During the last couple of weeks of term, the boys were quite anxious to finish up and get to the manor. Draco especially. He had managed to lose Slytherin fifty points in one fell swoop and his housemates were not happy with him, especially after Nott’s loss of the same number of points the same night. On top of that, the snakes were no longer immune to points being taken by Snape and so were now – with the added 100 points loss – at the bottom in the standings. Behind Hufflepuff.

Crabbe and Goyle had moved their loyalty over to Nott earlier in the fall, when it became clear that Draco still supported his Godfather; and the other younger years – who had nearly worshipped at Draco’s feet the previous year – now shunned him in the Common Room, and at the table in the Great Hall.

Most of the Slytherin’s suspected Draco of his change in loyalties; and the fact that he was cordial - if not downright friendly - with Potter-Snape, was not making life easy for him. The prominent son of the top, free, Death Eater, and said son did not support his father’s politics? That was like a declaration of war to the other Death Eater spawn. They couldn’t retaliate against their head of house; he was too clever by half, so they attacked the younger, weaker one.

Draco never talked much about his time spent in Slytherin territory with the rest of his impromptu family; he tended to be close-mouthed about the subject, insisting everything was fine when asked by Harry or Severus. It was hard, though, to keep quiet during the last two weeks of term – the other boys in his dorm having ramped up their attacks in view of the point loss and his declared political leanings.

It came to an end, however, when Harry found Draco unconscious, and curled in on himself, in a little alcove near the Gryffindor tower. Harry would never have seen him if the older boy hadn’t made a moan, just as Harry walked past on his way back from a late Quidditch practice – the last of the season.

The practice had not gone well, Wood was in one of his obsessive moods, working the team long past their normal quitting time, and then the snowstorm had started – the thick, fluffy flakes coming down fast and furious – nearly causing a white-out condition on the pitch; and still, Wood insisted on practicing. Harry and the twins had looked like Yetis as they had trooped into the entrance hall, covered head to toe in snow. Dripping melting water all over the floor, the sound of a meow caused all three to begin running with alarm to avoid the wrath of Filch. The twins took off toward the kitchens to wheedle some food from the house-elves, but Harry just wanted his nice warm bed in the dorm.

Thinking the moan belonged to an injured animal, Harry’s Lumos nearly sputtered out when he realised it was Draco who was wedged behind the squat statue of Matilda the Merry, whom someone had already decorated for the holidays with a crown of holly, and a warm Ravenclaw scarf around her thick throat. Dropping his broom in the hall with a loud clatter, Harry managed to pull Draco out by his ankles to get a good look at the boy. He had been hit with several hexes, his robes torn, his Slytherin crest half torn off the breast and hanging by mere threads, his tie had been split in two – one half used to tie his hands behind his back and the other tied as a gag.

“Oh, Merlin!” Harry muttered as he began to loosen the knots. Draco moaned again, although he never woke up and Harry was a bit desperate, not knowing what he should do. He nearly cried with relief when he heard chattering students approaching. He turned around to see Ron and Hermione approaching from the direction of the Library.

“Ron! Hermione! Please, I need help here!” he cried out.

“Harry?” Hermione asked as they ran towards him crouched on the ground near Draco. “What happened?” she enquired as the two finally reached him. “Did Gryffindors do this?”

“I don’t think so – I think it was left as a message for me,” Harry ground out. “Hermione, get help – please! Get my dad, Madam Pomfrey – anyone, but please, hurry!” he pleaded.

Hermione didn’t waste anytime as she shoved her books and bag into Ron’s arms, nearly causing him to topple over, and took off down the hall. Ron squatted down next to Harry, and gave Draco a pitying look. “Why him, you suppose?”

“Because he just lost Slytherin fifty points last weekend, and they know he supports me and Dad.” Harry said quietly. He had pulled his jersey off and had tucked it underneath Draco’s head. He sat down on the floor with his back up against the wall, keeping watch for an adult. Ron set his pile of books down and sat cross-legged on the cold, stone floor across from Harry.

