Potions and Snitches
Snape and Harry Gen Fanfiction Archive

Reconstruction

Ten thousand lines, it turned out, didn't take very long when one was committed to getting them done. Draco worked on them from morning until late at night, sitting at the kitchen table with the window open so he could call out suggestions--or more often critiques--to Harry and Snape who were labouring outside to get the new room into shape. Harry had found a way to make his wanded magic work, but construction spells were so draining that even with that advantage, it still took them days to finish the floor and erect the walls and roof. Harry actually felt a bit ill by the time he'd conjured enough large rocks to form the stone walls. Thank goodness Snape was the one who did most of the work of levitating them into place, though again, it was Harry's wanded magic that made them stick together.

Wizards did use mortar, Harry found out in the end. They just didn't mix it the Muggle way.

Roof thatching turned out to be a bit easier, though first Harry had to learn how to make grass grow strong and tall. It gave him a certain amount of satisfaction, after all the summers he'd spent mowing the lawn, to watch the meadow overflow with grass swaying in the breeze.

By Friday night, Snape had his bedroom in good enough shape to use, and Draco had his lines completed. The Slytherin boy had also finished several of his back assignments, though he had quite a lot of schoolwork left. He seemed willing to do it now, though. That was all that counted, as far as Harry was concerned.

Some time past midnight on Friday, an odd noise roused Harry from his sleep. It took a minute for his hazy brain to register the sound as whimpering.

"Draco?"

No answer. When Harry went over to the other bed, he found his brother shoving frantically at his blankets, but he was so tangled up in them that he couldn't push his way free. Even by the dim moonlight streaming through the window Harry could see that Draco's brow was streaming with sweat from his exertions.

Maybe it wasn't whimpering so much as panting. Or a little of both.

Harry shook his brother's shoulder. Gently at first, and then harder. "Come on, Draco. Wake up . . ."

Silver eyes finally slitted open, and the stark terror in them was so fierce that Harry shook Draco again. "It's all right. It was just a nightmare."

Draco shrugged Harry's touch away and pushed up on his palms to sit up. He looked like he was just an inch away from screaming the house down, even though he was unquestionably awake. His legs kicked frantically at the constricting bedclothes until they lay in a tangle near his feet. Then he seemed to relax, though a moment later he began swallowing convulsively. "I don't suppose that vanishing bucket's around anywhere?"

"I'll get Severus," said Harry at once, since if Draco was going to sick up then what he'd want would be a potion, surely.

"No, no." Draco shook his head, a spare little motion that Harry could hardly detect, it was over so quickly. "I feel pretty rough but . . . no, I'll manage."

"If you're sure . . ."

"No, Potter, I'm lying. I actually want half-digested Vichyssoise spattered all over my sheets and blankets--" He broke off at the look on Harry's face.

"Well, at least you're back to your usual self."

"I'll never quite be back to . . . that," Draco whispered, his sarcasm vanishing.

"Good." Maybe it was blunt, but sometimes that was best. "If you want to be an Auror, you know, you can't have a criminal record. You almost flushed your whole career plan down the loo."

"Yeah, I know." Draco sighed as he leaned back more against his headboard. "Severus and I talked about that when you were out flying."

"Today?"

"Ha. Today, yesterday, and Wednesday. No doubt I get variant number four of the same lecture tomorrow." Draco paused for a moment. "Well, I guess I'll try to get back to sleep--"

Harry held up a hand and sat down on the edge of Draco's bed. "Sure you don't want to talk about it?"

"No, I've done enough soul-searching in the guise of career planning with Severus, thanks--"

A light punch to Draco's shoulder put an end to the new bout of sarcasm. "Your nightmare, you prat. Talking helps." When Draco looked reluctant, Harry went on, "It might come right back if you don't."

"It just seems so real," Draco murmured, shivering.

"Yeah, dreams are like that."

"They aren't ever like this, Harry. It's the poison. Oh, I don't mean it's still affecting me, but when I was in that delirium, living out my worst fears . . ."

Harry nodded to show that he understood.

" . . .well, it all seemed so completely real. I guess a hallucination would. But . . . um, I seem to have learned to dream more vividly. Some things, at least. The same things I had delusions about." Draco shrugged, but the motion was stilted instead of careless. "I don't suppose I have many secrets from you now. Almost makes me wish I'd let you eat that-- um, forget I said that."

"Yeah, you'd better hope I forget it," said Harry, glowering. "That's an awful wish."

"I said almost, you prat." Draco rubbed his hands all up and down his arms, shivering again. "Look, I don't really wish it. I just meant, I'd rather we were even. You know my worst fears and I don't have a clue what yours might be."

Harry relaxed a little. "Hmm. Well, I'm not even sure. I guess probably it would be losing you or Dad somehow. You know about the Mirror of Erised?"

When Draco shook his head, Harry explained how he'd seen his family standing with him, and how Dumbledore had told him what that meant.

"Sounds like you're the one who needs some therapy," Draco said with a straight face.

Harry grabbed a spare pillow and lifted it as though to bonk the other boy over the head.

"All right, I suppose I need some too," Draco admitted, that time in a long-suffering tone.

Harry laughed and tossed the pillow aside. "Yeah, you do. But enough of that. Tell me what on earth was going on in your head when you were trying to pull Severus' hair out." Draco looked confused, Harry thought. "Yeah, he was holding you, trying to comfort you and convince you there wasn't a wizard's beating going on, when suddenly you began fighting like a wild man--"

Draco suddenly looked sick again. He actually grabbed a pillow and hugged it. "I . . . uh, that's what I keep dreaming about, actually. That one delusion. I . . . don't you dare laugh."

"I'm not going to laugh, whatever it is!"

"Because it's . . . just stupid."

Harry simply waited. If Draco didn't want to tell him he wasn't going to try to make him, though he did think it would do the other boy some good to talk his way through it.

"I thought Severus was that horrible huge snake the Dark Lord keeps around, all right?" Draco finally groaned. "And it was trying to eat me, and I was trying to pull its head up, away from me. And when I dream, I don't succeed and I end up inside."

Harry couldn't help what he said in reply to that. Talk about gross. "Ugh."

Huffing, Draco crossed his arms. "Yeah, well I told you it was stupid--"

"It's not." Harry thought better than to mention that Voldemort actually did feed people to Nagini. Or threatened to, at least. Though maybe Draco already knew that from all the Death Eater gossip he'd overheard. "You said you keep dreaming about it. What did you mean, a lot tonight? Or every night?"

"Every night." Draco twisted his lips. "I usually wake myself up before you hear me, though. I guess maybe I should try to play with Sals, get used to snakes a bit. And then maybe it wouldn't hit me so hard. But I've had enough of sicking up, now that I know what it's like and I'm sure I'll need that bucket if I so much as touch a snake. There's no hope, I guess."

