Draco braced himself for what he was certain was coming. The professor was basically his guardian now; he would have to tend to disciplinary matters.

Severus silently went to the trembling boy and cleaned his cuts, bandaged his hands. He righted the tray and its contents with Reparo. This worried Draco even more; part of his punishment should have been cleaning up. Would that make the beating worse?

Severus had retreated to the easy chair, nursing a glass of cool liqueur. So the boy was, indeed, afraid of him. What he’d done had caused more than just physical damage. The professor was rendered speechless; numerous times he’d helped students cope with violence, but he’d never been the perpetrator.

Draco piped up; he couldn’t stand the waiting.

“Where do you want me, sir?” he inquired.

Severus gave a natural reply. The boy was still recovering from grievous injuries.

“Lie back down on the bed.”

Draco blinked, squeezing his eyelids together tightly, and clenched his teeth. He lay face-down on the bed, placing a pillow under his hips. When his father thrashed him lying on the bed, this was the proffered position.

The professor grimaced. “No, Draco, I want you to lie comfortably.”

Painfully, the boy sat up. “I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t understand.”

Severus had hoped the child would come to the correct conclusion on his own; he really didn’t want to discuss punishment when the very idea made him nauseous with guild. It looked like it was unavoidable, however.

“I’m not going to beat you, Draco,” he said simply.

“Oh.” Draco relaxed. “But then what is to be my punishment?”

Anger flashed through Snape’s countenance. Lucius was a right foul bastard! “You spilt some food, my dear boy. No harm done. You should never be punished for such frivolous reasons. And I want to be very clear. Even if you do misbehave and I must devise a proper punishment for you, I will never, ever beat you. Not under any circumstance; do you understand?”

Apparently, Draco did not. “But I got blood on the coverlet,” he dutifully pointed out.

Severus took a deep, steadying breath. The lingering understanding would have to wait. For now, he’d best get across the immediate. Casting Scourgify on the stains he went over to Draco, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“I am not going to beat you, my child. You will not be punished for spilling the tray or getting blood on the bed. Now, in a few moments I must leave. This room is password protected. You cannot leave the room, make noise, or answer the door. You understand you have many enemies here?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Eat your dinner and when you feel up to it - I’m sorry, but I suggest you study the fourth chapter in each of your texts. You did magnificently answering questions from chapters three.”

As Snape Accioed the proper tomes to rest on the bedside table, Draco’s mouth widened into a big, goofy grin at the praise he’d just received. It vanished when, upon thinking back to the night prior, he suddenly realized where the professor was headed.

“Do you want me to come with you?” the boy asked frankly. “I could take some of it for you. You don’t deserve –”

“Absolutely not!” Snape roared. “It’s out of the question! Now promise me you’ll stay in the room and keep quiet. Both our lives could be in danger – well, further danger – if you disobey.”

“I promise, sir,” Draco agreed earnestly.

The professor apparated away. Draco obediently choked down a few bites of dinner before cracking open chapter four in History of Magic.

……………………………………………………………

After a rather raucous dinner at Grimmauld Place, Harry and Hermione forced themselves to be social. Lounging in the boys’ room they talked with the Weasleys, batting around ideas as to what would be discussed at the order’s meeting the following morning. The abused souls mostly listened; Ron, Fred, and George could keep up a lively conversation by themselves quite easily. During a lull, Ron clumsily tried to apologize to Hermione.

“What’s got into you, Hermione?” he asked.

“Why are you such an insensitive prat, Ronald?” she screeched back. But she noticed that dumb, innocent look on his face and knew he was trying to make things right.

With a sigh, she said, “Harry could you explain, please?”

He told the others what he knew, which wasn’t much, and Hermione wilted under the consequent acts of sympathy.

Sniffling, she made a plea. “Ginny, boys, could you do me a favor? Could you not tell your mum just yet? It’s just that, I miss mine so much, and I don’t think I could take the attention right now.”

Everyone seemed to agree, and the girls went off to bed. Hermione shot Harry a warning look as she left, and he nodded. After a bit of Wizard’s Chess he excused himself to get a midnight snack.

Once out of reach of prying eyes, he retreated to the parlor. He stood sentinel next to the slowly extinguishing flames, watching amber shadows play over the walls. He let thoughts wash over him like so many acid raindrops, most more caustic than cleansing. He was grateful to be at the safe house; it was more important to him at the moment he was safe from his family than any other entity.

But he was angry that no one had come for him sooner. If they had, the dementors would never had come and he wouldn’t be facing banishment from the only world from which he’d ever felt acceptance. Order members had been watching the house on Privet Drive; surely they had seen him slaving about the lawn all day, hiding in the bushes for a short reprieve. They must have heard all the shouting. They had to have seen the bruises on his face. What the hell did they think was going on? He knew they would have reported to Dumbledore; this solidified his mistrust in the old man. The only adult who’d offered him real help in the situation was Snape!

