Harry awoke Saturday morning to an empty dormitory. Not that he minded in the least. The less he could see of Malfoy and the Slytherins that had taunted him over the years, the better.

Sliding out of bed, Harry noticed for the first time that he was able to stand without wincing. He frowned, realising how good it felt not to hurt, only to have the guilt come crushing down on him that he wasn’t being punished anymore. The pain was his penance; he didn’t deserve to feel this good.

Making his way to the shower, Harry grabbed the Bruise Salve that Pomfrey had given him. He’d be sure to use it and get through Pomfrey’s check up. Afterward, no one would be able to tell him he had to heal his injuries, and no one could stop him from being in pain. As much as Snape pretended to care, Harry knew he didn’t. No one cared for a freak. Why would they? All he did was get people hurt and killed. His parents, Cedric, Sirius…. How many more would have to die because of him? How much pain would atone for his sins?

After a long shower, he applied the Bruise Salve, using only the smallest possible amount just to conceal his injuries. Silently walking through the Slytherin common room, Harry made his way to the Great Hall, oblivious to the world as he walked.

Hermione waved at him from the Ravenclaw table when he entered, to which Harry twitched the corners of his mouth and nodded. Looking with a sigh at the Slytherin table, Harry took his seat next to Ginny, silently helping himself to a triangle of plain toast.

Food had always been a privilege to him, growing up in the Dursley household. Not only was starving a punishment, but Harry just simply couldn’t be fussed to eat anymore. He ate enough to stay alive and keep from feinting. Half a slice of toast in the morning, perhaps an apple at lunch and a few bites at dinner could keep him going without any problems. Sure, he was skinnier than most of the kids his age, but he wasn’t unhealthy or anything. He simply was. Maybe he could get some more of those Nutritive Potions from the hospital wing. Then he wouldn’t have to eat at all.

And Harry was a master of making people think he was eating. He’d learned the first time he stayed at the Burrow before second year, when his stomach was too starved to eat much, but Mrs. Weasley kept pilling his plate high. If he took a normal amount, ate a little and moved his food around a lot, people never gave his eating habits a second thought.

“What did Snape keep you after for last night, Harry?” Ginny asked, her chocolate brown eyes searching his faces with an odd expression.

Harry shrugged; he certainly wasn’t going to tell her the truth. “He just went over those rules again,” he said, surprised at how easily the lie slipped from his mouth. “He doesn’t think I’m going to follow them.”

Ginny’s lips quirked up. “Harry, you never follow rules.”

That got a flicker of a smile from Harry, before he remembered that breaking the rules had gotten Sirius killed. “Yeah….”

Ginny starred at him for a moment before returning to her breakfast. Harry was hoping to grab a glass of pumpkin juice and escape the awkward feeling of sitting at the Slytherin table, but fate really seemed to have it out for him this term.

“Morning, Potter,” a girl greeted, and after a quick glance up, Harry recognized the girl as Pansy Parkinson. She took her seat across from him with a blond girl. Daphne Greengrass, was it? Harry vaguely remembered the girl from potions classes.

“Er, hi,” Harry greeted lamely.

“We just wanted to welcome you to Slytherin house,” Pansy said, apparently oblivious to Harry’s discomfort with the conversation. “Don’t expect to be best friends with anyone, especially not right away, but you are one of us now.”

“Thanks…” Harry said, bewildered with the repetition of that phrase. You are one of us, we take care of our own. Perhaps the Slytherins really did live by that motto, even if it was… weird.

As much as he tried not to, he couldn’t help but look at the Slytherins and wonder what kind of horrible things they had suffered. Pansy Parkinson sat before him, now chatting amicably with Daphne, as if she didn’t have a care in the world. And Malfoy, the pompous prick, how could anything bad ever have happened to him? His mother sent him care packages dutifully every week and Malfoy spoke of his father as if the sun shone out of his arse. The git probably got spanked once and thought it was child abuse, Harry thought angrily. There was no way he would believe that the spoiled prat had ever truly suffered.

Ignoring Ginny’s questioning glance, Harry left the Slytherin table determined to get his ‘check up’ with Pomfrey done and over with, especially before the hospital wing was inhabited with other students. Maybe afterwards he’d go to the library, or find Ron for a game of chess. Anything to get his mind off of the nightmare that was becoming his sixth year.

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

“All done, Mr. Potter, you can put your shirt back on now.”

Harry self-consciously put his shirt on, shivering uncomfortably as the nurse finished her paperwork.

“Well, Mr. Potter, your body is back on the road to being healthy,” Pomfrey informed him. “I’m still uncomfortable with your malnourishment, but I think a few good meals will do the trick.”

Harry nodded, acting as if he planned to eat those meals as soon as possible.

“Otherwise, you should be fine, but be sure to come see me if anything changes.”