Harry couldn't help but stare. "Um, Draco? Your father's a Potions Master, you know."

"I'm not asking Severus for Dreamless Sleep."

"Why not, because he's the one who made you eat a--"

"He did not make me," Draco interrupted in a cold voice. "For your information, people do not make me do anything. I ate it because I didn't want to end up in Azkaban and he made it sound bloody well likely that I would if I didn't do something drastic. And believe me, that qualified. And I did my lines because I'd like him to respect me the way he does you, though that's a pipe dream if ever I heard one. And I've started my schoolwork because I think my only hope of staying safe and keeping you that way is to get into the Auror programme which as you well know, requires several quite challenging N.E.W.T.s. Which I might be able to take even if I'm home-schooled instead of recommended by Hogwarts!"

"All right, all right!" Harry held up both his hands. "People don't make you do anything, fine. But why don't you want some potion so you can sleep?"

Draco lifted his shoulders in a haughty motion. "I just don't, all right?"

Something about the situation seemed familiar, Harry thought. Only everything had been reversed. This time it was Draco who'd had the nightmare and was refusing to let his father know about it . . .

Suddenly understanding, Harry jumped up and pointed a finger at his brother. "I get it. You think it's some sort of character flaw to have a bad dream!"

"Oh, shut up, Harry. You're no better at this sort of thing than Granger, and don't forget how she almost mucked things up!"

"Draco, Severus has nightmares himself."

"Yeah, well he has reason, don't you think? He's actually been through things. My nightmares are based on delusions."

"Nagini really did lick your boots. That wasn't a delusion."

"Yes, and thank you for reminding me!"

"Just go ask for some potion, Draco!"

In answer, the other boy grabbed his blankets from the foot of the bed and flung them all the way up to his chin as he threw himself onto his side and closed his eyes.

Well, he wanted to be even, Harry thought. "If you don't go tell Severus you need some potion," Harry threatened, "I'll go tell him myself, and while I'm at it I'll mention you're afraid he won't want you if he knows--"

Draco opened one eye and glared. "You wouldn't."

"Why not? You were going to once!"

"Yeah, but you're better than me," the other boy sneered, sitting up.

"Maybe not--"

Suddenly bundling all his blankets into a ball, Draco then threw them straight at Harry, who stepped to the side before they could slam into him.

"Too bad you missed me."

"Ha, very funny, Harry," groused Draco. "All right then, fine. But you owe me."

"I owe you because I'm making you go get something you need?"

"You aren't making me--"

"Of course not," said Harry, rolling his eyes. "You decided all on your own. I'm sure Severus will respect you more, not less, for that."

"You still owe me," said Draco as he thrust bare feet into slippers and padded towards their closed door.

"Owe you what?"

"I'll let you know."

With that, Draco was gone, the door thudding behind him. Harry thought about doing as Draco had, and opening the door to make sure his brother actually was going to Severus, but then he heard another door open, and a low, deep murmur that could only be their father's voice.

Nodding, Harry curled up on his own bed again. He wasn't worried about Draco, not now. Snape wasn't the type of father who would just hand you a potion so you'd leave him alone. He'd talk everything over with Draco. And since Snape was really good at that . . . yeah, everything would be all right, Harry thought.

He was asleep before Draco got back from talking with their dad.

 

------------------------------------------------------

 

"Well, that week went by really fast," Harry said when they were preparing to Apparate back to Grimmauld Place.

"Speak for yourself. It seemed like aeons to me."

"But at least your lines are done now."

"Yeah, too bad you and Severus couldn't manage to finish your own work," said Draco, lifting his chin a bit. "That second bathroom's an absolute shambles."

"It can wait until summer," said Snape. "Draco, I do believe you have something for me."

"Yes, sir," muttered the boy, though he handed over the borrowed wand readily enough. Snape had been letting him use it to duel with Harry earlier that morning. Actually, Harry reflected, Draco had got in quite a bit of practise with his wand. Snape didn't seem to mind him using it at all, as long as Draco was being supervised.

"When you've seen your therapist a few times we can revisit the matter," the Potions Master announced, his dark eyes pleased.

"Yes, sir," Draco said again.

Snape looked a bit as though he was trying not to sigh. Draco saw that, Harry felt sure. He wasn't quite sure why the other boy was being so overtly respectful. At least it wasn't open sarcasm, but Harry couldn't help but feel there was some amount of rebellion mixed up in it somewhere.

But Snape had evidently decided not to make an issue of the matter, so Harry didn't say anything about it either.

After they had arrived back at Hogwarts, Snape consulted a letter which had flooed in during their absence. "Ah, good. Draco's first session with the therapist has been scheduled." He glanced up. "In deference to my teaching duties and the fact that Draco can't travel unaccompanied, she's arranged for evening sessions. Quite good of her, really."

Harry bit his tongue to keep from laughing. He wondered how much longer Snape planned to go on making a pun of the psychiatrist's name. Or how long it would take Draco to notice, perhaps.

"So when do I get to spill my guts?" Draco asked in a tone that was so thoroughly pleasant it had to be fake. "To a squib, no less."

"There's nothing wrong with squibs, Draco," Harry said.

Nothing wrong? Harry saw Draco mouth.

"They can't help not having magic any more than you can help being stuck-up prat," Harry explained, mimicking the pleasant tone Draco had used the moment before.

"You mustn't insult the good doctor," Snape put in. "Particularly not to her face, though I would also prefer you limit your comments in general to those that might actually serve some purpose."

When the Potions Master turned his back, Draco stuck out his tongue. "When, though?" he pressed after a moment.

"Oh, Wednesday at seven," answered Snape as he walked toward his office.

"Dad," Harry called. "The Express isn't back yet, is it?"

"No, not until later today," said Snape, turning around.

"So can I . . . um, use the Floo to get back to the Tower?"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "You are so tired of our company already?"

Harry smiled. "No, but if I sleep here and you walk me to breakfast, I won't have the books I need. I'm pretty sure you don't want Slytherin losing points because I went to Charms unprepared."

"Floo up and get your books and Floo right back," he instructed.

"He just wants to use the Floo!" Draco pointed out. "How long until I get to use it again, that's what I'd like to know--"

"When you've earned the privilege."

By then, Harry was feeling like he shouldn't have brought the Floo up at all. But he had, so . . . "I need some powder--"

Snape handed some over without comment.

"Back in a flash-"

"Actually, I do believe it would be best if you took your time," answered Snape. He glanced at Draco, who gave a heavy sigh.

"Thanks, but Harry can see. Better that he does, really."

"See what?"

Another long sigh. "Me, apologising to your house-elf friend."

