smug look on his lips, amusement glittering in his frigid eyes.

“Tell me what Veritasserum does, Draco.”

Grey eyes went wide as an automatic answer spilt from Draco’s mouth.

“It forces the drinker to tell the truth,” he answered back.

“Do you want to go with Snape?” Lucius queried.

“Yes.”

“Did he speak with you about the letter?”

“No.”

Lucius paused. “Hmmm . . . Do you want to spend all your holidays with him?”

“Yes.”

The elder Malfoy snorted at his son’s simple tastes. Snape Manor was a shack compared to the Malfoy abode, and the man spent most of his time in the school dungeons!

He scoffed, “Have you no pride in the Malfoy name?”

It was meant as a mocking rhetorical, but the potion overrode the critical discerning function in Draco’s mind. He answered, “No.”

Lucius halted, narrowing snake-like eyes at his son. “How do you feel about carrying on the family name?”

“I am ashamed,” fell from Draco’s mouth, and he shook with terror.

Lucius rose from his seat. “Then I will have to work very hard to teach you to respect it!”

Master Malfoy, cold and cunning even when torturing another, found himself genuinely enraged and out of control. He swung his staff with all his might, connecting with Draco’s skull. Silver snake fangs tipping the scepter tore at the boy relentlessly. Severus was spelled with Petrificus Totalus as soon as he left his wing chair. Lucius berated his son as he set curse after curse on the boy.

When Draco had nearly lost consciousness and was covered in blood, Snape was released from the body bind.

The professor advanced. “You’ve gone too far this time, Lucius. You’ll be in Azkaban if I take him to St. Mungo’s!”

“You’ll be signing over your life if you do that,” terrorized Malfoy. He set the same curses on Severus as he had Draco, ending with excruciating minutes of Cruciatus.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Lucius grinned down at Snape. “Get him out of my sight!”

With a vicious kick to the injured boy’s side, he sauntered from the room and out the mansion door.

The two were left alone while Severus fought to muster the strength required for apparition.

...........................

The boy-who-lived drew his covers tightly around his chin, feigning sleep as a thin figure invaded his shared room at #12 Grimmauld Place. He’d gone to bed directly after dinner, professing exhaustion. In truth, he just wanted to lie comfortably and be left alone. He was tired of questions and evading the truth; he was even more tired of worrying whether he’d convinced everyone.

But he couldn’t sleep. Every time he closed his eyes a variety of disturbing images from his past flickered on the grey lids. His room-mates, the Weasley brothers, made soft sleeping noises.

Harry fought the urge to collapse into a ball and hide as the figure moved closer. Cursing his poor sight he held his breath, reminding himself where he was. He wanted desperately to believe no-one would harm him here.

“Wait! I know that hair!’ He relaxed at the thought, now only curious as the rising panic abated.

Hermione snuck quietly to his bedside stand, though not as silently as he could. Having to steal the majority of one’s meals for ten years tended to hone skills of stealth. He peered through squinting eyes as she emptied four capfuls of Skele-Heal into a glass. Harry was gripped with worry as she limped awkwardly from the room. She was walking far differently than she had during the day.

So she had a broken bone – or several. Why hadn’t she told anyone? ‘I didn’t tell anyone about most of my injuries either,’ thought the boy. Restless, he waited for silence to settle over the house before creeping down the steps to settle into the parlor’s softest armchair. Lying in bed wasn’t really agreeing with him anyway, no matter the position too many wounds and bruises had pressure put upon them. Temporarily relieved in the new position, Harry’s mind drifted back to Hermione. When she’d told him about her sister hitting her, tripping and falling, it didn’t add up. No eleven year old girl would leave four large finger-shaped bruises causing a black eye. And he seriously doubted a simple trip would cause a nasty cut like the one on her forehead. There had to have been force behind the fall.

That would make Hermione like him – hurt by a caretaker . . . but she wasn’t like him! She was the brightest witch of her age. She never got into trouble, of her own volition, at least. No one had ever doubted her sanity or her intentions. She was quite normal – as a muggle and a witch. There would be no need to teach her a lesson or punish her . . .

Harry’s ruminations were interrupted when a sharp crack could be heard outside. He froze, crystal-green eyes trained on the entrance. The front door swung open and a slender man stumbled in carrying an enormous bundle. He set it down heavily, and when it moaned Harry though the voice was familiar. Snape closed the door and immediately collapsed. Harry knew he shouldn’t be seeing this; Snape was a very private wizard and he surely wouldn’t do anything in the dead of night he wanted noticed by anyone.

But as seconds turned into minutes and neither moved or made a sound apart from clearly pained wheezing, Harry decided the time for discretion had passed.

The boy got up and slowly approached the professor and his charge, whispering, “Professor Snape, what can I do to help?”

Snape’s companion drew a loud breath like someone possessed. He cowered from Harry, who suddenly realized this was Malfoy. Anger began to rise in the raven haired boy but as he came closer and saw the blood coursing down Draco’s face it dissolved. Draco’s retreat hadn’t been from malice, but from rabid fear.

