Hermione and Harry descended the stairs together, exhausted but feeling wonderful now they had gotten their most painful injuries mended. Both were pleased with themselves over the potions they’d brewed, and were warmed by a newfound kinship.

They sat together at the dining table and were halfway through toast and jam when Ron grumbled in.

“Harry! Where the bloody hell were you all night?”

Harry didn’t look up. More lies – great! “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Well you were asleep when I got in,” Ron countered.

Harry humphed. “I woke up.”

“What woke you?” Ron asked.

Harry failed to answer, his mind slipping back to puzzling out how Hermione had gotten hurt.

Hermione snapped, “Can’t you just let him eat in peace, Ron?”

Ron flushed and glared at her. “Whinging again, ‘Mione? Why don’t you go back home and cry to mummy?”

“I hate you, Ronald Bilius Weasley!” Hermione screamed as she knocked over her chair and ran up the stairs.

“What’s got into her,” Ron asked. “I was only joking – she should know that.”

“I dunno,” Harry replied, “But I intend to find out.”

Harry again entered the girls’ room where Hermione was sobbing pitifully, curled round herself, face pushed into a pillow. He went to her, wrapping gentle arms round her shoulders in comfort. Immediately, he stumbled backward when she let out a gurgling scream like a strangled kneazle. Her whole body convulsed as she spun to face him, covering herself in blankets.

Snape was annoyed when the two children had run up the stairs and slammed doors, but as he heard the scream he was alarmed. Hastily, he left his work station and peered into the room down the hall. Harry had sunk to his knees next to the far, navy-blue wall and was speaking quietly.

“It’s all right, Hermione. I’m sorry I startled you.”

Harry had been where Hermione was. She’d gotten spooked; she was probably re-living some horrible act right now. He didn’t know what to do. She rocked back and forth, breaths coming in little gasps.

A crowd was starting to gather in the corridor. Snape told them the kids were arguing and shut the door, remaining in the room. Hermione’s eyes shot to him and she threw herself from the bed, hiding under a desk like a wounded dog.

Harry began again. “It’s just Professor Snape, ‘Mione. He’s helping us. He’s just taking a break from brewing our healing potions, right Professor?”

Snape took his cue from the boy. “Yes, Harry, they’re coming along.”

He sat in the high-backed chair next to the doorway, making himself appear less threatening. Slytherin contained outcasts and the children of cruel Death Eaters – he’d seen his share of trauma.

“Take a deep breath, Miss Granger,” he began. She did. “Three more. Now let your shoulders drop. You are safe here.”

He led Hermione through more steps to calming and grounding, leading her back into present consciousness. She slowly unfolded herself from her lair, stunned.

“I need to check the potions,” he muttered as he inched out the door. Harry was impressed. How did Snape know how to do that? And he’d never seen the professor so attentive and kind before.

“Wha- What happened?” the girl asked hollowly.

“You just got spooked is all,” Harry said reassuringly. “You got upset at breakfast when –”

“When Ron talked about my – my –” and she was in tears again. Harry stayed put this time.

“What is it, Hermione? Won’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

It came out as a hoarse yell. “Oh, Harry, my mum’s dead! She died at the start of summer!” Tears renewed, and Harry kept vigil with his friend, know a quiet presence was preferable to stark loneliness.

Meanwhile, Snape worked furiously on five potions at once. Noticing how filthy his robes had become, not to mention how hot he was, he worked with dress shirt sleeves rolled up, barefoot in black trousers.

Draco’s eyes flickered open and he was bemused by the sight of his professor dressed casually. Confusion turned into happiness as he remembered the Vow. He was free! Well, nearly, but that was more than enough. Not wanting to disrupt the Potions Master’s work, he snuggled deeper under the olive-green velvet coverlet and dozed.

When he woke properly, Severus sat by the fire, head rested on one hand while the other held a glass of fire-whiskey.

“Professor?”

Severus’ head shot up. “Draco, you’re awake. How are you feeling?”

“Fine, professor. I don’t know how to thank you.”