Harry did want to see that, but since he figured it was probably wrong to feel that way, he offered, "Oh, no--"

"Oh yes," countered Draco. "I don't want you wondering if I really did it, or if I was sarcastic about it or something. Anyway, Severus was going to let you see me putting the poison in the icing, remember? And I'm sure you can visualise it even if you never actually saw, so . . . I do want you to see me doing something . . . well, good."

Harry nodded. He wanted to see Draco doing something good, too.

 

------------------------------------------------------

 

Snape summoned Dobby as he had before.

The elf's eyes were wide as he glanced around. He clearly didn't know why he'd been called, not this time. "Harry Potter is needing something?"

"No, I am," said Draco quite distinctly, each word clipped as if he wasn't quite sure it was the one he needed.

At that, Dobby's eyes narrowed. "Dobby is a free house-elf. Dobby is not bound to the Malfoys--"

"Yes, I know that." Draco cleared his throat. "I . . . would you like to sit down, er . . . Dobby?"

The elf's huge ears flattened down against his head as he said in tones of deep suspicion, "Master Malfoy is wanting Dobby to be sitting?"

Harry remembered then what Dobby had said of the Malfoys years ago, about how horribly they treated their elf-servants.

"Yes, next to me." Draco seated himself on the couch then, and waved to the place alongside him.

Dobby moved slowly and hopped up to perch on the edge of the couch. Crossing his arms in front of his chest, he repeated in a stubborn tone, "Dobby is a free house-elf. Dobby does not have to do what Master Malfoy is wanting."

"No, no you don't." Draco dragged in a breath, his gaze seeking out Snape, who was leaning against the mantle, simply watching. "You're a free elf. I understand that. I . . . Actually, all I want is for you to listen to me for a bit, but if you'd rather leave right now, I'll respect your decision."

Perhaps it was the mention of respect that did it, but Dobby's stiff shoulders relaxed a fraction, then. "Dobby can be listening."

Draco curled a wry lip as though he'd hoped Dobby would refuse and let him off the hook.

"Master Malfoy?"

"Maybe you could call me Draco," the Slytherin boy said. "That other . . . it's not even my name any longer."

"Dobby is knowing that Master Malfoy is Harry Potter's adopted brother," said Dobby, twisting his fingers together as though the whole thing still worried him terribly.

"Right, yes. The thing is . . ." Draco swallowed. "I had to do a lot of thinking over the last week, Dobby. And . . . um, the Venetimorica, that was really a Malfoy-ish thing for me to do, and I wish I hadn't done it. And . . . I'm really sorry you got sick on my account. And I know I said before that I apologised, but this time I really do mean it. I'm very sorry I let anybody get poisoned like that, Dobby. And . . . well, I hope you can forgive me."

Dobby's eyebrows arched upward. "Master Malfoy is asking a house-elf to be forgiving him?"

"Draco is asking. Draco Snape. Will you accept my apology?"

Dobby frowned, his eyes reproaching Harry as he said, "I will be doing whatever Harry Potter is wanting."

Harry was tempted to intervene then, and tell Dobby to forgive Draco, but that was sort of like Snape's having forced an apology out of Draco in the first place. Forgiveness, like apologies, had to be freely given if it was to mean anything.

"It's between you and Draco, Dobby."

Dobby sat silent, his lack of answer to Draco's question an answer in itself.

"I understand if you can't forgive me," said Draco finally, shaking his head. "Because it's not just this last thing. That only confirmed your opinion of me, I'm sure. You saw me growing up, saw the things I did, how I treated the elves in the manor . . . All right, that makes sense. But Dobby, it's only recently that I've started to really grow up. I . . ." Draco shoved his hands into his pockets. "It's only now that I have a father worthy of respect that I can see how bad it is to emulate Lucius."

The elf pursed his lips, his eyes troubled. "The pumpkin doesn't grow far from the vine, Master Malfoy."

So much for it being between Draco and Dobby, Harry thought. "That's an awful thing to say, Dobby! And would you stop calling him that? It's not his name!"

"If Harry Potter is wishing to trust his brother, Dobby cannot be preventing it. But Dobby is knowing better. Dobby is knowing Malfoys--"

"Dobby--"

"No, Harry," interrupted Draco. "The truth is, Dobby knows a lot more about me than you ever have. And he's a free house-elf; you can't tell him what to think. And I have a longer way to go than I used to think . . . to banish Lucius from my . . . um, psycho."

"Psyche," Snape dryly corrected.

"Right, psyche," murmured Draco as he returned his attention to Dobby, who by then was looking marginally less suspicious. "Well, maybe someday you'll believe that I am loyal to Harry Potter. But whether that ever happens or not, I am sorry I made you ill. And I know this can't make up for it, not in any way, but I have something I'd like to give you." With that, Draco was pulling his hands out of his pockets. One of them emerged holding a small box wrapped in silver paper.

Dobby was slow to take it. Actually, he looked a bit as though he thought it might be hexed, which reminded Harry of how he'd felt himself, months ago. He knew what it was like to have Draco claim reform and offer gifts, so maybe he should be a tad more understanding about Dobby's reluctance to believe a word Draco said.

Eventually--probably because he trusted Harry and Snape, not Draco, Harry thought--the elf grasped the box in his bony hands. He didn't unwrap it, though. He merely looked at it, causing the box and wrappings both to vanish away.

When the glittering remnants of the spell faded, what remained in his palm was a tiny scarf knitted in Slytherin colours.

"It's mine, spelled down to fit you," Draco explained when the elf lifted a confused face. "Because that was cunning, Dobby, your thinking to go get Harry when you knew I was in trouble. I know you did it for Harry and not me, but I'm still grateful for it. I probably can't thank you enough . . . but anyway, I want you to keep using all your cunning to do what's best for Harry, all right? Because we're both on his side, which means we're on the same side."

Dobby didn't answer, though he did add the scarf to the others that were slung about his neck. He glanced once at Harry, then over at Snape, then finally back at Draco. "Dobby will be going now, Master Malfoy."

Draco stood up and nodded, his silver gaze distant, but the moment Dobby had Disapparated, the boy flopped back down to the couch and scowled. "Well, that was certainly difficult. Though I suppose I should have expected it to be."

"You did well," said Snape, leaving his position by the mantle.

Draco's pale features flushed slightly. "I . . . yes, well . . . thank you, Severus."

The Potions Master's gaze took in both his sons. "Shall we have a game of Wizard's Scrabble?"

"I'm not caught up on all my assignments," Draco refused. "And I'm supposed to ask for those back tests tomorrow, so . . ."

"You just have a little too much quizzex," Harry said with a straight face.

Draco looked startled, then smiled slightly. "Well, better too much than too little, you know. You've been in class listening to the professors blather, though. Do you want to help me study?"