“Harry, I wanted to talk to you.” Harry looked over at the redhead, waiting for him to continue. “I reckon I’ve been a prat about you and your… dad.” His face contorted as he said the word, as if it literally pained him to admit that Snape was related to Harry that closely.

Harry snorted. “You reckon?” he prompted, a tad sarcastically. He probably could’ve been a little nicer, but he was really annoyed at how long Ron had taken to own up to his mistake. He was ready and willing to put the redhead through a bit of hell, first.

Rob blushed. “Alright, I know I have been. I just couldn’t get my head around all the information. I thought this would change everything between us, mate, and that you would become just like him. Blimey, you even look like him, now!” he pointed out.

Harry sighed and rolled his eyes. “Ron, just because my looks have changed, doesn’t mean I have. It’s still me up here!” He tapped his forehead for emphasis. “What finally changed your mind?” he asked, quite curious. He knew the twins, and Hermione, had been putting the pressure on.

“Duelling club, with my wand. I had been thinking all along about it, after seeing the way you were with him, and especially after Hermione tore me a new one – twice,” he said, with a rueful look on his face – colouring slightly in embarrassment. “I just couldn’t figure out how to apologise. Then my wand broke, and the way the professor made that Slytherin buy my new wand… well, here – look!” He proudly pulled a brand new Ollivander wand out of his robes and, after giving it a quick polish with his sleeve, handed it to Harry. “Ollivander came out last Wednesday night and had a huge pile of wands for me to try… this was the tenth one.”

“Nice,” Harry agreed after he took a good look at it and handed it back.

“Yeah,” Ron said as he gazed lovingly at it before placing it back in his robes. “Rosewood and dragon heartstring, twelve inches, and it chose me!” he grinned. “Anyway, your dad was brilliant the other weekend and I’ve been trying all this time to apologise to you… well, sorry, Harry.” He kept his gaze down in his lap as he picked at a loose string on the knees of his jeans, while he waited for Harry’s response. He almost didn’t hear Harry’s quiet “It’s alright – just don’t do it again” over the sound of running feet as Hermione came back with Madam Pomfrey and Professor Snape in tow.

Harry and Ron both stood up as the adults hurried over, Pomfrey had her wand out scanning Draco and muttering several charms under her breath as she cancelled out the hexes. She then conjured a stretcher that hung in midair and levitated Draco onto it, handing Harry back his damp jersey.

“Severus, he has a few contusions and a concussion, as well as a broken rib. I’m taking him to the hospital wing.” She matched action to words as she began floating the stretcher back along the corridor.

“I’ll be there in a few moments, Madam,” he said before turning to Harry. “What happened?”

“I don’t know – I found him behind Matilda and managed to drag him out, but he wouldn’t wake up. He was tied up with these,” he said, handing the remnants of the tie to his father.

“I see. I…” he began, then changed tact. “Weasley, Granger – get back to your dorm, it’s nearly curfew. Thank you for your aid this evening,” he added, almost as an afterthought, softening his previous words. “Harry, grab your things and come with me.”

Harry gave his friends a wry smile, shooing off a worried Hermione who was nearly being dragged along the corridor by Ron, as he hastened after his father’s billowing robes the opposite way.

****

Severus and Harry decided to spend the night in the hospital wing sitting by Draco’s bed. He had awoken long enough to take some potions that Madam Pomfrey insisted he imbibe, then was sound asleep again in a few moments. Pomfrey assured the two Snapes that this was a normal sleep.

Severus tried to insist that Harry go back to the dorms or even down to his room in Severus’ quarters, but he didn’t push too hard and eventually gave in, after a token protest, to his son’s insistence that he wanted to stay near Draco.

Harry even managed to give it a valiant Gryffindor try – staying awake until one a.m. – before succumbing to sleep himself. Severus had lifted the boy easily in his arms and transferred him to the bed next to Draco’s, tucking him in under the covers, before resuming his watchful seat next to his godson.

****

“Uncle Sev?” The raspy whisper jarred Severus out of his dozing and he opened his eyes to see Draco looking up at him. He straightened up in his chair and leaned towards the boy, concern etched on his face.