Severus’ head dropped back into his hands. He couldn’t imagine how Draco could look past what he’d done. Half the boy’s wounds he had inflicted himself. Draco would never have to face that evil son-of-a-bitch again if he weren’t so unethical . . . selfish . . .

“I’m certain you don’t feel fine, Draco. Once the fresh batch of potions settle I’ll assist you with the topical applications.”

The boy wanted to ask where they were. He knew they weren’t at Hogwarts; he’d been in Snape’s private chambers there. He was certain the professor would have a lab at the Manor; he wouldn’t be brewing in the bedroom. Perhaps it wasn’t safe for him to know – he’d heard other voices in the house. ‘Wait!’ he thought. A memory stirred. Who had given him all those potions last night? Everything was so fuzzy. What do you need, professor? Enervate . . . He knew that voice – Harry Potter! But what in the hell was he doing in the same house as Potter? And why wasn’t Potter at home for the summer?

‘I must be at headquarters for the Light!’ he discerned. ‘Will I get the chance to work with them against the Dark Lord?’ he wondered. A grim voice in the back of his mind gave a response. ‘A Malfoy – trusted by the Light? You really are as stupid as father says!’

Snape fussed over the potions, wanting to escape a conversation for a bit. There was much he needed to say, but where to begin? He readied clean bandages and cloths for the wounds. Placing a cooling charm on the appropriate potion, he set to work on the boy.

“Can you sit up comfortably, Draco?”

Snape was hoping his caning didn’t leave the marks he’d feared. Draco heard this question as an order, being conditioned to mask pain.

“Yes, sir,” he replied as he forced himself to a sitting position, fire ripping through his backside and the backs of his legs, trying to keep his expressions neutral.

“Draco! It’s obvious this is hurting you. Lie back down,” Snape exclaimed.

Draco slumped; he had failed. “I’m sorry, sir,” he whispered.

“You’re sorry?” Snape repeated, incredulously. This was his chance. “I am the one who sorely needs to apologize, my dear boy. I – I did this to you. I caused this pain. I don’t expect forgiveness, but I do hope you’ll let me continue to help you.”

“You did this to me because he made you, professor. He would have done worse,” Draco countered.

Snape looked ashamed. “I’m not so sure he would have last night, Draco. He seemed," he cleared his throat, "Revitalized – watching me beat you.”

“Even so,” Draco said with a choppy breath, “I’d rather have one who cares about me doing it than one who hates me and gets sick pleasure from it!”

Snape smiled, faintly. At least his new charge didn’t despise him. “Can I clean you up now?” he asked of Draco.

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” Draco answered in awe, looking up at his protector with great grey, soulful eyes. Once the cleansing was finished, potions and bandages had been applied, he relaxed. Severus checked the clock – 7:00. He still had to bottle several potions and fetch Draco dinner. He really wanted to check with Granger and Potter and give them new potions. He grimaced as he recalled all the bruises and welts on Potter – he needed the wound potion almost as badly as Draco.

Severus went to the kitchen to gather a quick meal, not noticing when Mrs. Weasley bustled into sight.

“I’ll have dinner on the table shortly, Severus,” said Molly, amused.

Snape spun around, “I’m going out this evening. I hope you don’t mind if I take a few things to my chambers.”

“Not at all, Severus. Help yourself.” She chuckled as she set the knives to chopping dinner preparations. “Oh, and Severus, did you hear the next meeting’s been set for ten in the morning?”

“No, I hadn’t,” he said curtly. “Thank you, Molly.”

Upstairs, Draco gave a start as knocking peppered the door.

“Professor Snape, sir? Professor?” Harry’s voice was soft; he didn’t want to wake Draco, not fore entirely unselfish reasons.

“Maybe he’s out,” Hermione whispered.

“Mr. Potter, Miss Granger, I’ve finished brewing,” Snape announced, coming up the stairs.

Hermione took the tray from the professor. “You won’t be joining us for dinner, sir?”

“No, I have a prior engagement,” he replied coolly, and muttered a password before ushering them in. Casting silencing charms, he bottled and labeled quickly. Time was ticking.

Hermione turned to Draco. “I’m glad to see you’re awake,” she said politely. “Is this for him then, sir?”