Snape shifted and dropped several vials on the floor. “For Draco. I – I can’t manage the stoppers.”

Draco choked and sputtered as Harry poured eight potions down his throat.

Severus directed, “Cast Ferula on the wounds. He’s losing too much blood.”

“I- I can’t cast, sir – the decree . . .”

“Use my wand.”

Harry took it, astonished, and stopped the flow of blood. He turned to the professor. “What do you need, sir?”

“Just an Enervate,” he whispered, clearly loathing his helpless position.

Harry obliged, and Snape groaned as he moved to get up. When the clearly agonized man stooped to gather a semi-conscious Malfoy, Harry stepped in.

“Please allow me, sir. You’ve done so much for me today –”

Harry paled slightly at the scathing look he received. “Very well, Mr. Potter, you may save the day.”

‘That was mild,’ Harry thought, carefully picking up a surprisingly light Draco. He followed Snape up to his bed chambers and laid Draco on the bed, trying to help him get comfortable. He knew all too well how the other must be feeling. The Potions Master was already extracting ingredients from his cabinet, making a right mess of things. He was frantic, dropping bottles and muttering to himself. Severus’ knees buckled and he fell to the floor.

“Professor, please rest a moment.” Harry pulled Snape up and guided him into the chair by the fire.

Snape weakly protested, vacantly panting, “I’m out of – I’ve run out – I have to brew –”

Harry looked upon the formidable man. What had reduced him to this? After several moments, Snape recovered his wits.

“Mr. Potter, I trust you can be discreet about this. I don’t know what I can promise, but if you –”

Harry interrupted, “I believe I understand the situation, sir, and I will keep this silent from those who might protest.”

Severus regarded the boy and tried to put on his usual stern demeanor. “Yes, well, I am grateful. Go back to bed.”

Harry wanted to protest, but he was afraid to disobey a direct order. Closing the door behind him, he heard the professor gagging; he felt the floor tremble as the man attempted to walk again and stumbled. There was no way the professor could work in this condition. It was Harry’s turn to sneak into the girls’ room.

“ ‘Mione? You still up?” he whispered into the blackness.

“Harry? Yeah, but why —” Had he seen her stealing the potion?

“Shhh! Come with me.”

Hermione stood stiffly, bidding her aching body to comply. She followed Harry as he led her down the dark, narrow corridor. When he stopped outside Professor Snape’s door, Hermione grabbed his shoulder exclaiming, “No, you can’t!” in a hushed tone.

At her touch Harry let out a pained, “Ah!” and she quickly took her hand away. Before she could question him, another cry of pain stopped her; this one came from within the professor’s room. As Harry opened the door she could smell the blood and sweat. The stench that hung in the air was as tangible as a nightmare’s worth of raw fear. Professor Snape huddled on the floor and Draco Malfoy lay still on the grand bed.

Hermione was extremely puzzled. “Harry, what —” She was cut off by Severus’ harsh words from the floor.

“Potter! Get out! I thought we had agreed this matter would be kept in confidence!”

The man looked up at Harry with wounded eyes, clearly afraid. This shocked both students: Professor Snape, scared? Harry took in the aura about the professor’s eyes, and he knew, at least partially, what the man had suffered that evening. He’d seen it in many nightmares on visages of innocents and Death Eaters alike. He had gazed upon his own haunted eyes the night the graveyard claimed Cedric.

“Forgive me, professor, but you are in no fit state to brew tonight. No one could be after suffering the Cruciatus.” Harry took an instinctive step back, waiting for the undoubtedly crisp reply.

Hermione shuddered as the professor’s eyes flickered toward her, suspicious and untrusting.

Severus measured his words carefully. He could not risk any details and retain his tenuous grasp of control over the situation. Yet Draco needed help and none other in the house of the Light would offer it to a Malfoy, he knew.

“How did you know about the curse?” the professor asked.

“I’ve suffered it as well, sir.” Harry did not want to admit to the visions; they always made him feel insane.

Both Hermione and Severus gasped at this information; Harry had told no one he suffered as much after the Tri-Wizard Tournament.

Harry trudged on. He wasn’t sure why he felt so compelled to help Draco and the professor, but his empathy was unbearably strong. But no matter.

“Please allow us to assist you, sir. You’re worried about confidences, but Hermione and I will trade our secrets for yours. Wizard’s Promise.”

“Meaning?” the terse professor questioned.

“We both need your assistance. More potions and bone-setting spells,” Harry answered nonchalantly.

Hermione was aghast. He had seen her! ‘But perhaps I can fool the professor,’ she thought.

“Harry, I don’t know what you’re on about –” she began, but the boy was having none of it.

As his dead stare turned on her, he threatened simply, “I saw you, Hermione. I know. Now do you want to help or not?”