Finishing the last button on his shirt, Harry jumped off the hospital bed to make his way from the infirmary.

“Oh, and Mr. Potter!”

Harry turned around. Pomfrey looked momentarily uncomfortable before taking a few steps toward him.

“I know you and Professor Snape have a… history,” she said. “However, he’s a good man and you would do well to trust him. Though I am always here if you need something and are still uncomfortable to turn to him, whether it be for a Headache Elixir or just someone to listen.”

Harry stared at the woman. Never before had someone so blatantly offered to be there for him. To help him if he needed it, or simply to listen, not to talk. Harry doubted very much that he would ever take her up on the offer, but to know that it was there felt nice.

Nodding at the woman, Harry made his way out of the infirmary and up the stairs, headed toward the library when a loud voice caught his attention.

“Potter!”

Harry turned to see Draco Malfoy approaching him with a scowl.

“What, Malfoy?” he asked shortly.

“Where are you going?” Malfoy asked in return. “The house meeting is in fifteen minutes. I know Snape told you about them.”

Harry furrowed his brow. “I thought that was tonight….”

“No, Potter,” Malfoy spat. “Wednesday evenings, Saturdays after breakfast. That way he can catch the older students before we leave on Hogsmeade weekends.”

“Oh,” Harry said lamely.

“Exactly. Now we either need to go now or we’re going to be late,” Malfoy sneered. “So let’s go. I don’t fancy getting in trouble for you.”

Harry followed Malfoy silently, as he was still rather unsure of his way through the dungeons.

“Why are you helping me?” Harry asked suddenly.

Draco turned and scowled at him. “I’m not helping you, Potter. I’m helping me. I’m a prefect, remember? And you’re a Slytherin now. If I don’t look after you, it’s my arse on the line.”

Harry stayed silent. Of course Malfoy was just looking after himself. It’s not like he cared for Harry. Not that Harry wanted him to. Not at all.

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

Harry listened half-heartedly as Snape droned on about the misconceptions of Slytherin House and how he expected them to make their House proud. One thing in particular, however, did catch his attention.

“Every week, you will each have a personal conference,” the man informed them, enchanting a large piece of parchment to attach itself to the dungeon wall. “This parchment shows the schedule of when your conference will be held. Be sure to check the schedule, as conferences start this evening. Bring any questions or concerns you may have to my office at that time.”

Harry gaped at his Head of House. He had to spend an hour alone with the greasy git every week? He wanted to scream. This resorting thing kept getting more and more depressing….

“Also, for any reason should I be absent at the time of your conference, rest assured that I will contact you to reschedule. I believe that concludes our meeting today. Motion to close.”

“Second,” rang out several voices around the room as students began to shuffle from their seats. Harry waited for a moment as the students cleared before slowly approaching the posted parchment with growing dread.

He began at the top of the list, reading down until he reached his name.

Harry groaned. That meant he’d have to meet with Snape tonight. Retreating back to a chair in the far corner of the Slytherin common room, Harry put his head in his hands. He just knew that Snape was going to push him for information, ask him who hurt him as was his teaching duty, and then tell him it was all his fault, anyway. Harry would lie and Snape would get angry and they’d fight. Why did Snape have to take him to the hospital wing last night, anyway? How did Snape even know?

Lifting his head, Harry watched out of the corner of his eye as Malfoy handed Snape a piece of parchment with his head bowed. Snape read the letter, his face tightening slightly before handing it back to the boy. Harry strained as he tried to pick up the tense conversation.

“I have to go, sir,” Malfoy said quietly.

“I know, Draco,” Snape replied in equal tones. “You know what to do.”

Malfoy nodded. Blaise Zabini put his hand on Malfoy’s shoulder and Harry was surprised when the blond didn’t shrug him off.

“We’ll be here when you get back,” Zabini said, and Draco nodded once again, turning from the group and walking towards the fireplace. He pulled something out of his pocket before throwing it down, igniting the fireplace in green flames as he shouted, “Malfoy Manor!”

Harry watched with wide eyes as the boy disappeared, although none of the other students nor Snape looked particularly concerned. Well, on second thought, Harry realised, Zabini and Snape did look marginally more morose than usual. Harry shrugged to himself. Whatever was going on, he was not going to start worrying about Malfoy.

----------

Severus sat arranging student files in his office as a timid knock rapped on his door. A quick check of his watch showed that it was three minutes to eight, and three minutes until Harry Potter’s conference.

“Come in,” Severus said, his deep voice resonating off the stone walls.

In more than a decade of teaching, he had never once been nervous for a student’s first conference; leave it to Potter to be the first. Snape sighed as the boy cautiously entered his office, before waving him to take a seat in one of the opposite chairs.

“Oh, I’m not going to bite, Potter,” he said when the boy didn’t sit, spitting the words a little more harshly than intended. “Please, do sit down.”