"Sure."

"I'm quite certain none of your instructors blather," Snape said in a chiding tone.

"Aran," said Draco and Harry in unison.

"Ah. Well, perhaps he does," admitted their father with a shrug.

"Why doesn't Dumbledore hire a decent Defence teacher?" Harry asked, frustrated by Aran's continuing refusal to allow any nasty Parseltongue in his classroom. "Aran's useless! He's . . . he's pathetic!"

"He can't hire a decent Defence teacher, Harry," Snape explained in a heavy tone. "Surely you've realised by now that the position itself is under a curse of enormous proportions."

"Yeah, one year per teacher." Harry sighed. "So something else would have kept Remus from keeping the position, I suppose, if you hadn't gone and told your students about him being a werewolf."

"Quite likely." When Harry sighed again, Snape's eyebrows drew slightly together. "Are you having some particular difficulty with Professor Aran, Harry?"

"Oh, no," lied Harry, determined to handle things himself. "And even if I was, you know, I wouldn't want to have you intervene. Nobody else has a dad on staff, and there are already too many things about me that set me apart--"

"Nobody else?" echoed Draco, his voice haughty. "Did I hear you correctly?"

Harry lightly pushed against his brother's shoulder. "All right, fine. Nobody but you. But it's still not typical, you know."

"Well I for one am very pleased to have my father on staff. Typical or no."

"You prat. I'm glad too and you know it!"

"As long as I don't intervene in your course programme, apparently," Snape dryly put in.

"Yeah, as long as," Harry agreed, making a slight face.

Snape stared at him for a moment, then shrugged and said he would be in his office if either of them needed anything.

 

------------------------------------------------------

 

Nott kept trying to get himself paired with Harry in all the classes they shared. Harry let him about half the time; after all, Nott still might know something useful. And whether he did or not, he was definitely easing Harry's entrance into Slytherin. He more-or-less forced the other students to tolerate it when Harry occasionally joined them for a meal. It was like he wanted Harry to think well of him.

Since Harry had seen that all before, from Draco, who had in fact been sincere about the whole thing, Harry was left thinking that Nott might be for real, too.

He didn't really believe that, though. Some deep instinct kept telling him that Nott's story about the plague didn't really add up, and that Nott seemed just a little too eager for his friendship.

It was a balancing act, keeping Nott at a distance while letting the other boy think he was gaining Harry's trust.

It was also a balancing act trying to make sure he spent enough free time with both his friends and his family. Of course, he'd just had an entire week with Draco and Snape, and he was supposed to see them again on Wednesday night so they could all go to Draco's first therapy session. But going down on his own . . . that was a little different. Harry was pretty sure that Draco would feel slighted if the only time he saw Harry was when Harry had to.

So Tuesday night after Potions class, Harry hung back so that he could walk home with his father. Actually, he wanted to ask if they could Floo instead, but he thought it was probably a bad idea. Draco might take it as Harry showing off that he was allowed to while Draco wasn't.

Harry didn't want to do anything that might send Draco's attitude to what it had been before the poisoning. He'd been impressed by how well his brother had handled that apology to Dobby, and he wanted to help Draco stay in a positive frame of mind.

At first, everything at home seemed fine. Draco and he went over some assignments together and Harry was pleased to learn that his brother was just about caught up in all his subjects. When dinner appeared--roast chicken with mash--Draco ate it without complaint. That was good. Harry had been half afraid the other boy would have something scathing to say about Snape's rules restricting their ordering via the Floo.

It was after dinner when things got a bit dicey. Snape reached into his pocket and drew forth a letter.

"From Gringotts," Draco breathed, running his hands over and over the envelope as though it were made of finest silk and just touching it was a pleasure.

Snape nodded, the motion stiff and stern. "When you've read it, we will need to talk, Draco."

Uh-oh. It sounded to Harry like their father had reservations about Draco's new vault. And no wonder, considering the circumstances. Draco might not have killed Walpurgis, but his mother had done it for no better reason than to get him some money, and that made the whole thing pretty icky, at least in Harry's eyes.

"Oh, I won't be buying shirts with diamond buttons, Severus," laughed Draco, his eyes sparkling so much they might well be diamonds. "You made it clear enough that day in Hogsmeade that no son of yours will be . . .what were your words? Given to public extravagance. Don't worry about it."

"I have another matter to broach with you."

Draco bounced up and down on his heels. "Well, let me just read this then and find out how much I've got." With that, he was ripping open the letter and scanning it.

Whatever it said though, wasn't what Draco had been expecting. The expression on his face fell, his eyes losing their sparkle, though they still gleamed in some hard way Harry was at a loss to define.

What was even stranger was the amount of time Draco spent reading. Harry knew for a fact that his brother was a fast reader, but he pored over the letter for what seemed like hours, his eyes like chipped ice by the end.

Then, he folded the square of parchment back into thirds and thrust it back into his pocket, his whole attitude radiating nonchalance. "So, that's that," he said, forced brightness in his voice. "Harry, let's finish our latest Potions essays before Severus here concludes we're worthless."

Harry couldn't help but stare. "What did your letter say?"

That got him a rather condescending look. "Really," drawled the other boy, "one's finances are personal. Have I pried into how many Galleons your vaults hold?"

At least that was better than a lecture on breeding or upbringing, but one thing about it still bothered Harry. Draco obviously felt that personal topics were off-limits, which of course was one more proof, as if Harry needed it, that Draco just didn't understand that they really were family.

"Yes, actually you have pried," retorted Harry. "Into Severus' finances, that is. You asked me how much money he had when you were worried we might have to leave England."

"Well that was an extraordinary circumstance," Draco said with a little toss of his head. Harry thought he looked like he was strongly tempted to say something much ruder and was controlling himself.

"Yes, it was." Harry decided he'd better let the matter go, so he fetched his Potions text from his school bag and set to rereading the section on ingredients that resisted charms.

"Perhaps you'll speak with me now, Draco," prompted Snape in his deep voice. "In my office."

Draco slanted his father a wry look. "Fine. Should be a short conversation, as these things go."

The remark puzzled Harry. It didn't even end up being true. Draco and Snape were gone for the better part of an hour. By the time they came out, Harry was looking over his finished draft for things he might have forgotten to include.

"Everything all right?"

"Of course," said Draco, his voice again that airy one that meant he was hiding something.

"Draco," admonished Snape in a warning tone.

"Oh, don't get your robes all in a twist. I said I'd tell him, so fine!"

Harry got a sense then of what had taken so long. Draco didn't want to tell him whatever it was, and Snape had insisted.

"It's like this," Draco went on after a moment. His hands were in his pockets again, a sure sign he was feeling ill-at-ease. "The letter from Gringotts. It turns out that there's no vault for me after all."