“Yes,” she readily agreed. Malfoy and Snape were by far two of her least favorite wizards, but she could never turn her back on one ailing. Besides, the prospect of receiving proper care for her injuries was enticing.

“Very well,” whispered Severus, resigned. Hermione sprang to life as she followed the precise directions of the potions master, Harry preparing the ingredients by her side.

They worked until sun-up, when Severus ingested the four potions necessary to combat the cruelest curst. Draco slept fitfully the entire time, although it was evident the sacrificed potions of the night prior had done much to cure him.

The Gryffindors watched as their professor rose and took a regal position in the adjacent armchair.

He cleared his throat and said, abstractly, “Thank you both.”

After an awkward silence, Hermione broke in. “Thank you, sir. We appreciate being permitted to work so closely with you.”

“Yes, well . . .” he trailed off, then looked cryptically at Harry. “Mr. Potter, I vaguely recall you and Miss Granger expressing the need of assistance.”

Harry glanced over to his left at his friend, whose eyes were on the floor. After a quick look to the right to ensure Draco still slept, he quietly began.

“Yes, sir. If you would be so kind, I believe I have broken ribs, sir.”

“Caused by . . .?”

“I was bullied, sir.” Harry hated this excuse, but it was better than Uncle Vernon killing him.

“I see,” Snape drawled. “I will need you to come a bit closer and remove your shirt.”

Harry froze. “My shirt, sir? But you healed my arm through my sleeve.”

“You arm contains no vital organs. I must be quite precise when working with ribs,” Severus explained evenly.

“Oh.” Harry paused, then put on his best masked smile. “I’m probably just overreacting, sir. I’m sure it’s nothing. I’ll just be getting breakfast then.”

He turned to go. Hermione stiffened as the word “Potter” was bellowed. Severus strode to the boy, speaking lowly into his ear. Hermione heard the words “Miss Granger” and “embarrassed.”

She blushed until Harry looked at her quite seriously and said, “No.” He wanted her to stay. Perhaps Hermione would open up if he showed his wounds. Besides, if Snape could know, so could Hermione.

The girl had to turn away as he slowly removed his shirt – not from embarrassment, but from horror. Harry’s flesh was a solid mesh of bruises, welts, and scab-ridden skin.

Harry looked at both the professor and Hermione, expecting looks of disgust. He assumed that was indeed what they felt since both pairs of eyes were averted. Harry hung his head.

Severus stepped up and ran his wand gently across each rib; they were all clearly visible. When he came to a fracture he muttered the incantation tonelessly.

“I will brew more pain elixir and wound potion today, Mr. Potter. I assume your injuries cover your entire body?”

Harry shamefully nodded, refusing to meet Severus’ eyes. However, he was shocked into looking when the professor continued speaking.

“You never need to remain in such pain again, Harry. I will always help you.”

Severus meant it, but never would have said as much if he wasn’t sure it would result in brief eye contact. He performed a powerful, silent “Legilimens;” he wanted to know who had done this. Although he couldn’t take revenge on Lucius, he could exact it on Harry’s abuser. He caught his breath as he took in the kitchen scene; a snapshot of humiliation and horror filled his mind. Harry looked away, and Severus quickly turned to Hermione.

“What assistance do you require, Miss Granger?”

Hermione began her act, launching into statements against herself. She concluded saying, “I’m such a klutz, sir. I hurt my neck as I fell.”

Snape regarded her, then said, “And you did not divulge this information previously because . . .?”

Hermione took her turn at hanging her head, though it seemed a mocking gesture to Snape.

“Arrogance, sir. I thought I could handle it myself.”

Severus nodded once, knowing he’d get no more from either of them. Hermione’s excuse was clearly a lie; she couldn’t perform charms away from Hogwarts even if she knew the correct incantation, and no-one would choose the pain of a broken bone out of something as petty as arrogance. Not to mention she’d projected an overt manner of meekness and submission since she’d arrived at the protected house – no sign of arrogance shone in her blank eyes.

Hermione tugged her high-collared night dress more tightly around her throat, suddenly feeling exposed. Severus modestly, seamlessly transfigured her sleeping costume into one sans collar. Her collarbone and chest were shiny, purplish-black around the break, and all colour of bruises dotted her visible neck, chest, and upper back. She drew her arms around her torso protectively and stood, shivering, head reeling as Professor Snape approached and mended her collarbone.

“I will brew more Skele-Heal as well, Miss Granger. And of course you will be given more wound potion to heal your other injuries.” He tried to look her in the eye, even getting down on her level as he said, “I will always help you as well, child. Do not hesitate to ask.”

She refused to relent, eyes fixed on the wall as she parroted, “Yes, sir. Thank you, Professor Snape, sir.”

Severus sighed and taught them the Fidelus Charm, each in turn casting it to ensure secrecy, although he could not tell how much they grasped of his and Draco’s situation. He hated to keep these discoveries to himself, but Draco’s life was at stake.

The Potions Master dismissed the students, and after checking on Draco he set to work preparing yet another huge batch of healing potions.