Snape nodded without looking up, neglected hair swaying over gaunt cheeks. Hermione set the tray next to Draco, fussing with the covers.

The professor turned to Harry with a vial of wound potion. “I believe you have some injuries you’ll not be able to reach. Would you like assistance?” he asked matter-of-factly. Draco looked up from his food. Potter was hurt, too?

Harry faltered, “Er, well, um . . .” He looked to Draco.

“I haven’t got all day, Mr. Potter!” Snape snapped.

Deciding he’d rather get rid of the pain than save some pride, Harry nodded.

“Thank you, sir.” He removed his shirt quickly and buried his head in his hands. Harry shuddered; the potion master’s light, tender touch was unexpected. The boy whisked his shirt back on and searched for something to say to banish the awkwardness.

“You should tuck in, Malfoy. You could afford to gain a few kilos, mate.”

‘Mate?’ Draco puzzled. 'And how does he know I’ve become thinner?' He decided that, under the circumstances, he’d best be civil. He was grateful to Potter for giving him the draughts.

“Uh, thanks, Potter. For last night.”

‘Malfoy, thanking someone?’ Harry mused. “No, problem; you’re surprisingly light.”

What the hell did weight have to do with administering some potions? “What’s that supposed to mean?” Draco asked, more harshly than he’d intended.

Snape turned round, finished bottling and labeling. “Mr. Potter carried you up here last night, Draco,” he said casually.

Hermione laughed as Draco hid his head. The tray didn’t survive the wave of blankets. Hearing the crash, Draco jumped out of bed, totally ignoring the lingering pain and stiffness. He picked up food and broken glass with imprecise, tremulous fingers.

“I’m sorry, Professor Snape, sir. I’m so sorry, I’m so stupid! I’ll clean it up, sir!” He was close to hysterical.

“Draco, stop!” Snape commanded, and the boy let shards of a teacup slip through his fingers. “You’re cutting your hands on the glass.”

“I’ve gotten blood on the coverlet! I’m sorry! I’ll clean that too, sir,” Draco looked up at Severus pleadingly as the man swirled from the room. Draco stood, having to steady himself with the bedpost.

As Snape returned with towels, Draco quietly spoke, gaze downcast. “Please punish me, sir, to teach me not to be careless.”

Hermione and Harry’s mouths dropped open.

Draco continued, “But please, sir, could Harry and Hermione leave first?”

Snape groaned, face pained and angry. He passed out the potions. “You two may go, I need to deal with Draco.”

Hermione tried to protest, but she was nudged firmly out the door.

“Now, Miss Granger!” Snape hissed.

Once alone in the girls’ room, Harry voiced both students’ concern. “You don’t think Snape would really hurt Malfoy, do you?” he asked.

“I don’t know, Harry. He can be really cruel sometimes.”

“But then why did he give him all those potions to heal him?”

Hermione blew a frazzled, errant strand from her face. “Guilt? Anyway, if he wasn’t going to, you know, punish him, why would he make us leave? And he did say he had to ‘deal with Draco.’ Maybe we should tell someone.”

“We can’t,” said Harry.

“And why not, Harry James Potter? I know you hate Malfoy, but you can’t seriously want him hurt!”

“It’s not that, Hermione. Don’t you remember the Fidelus Charm?”

“Oh, right. Sorry.”

“Besides, I don’t think even Mrs. Weasley cold muster much concern for a Malfoy. I mean, look how his father treats Mr. Weasley.”

The girl sighed. “Right, so what can we do?”

They sat in silence, pondering. Harry was the first with an idea. “Well, Snape said he was going out for dinner, right?”

“Right.”

“So we could sneak in and check on Malfoy then.”

“But there’s a password, Harry.” Hermione always thought of every detail. “And if Draco opened the door someone might see him.”

“Well, I could wait for Snape to get back and try to check on things then,” Harry offered.

“That sounds great, Harry. Do you, er . . . do you want me to wait with you?” She hoped he didn’t; the idea of sitting in a dark parlor waiting for a potentially abusive man to get home scared the wits out of her.

“No,” he replied. “You need your rest.”

She let out the breath she’d not realized she was holding, and shortly they were called to dinner.