A number of emotions swamped Harry all at once. He was shocked at the news, and worried that Draco would come unglued. But most of all, he was relieved at this turn of events. He hadn't really been looking forward to watching Draco spend money his mother had killed someone for, after all. What an example of motherly love! And with that example, it was no wonder Draco's values were . . . well, almost non-existent at times. But now, with the money gone . . . yeah, Harry did feel better about the whole thing.

But on the other hand, he didn't really want Draco to be poor, either. That was awful. Particularly for someone like Draco.

"Oh," he said, realising at once that expressing his relief would be ill-advised. He was careful to keep his voice neutral. "Um, did Walpurgis not change his will in your favour then?"

"He sort of did." Draco scowled. "Walpurgis was smarter than Narcissa gave him credit for, though. He made me his sole heir, all right. But then he left instructions that if he died in any way that Gringotts could term mysterious, the goblins were to deliver all his Galleons and deeds and other property--everything--into this charitable trust he had set up years ago. He'd been funding it for quite some time." Draco glanced back at his brother. "So that's it, then. I thought I would be all right, you know, money-wise--Merlin, what an absolutely plebeian word--but as it turns out, I'm poor after all. About as poor as you can get. All I have is the allowance Severus gives us, and a few things from back when Lucius was footing my bills. You know, things that didn't vanish when the clothes and such I had bought with my vault money did." Draco shuddered a bit. "Good thing I didn't banish them all, I suppose. I was going to, as soon as my new vault was settled. I was going to buy all new things."

Harry bit his lip, wondering if he should say he was sorry even though he mostly wasn't.

"Don't everyone weep at once."

"I . . . I'm just really shocked," Harry managed to answer. "Why didn't you want to tell me?"

"Because it's nothing to do with you."

"Of course it is. We're brothers!"

Draco lifted his nose in the air. "Well, maybe I didn't want to tell you because of what happened last time. Are you going to go all superior on me and offer me charity again?"

"No, I wasn't going to offer you charity, you prat."

"Good," said Draco in a tone halfway between conciliation and a sneer. "Because the one thing I have left is my pride and I won't be trading it away to you."

"Yeah, well maybe someday you'll have more than pride," Harry said, raising his voice slightly. "Maybe you'll figure out you have a family too, and that there's nothing wrong with . . ." Catching a look from his father, Harry abruptly broke off. "Never mind. I just think . . . no, never mind."

Draco's lips twisted. "I know what you think, Harry. Same as Severus, no doubt. So never mind sounds about right. I don't need to hear twice in one evening how somebody's just as glad the money's gone."

"I did not say precisely that."

"No, you said . . . oh, what's the point?" Draco threw his hands up. "It's gone anyway, so it doesn't matter now, does it? And I did understand what you meant, Severus, about murder not being the way to fill one's vault. It's just . . . you know, it's not my fault that my mother did that. I didn't put her up to it. I didn't even know about it!"

"Does that mean you should condone her actions by accepting the bequest, though?"

Draco bared his teeth. "Well, that's what they call a moot point, isn't it now?"

"Yes, fortunately."

"I can tell you're heartbroken over my reversal of fortune."

Even through the sarcasm, Draco's voice sounded like it was about to fracture. Concerned about that, Harry walked over and put a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Are you going to be all right?"

"No, I'm going to curl up into a little ball and die, Harry." Draco made an attempt to grin, though the expression came off looking hideous since he was obviously still quite distraught. "Look, everything will be fine. It's just . . . one more adjustment."

Harry nodded slowly, thinking about all the adjustments Draco had made this year. In rejecting a future with the Death Eaters, he'd accepted an entirely new way of thought. He'd lost his family, and then his fortune once before. He'd lost the girl he loved, and then been accused of her murder and expelled from the only place he felt safe.

He'd had to accept that his own father had tried--was still trying, probably--to have him killed.

And somehow he'd come through it with enough good spirits to take this new adjustment pretty well, all things considered. "Thanks for telling me about Walpurgis' will," Harry finally said. "I think it's better for family members not to keep secrets."

"It wasn't so much keeping a secret as . . ." Draco sighed, and brushed Harry's hand away. "I was trying to be mature. Strange concept, I know. I wasn't going to say anything ever. Because that's better than whinging on about it, see?"

"You haven't whinged. You've just been honest. And that's all right."

Draco stiffened. "Ha, honest. You wouldn't know honest if it hexed you, Harry. I haven't been honest at all."

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw his father turning his full attention to the conversation.

"What do you mean?" asked Harry, puzzled.

"I wasn't only trying to be mature," said Draco with a grimace. "I also thought . . . you've heard the kinds of things I say about Weasley's . . . I mean, Ronald's lack of funds."

Harry's eyebrows drew together. "And what, you thought I'd make fun of you? That's daft! You couldn't have thought that--"

"No, you prat," Draco said, shaking his head. "Put yourself in my place, Harry. Look . . . I know you're not like me, but I am like me, so when I think, I can only think the way I know how to think, all right? And when I look at people, rich or poor makes a difference. Some part of me knows it probably shouldn't, but it does, and that's me, and there it is."

It took Harry a moment to make sense out of all that, but when the meaning came clear, he didn't know whether to strangle Draco or burst out laughing. "Oh, for God's sake! You mean you thought I'd think less of you for being poor? Like you less, something like that?"

Draco's defensive shrug said more than his words did. "It crossed my mind."

"You're . . . really stupid." Harry paused to think. "So what, you'd turn your loyalties to Voldemort if I were to lose all my money?"

He hadn't meant the question seriously, but Draco took it that way.

"Well if I had a safe way to return to the Dark Lord--which isn't likely, you realise--I wouldn't take it, no. Why would I want to be his slave? I may have lost my money, but I haven't lost my mind, Harry."

"But you'd think less of me if I were poor!"

"I . . . look, I don't know, all right? Severus doesn't exactly have Galleons pouring out his ears and I've always respected him . . . but you know, deep down I thought I probably shouldn't." Draco sighed. "Anyway, what does it matter, Harry? You know now."

Recognising the olive branch, Harry nodded slightly. "All right."

Draco swiftly changed the subject. "So Potions. Your essay looks about finished. Can I read it?"

"Perhaps you should write your own before you consult his," chided Snape.

"Oh, like Harry never reads Granger's . . . sorry, Hermione's, before he starts in on his."

Harry said nothing, not that the tactic worked.

"Harry?" prompted his father.

"Well it's not cheating," said Harry, flushing. "It's just one more resource, right? And I don't copy hers. Sometimes I don't even understand hers all that well, to be honest."

Snape inclined his head, apparently giving up the argument. "It's good to see you two working well together, at any rate."

All the same, Draco waited until Snape had left the room before he held a hand out, fingers beckoning.