The boy slowly sunk into the chair and Severus took a moment to calm himself. Since the previous evening, he had spent nearly every waking moment with his thoughts pondering the new revelations about the boy in front of him. As much as his stubborn brain did not wait to accept any other notions about Potter, in his heart, he knew that he had been wrong.

“Why so grim, Potter?” he asked, noting the boy’s tight expression.

Potter looked up with wide eyes. “I-I just thought you’d- well, you know.”

Severus raised his eyebrows. “You thought I’d question you about your injuries from last evening.”

“Yes, sir,” Potter said meekly with a nod.

Severus sighed. “That is not what these conferences are about.”

“Then… what-?”

“I use these conferences to get to know my students, Mr. Potter,” Severus said. “Sometimes that means talking, other times it means offering my assistance on a difficult homework assignment or assisting in a hobby.”

The boy searched his face with untrusting eyes. “Why?”

“Why, what, Mr. Potter?”

“Why do you care?”

A part of Severus cheered at the question; that same question that nearly every one of his students asked him at some point in time. While the question was usually depressing for the child at the time, it was an achievement, if only a small one, when the child began to realise that someone, even if only Severus himself, actually did care.

“I told you last evening that nearly every member of Slytherin House has a history of child abuse,” he said, keeping level eyes on the boy. “If I do not care, who shall?”

A thin, pink tongue came out to wet Potter’s lip. “What does that have to do with me?”

“Despite what you choose to admit or I choose to accept, someone has indeed inflicted injuries on you, Potter, both physical and mental,” he said quietly, as the boy’s eyes closed for a moment. “We may not have a great past, Potter, but I’m hoping we can at least come to trust each other.”

Potter’s eyes studied him. “I don’t like you, Professor.”

Severus smirked. “And neither I, you, Potter.”

The boy fell back into the chair, rolling his eyes and fixing them on a vague point on the far wall. “Then what is trust possib-”

A loud, insistent knock came to Snape’s office door--the one that led directly to the Slytherin common room. Casting a glance at Potter, he flicked his wand at the door, permitting entrance to none other than Blaise Zabini.

“He’s back,” the boy blurted, panting. It was obvious that he had run down to Severus’ office. “It-it’s not good, sir. He’s barely coherent.”

-----------

Harry shot a wild, confused glance between Zabini and Snape.

With a curt nod, Snape quickly stood, making Harry flinch at the sudden movement. Waving his wand, several potions bottles came flying out of the cabinet and into the man’s outstretched hand.

Harry stood, wondering exactly what was going on while the Potions master eyed him speculatively.

“Come, Potter,” he said. “I think you need to see this.”

Harry followed nervously as Snape strode quickly down the narrow passage that connected Snape’s office to the Slytherin common room.

Pausing at the door, Zabini gave Harry a tight lipped smile that looked more contrite than friendly. Furrowing his brow, Harry followed the taller boy, walking down the hall as he pondered just what could be such an emergency.

When they reached the Slytherin common room, Harry was surprised to find it near empty.

One person laid crouched on the ground before the fireplace, trying pointlessly to hoist his shaking and twitching body onto the couch. Snape rushed forward, pulling the boy up onto the sofa. The boy cried out in pain, and Zabini sat next to him, offering a steady hand as Snape poured several potions down his throat. Once he was steady enough, the boy lifted his head and looked directly at Harry.

Harry would have recognized those cold grey eyes anywhere.

They belonged to Draco Malfoy.

“Cruciatus?” Snape asked seriously, causing Malfoy to break his stare at Harry and give a shaky nod.

“Why?” Harry asked breathlessly, not realising that he had spoken the question out loud.

Malfoy’s gaze snapped back to Harry, filled with such malice that Harry had to look away.

“Because I forgot to tell my loving father about your resorting, Potter,” the boy spat, and although his voice quaked and cracked, the power and hate behind the words was not lost on Harry.

Harry’s heart stopped as Snape continued pouring potions down the boy’s throat. Malfoy had been tortured because of him? Because he didn’t tell Lucius that Harry had been resorted?

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, the words sounding pitiful and useless even to his own ears.

Malfoy collapsed back against the sofa, breathing heavily as Snape brushed the hair from his eyes. The boy sighed, a tired, resigned sound that clenched Harry’s heart.

“This isn’t the first time I’ve been punished because of you, Potter,” Malfoy said, his eyes closed and his head lolled back. “It won’t be the last either. Your sorrow isn’t going to change that.”

Harry swore he could feel the earth shift beneath his feet and swallow him whole. He couldn’t believe that he had been the cause of something so horrible once again.

He felt tears begin to prick at his eyes as his heart pounded.

So Harry did the only thing that he could think of, the only thing that made sense.

He ran.