“Draco, how are you feeling?”

“Like one of Hagrid’s hippogriffs ran me over.” The child winced a bit as he pushed himself upright. Severus helped him arrange the pillows and eased the boy back up against them.

“What brought on the attack, son?” Draco’s heart warmed at the appellation – he truly wished he really was Severus’ son, like Harry, but for now he was satisfied with godson.

“What didn’t bring it on?” he grimaced, sipping some water Severus handed him. “They’ve twigged on to the fact that Harry and I get along, and I told them that I supported you and Harry, not Lucius, and then the points loss occurred and that was the clincher.” He shrugged, but then regretted the movement as his rib – while mended – was still sore. He winced as he tried to find a more comfortable position. “I could be wrong, but I think they’ve kicked me out of the dorm, Uncle Sev.”

“They can believe that they have, but you will always be a Slytherin, Draco – unless you wish to be resorted?”

Draco shook his head. “No, you’re right: once a Slytherin, always a Slytherin. But I don’t think I should go back…”

Severus agreed. “No, not right now. We’ll see again after the holidays. In the meantime, I shall move your belongings to my rooms and you can stay there until end of term. It’s just a few more days. I’ll fashion you a Portkey, just like Harry’s, that will deposit you into the room and alert me.

“Thanks, Uncle Sev.”

“You should have told me, Draco, that things were getting intolerable. I may be your head of house, but that does not make me omniscient,” he finally chided.

“I thought I could handle it,” was the low explanation.

“Hmmpf!” Severus snorted, a little too loudly it seemed, as Harry rolled over in his bed and opened his eyes. They immediately brightened up as he saw his brother awake.
He launched himself out of bed and onto Draco’s, hugging the other boy, before giving him a light punch in the shoulder.

“You prat, Malfoy! You had me so worried last night when I found you behind the statue. What were you doing up there anyway?”

“Looking for you, if you must know. But the Weasley girl…”

“Ginny,” Harry supplied.

“Yeah, ok, Ginny. Anyway, she said you were at practice, and I had got maybe a corridor away when these sixth-year Slytherins ran into me, and… well… I guess you saw the result.” He coloured up and lowered his head, unable to look his brother in the eye. But Harry gave him another hug.

“I’m just glad you’re ok. What now, Dad?” he asked, turning to Severus.

“When Madam releases Draco, he will move to my rooms for the rest of term and will get a Portkey just like yours. We will see after that.” He rose up out of his chair. “I’m going to go alert Poppy that you are awake, Draco.” He strode away as Harry slipped onto the vacated chair.

“So, what did you want to see me about?” Harry asked in a low voice.

“Huh?”

“Last night, when you came to the tower… what did you want to ask me?”

“Oh, that… well, have you planned out what you are going to get for Uncle Sev?” he asked in a low whisper, conspiratorially.

Harry shook his head. “No, I’m not even sure how I’m supposed to get it. I wasn’t expecting any presents last year and so didn’t get one for Ron… I’ve never bought presents before,” he confided. “And I really want to get some for my friends, you and Dad.”

“Well, Uncle Sev may take us, after term is over, to Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley, or there’s the way I use – owl order.”

“Owl order?”

“Yes, you request some catalogues from the stores you want to shop at, and then there are order forms in the back. You just fill them out and place your Gringott’s vault number on the form and they take payment that way,” he explained.

Now that Harry thought about it, he had seen several students perusing large catalogues in the common room lately. The bookcases had several large tomes from the stores – he had just never looked at them, not being the acquisitive sort.

“Well that sounds easy enough,” he agreed. “So do you want to get Severus separate presents or something together?” he asked the blond.

“Both,” came the reply. “But I’ll tell you later, I see breakfast!” And sure enough, Harry looked in the direction that Draco was eyeing and saw Madam Pomfrey, followed by Severus, floating three trays of food towards the boys. Harry made to get up and let his father take his seat back, but Severus just waved him back and summoned another chair over to Draco’s bedside.