Laughing a little, Harry handed his essay over. He wasn't too surprised when Draco proceeded to tell him about six things he'd got wrong.

Harry's second draft was much improved, but he somehow doubted it was as good as Draco's would be.

 

-----------------------------------------------

 

Harry had eaten at the Slytherin table at lunch on Monday, but he went there again for Wednesday dinner, both times when Snape was in the Great Hall. Goyle asked again about Draco, seeming even more down than before, but when Harry said that maybe the murder would be cleared up soon and Draco's expulsion would be reversed, he was treated to glares from every direction. Apparently Draco's superior airs--not to mention his denunciation of Voldemort--hadn't endeared him to his house mates. Even Crabbe looked hostile; only Goyle and Nott reacted favourably to Harry's speculation about Draco being able to return.

For all that though, more people were talking to Harry when he ate at the Slytherin table. That had to be worth something, even if the topic of conversation all too often seemed to centre on Quidditch and how Harry should start practising his Seeker skills if he ever wanted to recover them. Harry saw that as a veiled hint that he ought to get his magic back in order so that he could play again -- play for Slytherin.

Snape fetched him from the Slytherin table on Wednesday after dessert. Together they walked down to the dungeons, discussing inconsequentials since they might be overheard. When they reached Snape's quarters, it was to find Draco dressed in robes that seemed formal for all they were stark and black.

Maybe it was the lack of any crest, Harry thought. Honorary Slytherin or no, Draco still refused to wear his house symbol. That was a bit odd considering he'd considered Slytherin colours an honour when he'd bestowed them on Dobby, but Harry figured that Draco was probably feeling confused on a number of fronts.

And his formal clothing now, that was a defence against the feeling.

It was also inappropriate, considering where they were headed that evening.

"We'll have to blend in with the Muggle population in Surrey," Snape said, frowning. "Change into something suitable, Draco. Harry, I think if you merely divest yourself of the robe your attire will do."

"What about yours?"

Snape looked down at his flowing teaching robes. "I had thought a simple disillusionment charm would do."

"Ha." Draco huffed. "If I have to go about in Muggle clothes in public then so do you."

"Very well." Snape grimaced, but acquiesced.

He emerged in a few moments wearing trousers and a long-sleeved shirt, both in unrelenting black. Draco was dressed similarly in grey, though he was wearing a pair of dragonhide boots. Snape shook his head and transfigured them to a dark brown leather. Draco petulantly complained that they pinched.

Ignoring that, Snape flooed them all to Arabella Figg's house on Privet Drive.

Draco's mouth dropped open as he stepped into the living room and looked around. He'd never been in a Muggle or squib dwelling before, Harry surmised, a little irritated when Draco moved close to him and whispered, "You grew up like this?"

Harry just nodded.

The longer Draco glanced about, the more horrified he appeared. "Merlin's beard! I knew you had a deprived childhood, Harry, but I never dreamed your house was quite as common and Mugglish as this--"

"It's good to see you again, Mrs Figg," Harry loudly interrupted. "And it's good of you to let us use your Floo."

"You're quite welcome, Harry," said Arabella Figg, her motherly hands brushing ash off his shoulders. She didn't do the same for Draco, but Harry could hardly blame her for that. "So grown up you seem now!"

"Thanks, Mrs Figg." Harry stepped away from her fussing before it grew too smothering. "Did you hear I'd been adopted by Severus? Me and Draco both."

"Yes, I read that, dear," said Mrs Figg, nodding.

"If you'll excuse us, Arabella, we'll be on our way," Snape said, ushering both his sons out. "We've an appointment to keep, but we do thank you assisting our travels."

"Oh, you're most welcome." Mrs Figg beamed.

As Snape led the way toward Magnolia Crescent, Harry couldn't help but glance back toward the site where Number Four had been. He wasn't sure what he expected to see. A blackened patch of earth, perhaps. Instead, a half-framed house stood on the site. Harry blinked, and tugged on his father's arm, but Snape murmured that the good doctor would be waiting and that the house, after all, would still be there when they returned to Privet Drive later.

"Right . . ."

Draco's lip was curled in contempt. "The homes here are all so small, and smashed close together. It must have been like living inside a box of Sugar Quills--"

"I don't believe my cottage is spaciousness itself," Snape mildly remarked as they walked on.

"Well that's different; at least you have a good stretch of land--"

"Draco--" Harry cut himself off, since he didn't think it would do them any good to get into a huge row right before they saw the therapist.

Snape slanted him an approving glance. That was nice.

a few minutes' walk later, they had reached a block of offices. Snape led them through the front the doors and up three flights of stairs to a wooden door discreetly labelled Dr. Marsha Goode. One brisk knock, and they were admitted by a slender woman with shoulder-length brown hair.

Fortyish, her face slightly lined, she ushered them into a room that seemed more a lounge than an office, at least to Harry. There wasn't a desk anywhere, though there were several couches and easy chairs. Only when everyone was seated did she begin to make introductions.

"I'm Dr. Goode, and I've met your father once before," she said, neatly crossing her ankles. "Please feel free to call me Marsha if you wish." She glanced at the boy sitting directly opposite her. "You must be Draco Snape."

Draco curled a lip and nodded without confirming it out loud.

The therapist smiled warmly, just as if she hadn't noticed that one of her visitors was regarding her office with something less than admiration. Then she turned her attention towards Harry. Her gaze sought out his scar in a way Harry recognised only too well. If he didn't know better, he'd assume she was a witch. But maybe more squibs had heard of him than he knew.

"Harry Potter," she said. "I've heard a lot about you."

Harry repressed a desire to sigh out loud, and decided the best thing he could do was turn the tables. "I've heard a bit about you, too. From my cousin Dudley. Thanks for helping him after the Dementor attack scared him silly."

"Thank you for so warmly accepting him back into your life, even after all that had passed between you," Dr. Goode murmured. "You must be a very nice young man."

"Excuse me," Draco broke in, leaning forward, "but I thought that the point of these sessions was actually to help me, not fawn over Harry Potter."

"Yes, of course," said the therapist, an expression of extreme professionalism transforming her features. "So, Professor Snape gave me all the particulars, but I'd like to hear them again from you. Both of you," she said, her glance including Harry. "How long has it been since you were adopted?"

"Him, months; me, weeks," said Draco with a slight sneer.

"We've both been his sons for about the same length of time," Harry disagreed. "But Draco's right about when it became legal for each of us."

"Why the differential?" Dr. Goode smiled then. "I mean, why the lapse in time--"

"We know what differential means, Dr. Goode," said Draco, that time with a smile so cold Harry felt chilled. "Harry and I have both attended Britain's premier school of Wizarding and Witchcraft for six years. Though I'm now expelled, as you no doubt know. Be that as it may, you obviously have no idea how challenging the curricula are at a private school like Hogwarts, not if you think we've yet to encounter the word differential."