‘That’s just potions out of obligation. He doesn’t really care,’ the nasty little voice in Harry’s head said. But the professor had said he would always help. ‘With potions, medicine, stupid!’ the little voice hissed.

James and Lily’s poor son’s shoulders hunched dejectedly as the voice reminded him how pathetic and worthless he was. It morphed into Uncle Vernon’s timbre as distant memories flew through his psyche.

There was the brutally cold, snowy day when his lunch came right back up at school. He’d only gotten meal privileges a handful of times over the Christmas holiday and had stuffed himself the first day back in the cafeteria. Aunt Petunia had to leave a brunch to pick him up, and he’d cried the whole trip home while she screamed at him about what his uncle would do. He was six years old. ‘Should have known better than to eat all that,’ he thought. He’d missed out on more meals because of it; the rest of the week had been spent recovering from the subsequent punishment in his dark cupboard.

In third form he’d actually gotten to go to school regularly while his uncle’d been on an extended business trip. He blossomed under the attention he received from his honey-blonde teacher and brought home an excellent report. He’d fervently hoped he would finally please his guardians, but to no avail. Dudley had whined about the ‘stupid freak’ doing better than he, and Vernon had whipped Harry in front of his cousin, calling him a show-off. After that he’d been sure to do poorly in the majority of his classes, even at Hogwarts.

Hogwarts! The first summed he’d been forced to return to Privet Drive it seemed his uncle had been saving rage all year. Not that it was unexpected, but going from school hero to house-elf was quite a shock. The first few strokes of the belt nearly tore him in half. Since then he made sure to keep his pain tolerance up throughout the school year.

As his mind plunged deeper into disconcerting remembrances, Harry pushed his back deeper in the cushy chair, trying to protect his body from shadow punches and ghost strokes.

When a sharp snap echoed outside he nearly knocked the chair backward with a violent flinch. The warmth of the fire softened his limbs, and his ears perked up to the sound of someone scrabbling with the front latch.

Harry cautiously opened the door; Snape struggled to remain standing on the stoop. The boy reached out to support him, but the professor jetéd back, his glare wild and raw. Terrified, Harry lurched away as well and fell over the café table. Snape made his escape and battled his way up the stairs. With an overwhelming sense of dread the boy followed, remembering his mission. Once he got up the stairs he saw the Potions Master had uncharacteristically left the door ajar. He slipped in and shut it behind him, setting eyes upon the professor. The man was rifling through his cabinet, swearing profusely. Seemingly unable to find the desired item, he plucked a book from a high shelf, checked the contents, and opened it. He moved to ready his work station, caught sight of Harry, and promptly retreated to the bathroom, locking himself in.

The raven topped face gawked until the heap on the bed whimpered.

“Draco? Are you all right?” Harry stepped closer, checking for new injuries the best he could.

“Me?” Draco whispered. “I’m fine. It’s the professor I’m worried about.”

“You mean he didn’t, you know, hit you or anything?”

The young Malfoy’s mind was elsewhere, wondering what his father could have done this time. He gave a distracted reply. “What? When?”

‘Funny answer,’ thought Harry. He said, “After we left, earlier this evening.”

“Oh, no, he didn’t.” Draco said. ‘Although I deserved it,’ he thought, but didn’t utter that part aloud.

“Good.”

“Good? Why do you care, Potter? I would have thought you like to see me in pain.”

“Never,” Harry declared in a steely tone, “Would I wish that on anybody. I know how it feels.”

Malfoy thought back to the night he’d seen Harry shirtless. “Yes, I suppose you do.” Who’d have guessed the two of them would have anything in common?

He scuffled with the sheets to get out of bed and shuffled over to the table. “Internal Injury Healing Draught,” he muttered. “This must be serious!”

Making his way to the professor’s barrier he whispered, “Professor, are you all right?”

“Go back to bed, Draco,” was the stern, rumbling reply.

“But I want to brew the potion for you.”

There was no further response, so Draco chose to assume he had permission.

Harry slid a chair behind him as he nearly collapsed in front of the table. He pulled Draco right back up again when a pained hiss evaporated from the blonde’s teeth.

“He did beat you, didn’t he?” insisted Harry.

When Draco blanched, he had his answer. But Malfoy met his eyes. “It’s not what you think, Potter. Now are we gonna brew this bitch or what?”

Once again Harry found himself preparing ingredients for a complex potion. He didn’t bother to tell his partner he was perfectly capable of brewing said potion alone; he didn’t want to blow his cover. Teachers had a way of demanding competence once a student displayed it; he couldn’t afford that if he had to return to the Dursleys.

The shower ran for a very long time as they were preparing the cauldron’s contents. Finally, Severus erupted from the lavatory, hair sopping wet, shaking, wrapped in a dark robe and towels. Without a word, he dove headfirst onto the bed.