"My apologies," said the doctor, folding her hands together as she leaned back in her chair. "My specialty is adolescents and many of them don't have as advanced a vocabulary as you appear to."

"Oh, well if you're going to compare wizards to Harry's fat dolt of a Muggle cousin--"

"Hey, don't insult Dudley!" Harry erupted. "He can't help being a Muggle!"

"Can he help being fat, or a dolt, or a lout?"

The therapist spoke directly to Snape, then. "I see you have your hands full, Professor."

Snape gave her a look that clearly meant, you think? Out loud though, all he said was a reserved, "Indeed."

"Oh, sure," sneered Draco. "Sympathize with Severus over how awful a person I am, right. Now we've got off at the right Floo, Doctor. Oh, but that's a wizarding idiom, isn't it? So you wouldn't understand. Note however that I do know a word like idiom--"

"Draco," the therapist smoothly interrupted, "I didn't mean that your father had his hands full with you, but rather with the two of you. We won't be playing good child, bad child, not in my office. It's my hope I can encourage you and your brother not to play it at all, as it's really very destructive for both of you."

"We're not . . . playing at anything," Harry objected.

"Playing is perhaps a misnomer, but it is true that you and Draco engage in a certain amount of rivalry, Harry. I've witnessed as much already. He states the simple truth that you were adopted first, and you immediately see a need to correct his version by focusing on intangibles rather than legalities. In so doing, you position yourself as the more understanding, more reasonable son and leave him looking like the ungrateful, intractable son."

Harry would have thought that Draco would feel smug that the therapist was basically rebuking Harry, but apparently the doctor's point about rivalry was well-taken. "I thought this session was supposed to be about me," he repeated, suddenly standing up. "But if all you want to do is talk to Harry, then fine! I'll just cool my heels outside and thank Merlin to be out of your . . . exceedingly provincial décor!"

"Draco, sit down," Snape ordered.

Draco did, though he made a show of dusting off the sofa cushion, even pretending to find a flea or something. He flicked it away with a disgusted look on his face.

Dr. Goode was hardly fazed. "You were born into great wealth, I understand."

"Do you understand it?" Draco sneered. "In my experience the lesser-born generally don't."

Harry wasn't sure if his brother meant Ron or Harry by that.

"But you aren't wealthy now."

The therapist had scarcely stopped speaking before Draco was throwing a nasty look towards his father. "You keep her pretty well informed, don't you?"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "I mentioned your having been disowned by Lucius."

"Oh," said Draco, his lips forming a straight line as he turned back towards Dr. Goode. "So I'm not wealthy now. So what? You'll still get paid, if that's what's worrying you."

Harry managed to resist an impulse to criticise his brother, but the look on his face pretty much spoke for him.

The therapist ignored all of it to say, "You've recently lost all you were born into, including your name--"

"So you're not so well-informed," announced Draco with an air of triumph. "I didn't lose my name, Martha. Changing it was a deliberate decision."

"Marsha. But my point is merely this: you're feeling defensive about your changed circumstances. You take great pains to look down on others because you're anxious not to be mistaken for someone poor, especially now that you are exactly that."

A sly look slid into Draco's eyes. "Maybe I'm not so much defensive as overcompensating."

"I don't believe that's the case, no--"

"Or it could be dislocated personality syndrome," continued Draco in a bored voice. "Or perhaps more a case of manic depression. Do you think I might have a problem with displaced rage?"

"I think you've been reading psychology books."

"Muggle ones," sneered Draco. "And trust me, they don't really apply."

"Of course they do. You're human, aren't you?"

"I don't know," Draco shot back. "Harry, are Slytherins human?"

"I'm still deciding," retorted Harry.

"You self-important prat!"

"Let's just talk normally to the doctor, all right?"

"There you go positioning yourself as the good son!" shouted Draco. "Again!"

"I just meant--" Frustrated, Harry heard his own voice getting louder. "What do you want me to do, start poisoning people too?"

"Only if you want to choke down a poisoned fairy cake like I did, but you probably wouldn't have to, I bet--"

The noise of a throat being cleared belatedly reminded Harry that Draco and he had an audience. Well, one besides Snape, but he was used to watching them squabble.

"The family dynamic here is quite something," announced Marsha Goode. Her brown eyes were steady as she assessed all three of them. "I realise that you two are classed as Slytherins while Harry is a Griffinbore--"

"Griffinbore!" Draco slapped a palm against his thigh, he was laughing so hard.

"Gryffindor," Harry corrected, glaring briefly at Draco. "And yeah, that's true. But I was almost sorted into Slytherin, so it's not like I'm that left out."

Dr. Goode smiled and nodded, making Harry feel as if he was being humoured. "We'll leave that aside for the moment, I think. I have another concern, this one far more immediate. Draco, you mentioned being poisoned recently? Can you tell me the circumstances surrounding that?"

"I . . . uh . . ." Draco's cheeks flushed. "Well, it's complicated."

The therapist smiled again, this time with so much empathy that Harry wondered what she'd suffered in her life, to want to become a trauma specialist. "It always is, yes. You said the poison was in a fairy cake . . . I'd just like to know, did you realise the cake was tainted before you ate it?"

"Well, yes, but it's not like you're thinking," Draco hastened to explain. "I'm not suicidal. I'm the opposite, whatever that is. I want very much to stay alive and healthy."

"Then why did you deliberately consume poison?" The therapist shook her head. "Your father told me why he wanted you to receive counselling, you understand. I know about your attempt to poison your classmates at Hogwarts. Now, guilt is a strange thing that can take even stranger forms--"

"I'm not suicidal!" Draco exclaimed. "I only ate it because--"

"Because?"

Pursing his lips together, Draco refused to answer.

"I asked him to," Snape spoke into the void, his deep voice clearly startling the therapist. Or maybe it was his words.

"You . . . asked him to," she repeated, deadpan.

"Yes." Snape's black eyes bored into hers. "To help him learn remorse. Dr. Goode, I've no doubt you won't understand this given your background, but the world the three of us inhabit is often a world of extremes. Sometimes punishment must be as well."

Draco nodded, clearly eager to do everything he could to help Snape out of an awkward situation. "Yeah, like the time I was turned into a ferret for casting hexes."

The doctor's mouth dropped open. "Your father poisons you and turns you into a ferret."

"No, the ferret thing was a teacher. Actually, he was a spy of the Dark Lord come to make sure Harry won the Triwizard Tournament and we only thought he was a teacher--"

"Too much information, Draco," Snape softly averred. "Dr. Goode . . . I've a feeling you'd like to speak with me alone. Shall I ask my sons to wait in your antechamber?"

"Yes, please," she said rather weakly, though Harry had a feeling his father was in for a stern lecture once impressionable adolescents were out of the way. He wished he had a pair of Extendable Ears with him.

It turned out he didn't need them. Snape was more than willing to discuss his private conversation once they were walking back toward Privet Drive. "The good doctor chided me rather endlessly," he casually disclosed. An exaggeration, since he'd been holed up with her for less than fifteen minutes.

"And what, you cast Obliviate to shut her up?"

"She's hardly likely to be able to help you if I make her forget salient facts, Draco."

"Well, there is that . . ."

"She told me that were we under the jurisdiction of Muggle law she would be ethically constrained to report my offence, as she termed it--"

"À la Granger."

"Something like that yes," Snape dryly admitted. "However, she also admitted her vast ignorance of wizarding standards. The ferret example was actually quite helpful. She's now under the impression that discipline in the wizarding world is, as she put it, a different kettle of fish."

"What a quaint Muggle turn of phrase," drawled Draco.

"So she settled for merely berating me," Snape concluded. "I had to promise not to poison you again, Draco. Or you at all, Harry. Also, I'm admonished not to punish you by means of transfiguration."

"I should have complained about excessive lines," said Draco in a thoughtful voice.

"Yes, well you'll have ample opportunity to complain about whatever you wish in future, each Wednesday evening." Snape briefly patted Draco's shoulder.

"She doesn't still think I'm suicidal, one hopes."

"No, I managed to dissuade her on that account." Snape turned to Harry. "Draco's sessions are by necessity private but the good doctor wished me to convey that she is more than willing to counsel you should you feel troubled in any way."

Harry shook his head. "I'm doing all right."

"You're certain?"

"He's just showing me up again, Severus." Draco made a face. "He's the strong, stoic type who can do without help."

"Uh . . . maybe not," said Harry, for they had just then turned back onto Privet Drive and he was looking at the construction in progress at Number Four. An eerie skeleton of a house standing in the moonlight. Harry shivered.

"You needn't go look at it if you've changed your mind," Snape quietly said against his ear.

Harry fortified himself with a breath. He shouldn't be so shocked, after all. The house had been insured; it only stood to reason that it would be re-built. "I want to look."

At that hour, nobody was about. Harry wandered through the ground floor, the floorboards creaking under his feet. Dudley had mentioned something about wanting to sell the property, Harry remembered. He wondered who would buy it, wondered if they would have children who would climb the trees in the backyard. The trees had survived the Death Eater attack . . .

Harry stood staring out the space for a window, his gaze fixed on the tree he'd scrambled up when Ripper would chase him. Would the family who came to live here have an orphaned nephew to take in? Would they treat him as their own?

Snape and Draco had been silent, letting him wander Number Four on his own, but when Harry stood so long looking out at the yard, Draco came up behind him and tapped him lightly on the shoulder.

"Harry."

"I know, time to go." Harry sighed, leaning on the unfinished wall as he turned around.

"No, that's not it." Draco made an uncertain gesture with his hand. "I wanted to say . . . it must have been awful growing up here."

"Well, it's not a manor, if that's what you mean."

"No, I meant . . ." Draco's silver eyes caught a ray of moonlight and shined. "With Muggles all around, and nobody who could understand you. Nobody who even tried. Cut off from your rightful place in our world . . . it must have been rough."

"It was rough." Harry sighed and turned his face away. "But not because of that. I didn't know I was cut off, you see. I didn't know why they didn't understand me, not until Hagrid came for me. But I knew they didn't love me. I mean, I knew they couldn't, and I knew that the reason for that was that something was wrong with me."

"Not wrong."

"Yeah, of course." Easy to say, Harry thought. He'd been telling himself for six years that his travesty of a childhood had been their fault and not his. He even knew it was true. But sometimes, it was still hard for him to believe that.

"Come with me," Draco said. "I want to show you something."

Harry frankly couldn't imagine what Draco could have to show him. Harry was the one who'd grown up here, after all. And while this new floor plan didn't exactly duplicate the old, it was largely similar.

One thing was different though. And Draco had noticed, though Harry hadn't. Perhaps he'd been trying not to see.

Draco gestured to the staircase and smiled.

"There's no cupboard under the stairs," said Harry, his breath catching. Where one should be, there was instead another flight of stairs leading down into a cellar. Rough framing for a door would conceal it someday, but that hadn't been completed yet. "I bet Dudley insisted."

"Well, if so I take back what I said about him being a lout."

"I'm going to see Dudley over the summer and you're going to be nice," Harry said, turning around to look at Draco.

"Now when have I ever not been nice, Harry?"

Harry smiled wryly. "A couple of times?"

"Once. Maybe."

Harry smiled more widely. "Yes, well, that's all behind us. And there's something I've been meaning to say. About the money thing. I know, it has to be hard . . . but you're taking it really well."

"Hmm, well whinging on has a certain appeal, I will admit," Draco airily admitted. "Imagine how miserable I could make everyone. But . . . I think I've probably exhausted your patience already, what with the expulsion and the adoption and my . . . hmm, attitude lately."

"True." Harry laughed, "but if you want to whinge, I'll still listen."

"I'll keep that in mind." Draco cracked a smile of his own. "But I'm trying to be mature. Remember?"

"Yeah. You know, I remember starting this year thinking I'd try that, too. And then . . . it all just got away from me."

Draco shrugged. "You do all right, Harry. But . . . you don't have to try so hard with Severus all the time. That good son thing you do. Maybe it's not all about showing me up; I don't know. Maybe you're just worried still, about losing him. You did say it was your biggest fear. But you couldn't get rid of him if you tried." A strange look crossed his face. "Trust me on that. I know."

They stood in silence for a while after that, Harry thinking over what Draco had said, until a new voice echoed from behind them.

"Harry, have you had enough time here?"

"I think so, Dad," Harry said, glancing once more at the space where the cupboard used to be. He felt odd. Like things had come full circle now, and there was a chance to start again and get it right. He turned his back on the stairway, and smiled over towards where their father was standing. "Yeah, I'm done." And then, to the side, "Thanks, Draco."

His brother inclined his head before leading the way out of Number Four.

Chapter End Notes:
Coming Soon in A Year Like None Other

Chapter Eighty-Five: The Dark Mark Returns

Comments very welcome,

Aspen

You must login (register) to review.
[Report This]


Disclaimer Charm: Harry Potter and all related works including movie stills belong to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic, Warner Bros, and Bloomsbury. Used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended. No money is being made off of this site. All fanfiction and fanart are the property of the individual writers and artists represented on this site and do not represent the views and opinions of the Webmistress.

Powered by eFiction 3.5