“Eat up, gentlemen,” the matron directed. “Then Mr Malfoy is free to vacate my premises.”

The boys grinned at this pronouncement and dug into the delicious food. Severus picked his way slowly through his eggs and toast, savouring the coffee afterwards. He was going to need the caffeine infusion to get through the rest of the day. And he had sixth-year NEWTs class today. He grinned evilly to himself as he decided that a change in curriculum was about to occur.

****

Lucius Malfoy was a patient man. He was willing to nurse plans along, letting them grow naturally, tenderly, until they came to full fruition. He did this with his colleagues at the ministry; cultivating his contacts with each and every one, using his vast wealth to ease consciences and place people in strategic positions for when he would need them at some vague, future date. His mind contained a vast network of these contacts and sycophants, ordered by position, influence and skill sets, as well as vital personal information on each person; he could recall the correct person he needed in any situation without a moment’s hesitation.

He loved secrets, too. He had numerous secrets about all sorts of people – and they all knew that he knew. He made sure of that. He was immensely proud that the Dark Lord had entrusted his secret with Lucius: his little diary.

His lord had never been specific as to when it was to be used – just that it contained the ability to open the legendary Chamber of Secrets. Lucius had been quite pleased with himself when he had managed to palm it off on Arthur’s youngest. The spawn of a Muggle-loving fool, loosing a monster that killed Mudbloods? Perfect. And from all accounts, she seemed to be falling under the book’s influence quite easily. Already there had been three attacks and the students, as well as the teachers, were quite frightened. Even the school governors were getting perturbed, and there were rumblings around council chambers – fuelled by Lucius – that Dumbledore was being quite slow in taking care of this matter and ensuring the safety of the students; that he was obviously losing his touch.

His associate’s sons were reporting to him quite regularly concerning the news from the school, but lately their reports greatly disturbed him. First, there had been the news that the Potter brat was really a Snape and that father and son were getting along quite well. So, the traitor was showing his colours! That had incensed him for weeks as he’d pondered all the implications. Then there had been the trial of the whelp’s relatives and now the whole world knew about Snape’s true allegiances. He had attended the trial and seen for himself the evidence that the brat had been ‘abused’. Abuse, hah! He obviously was a troublemaker at home and had been disciplined appropriately, just as he did with Draco.

Draco! Now there was a sore spot! He slapped his latest bit of correspondence down on his desk and began pacing his ornate, and well-appointed, home office, stopping every so often to pick up and admire some small object de arts that were strategically placed around the room. Draco was not living up to the Malfoy name and heritage. He had tried beating some sense into him over the summer, but the child had escaped - when Lucius’ back was turned - to his Godfather.

Almost from the first week back to school, he began hearing intimations that Draco was befriending Potter – obviously at Snape’s behest, Lucius had originally thought. Draco couldn’t possibly be doing this on his own! So, to remind the boy where his loyalties needed to be, despite the report he had received from Goyle the younger, he had rewarded his son for making Seeker by endowing the team with top of the line professional brooms.

He stopped to gaze at a painting of Narcissa, holding an infant Draco, which hung over the mantelpiece; gazing Madonna-like over the room. Once, the painting had reflected his pride that he had been given such a fine son to carry on his name, legacy and position in the Dark Lord’s ranks. Now that angelic little face was turning into the embarrassment of his family name.

It was all there in the latest news: Draco had renounced his father’s politics and goals and sided with Potter-Snape; he had disgraced his family. The older Slytherin’s had finally taken matters into their own hands and had evicted Draco from Slytherin last evening.

Now Lucius had to decide what his own actions were going to be. He sat in a leather chair near the blazing floo and stroked the heads of his boarhounds as he pondered his choices, a glass of port nearby; should he have the whelp removed? No, too messy – and it would be too obvious where the order had come from. However, Narcissa was still quite young – only thirty-five – she could bear him a better heir. He would have to insist on no coddling this time though; she had been too indulgent with Draco and look where it had gotten them.

Perhaps disowning? That way he could still get a new heir and be rid of the useless one. Twelve years invested in the child gone to waste. But Lucius was, if nothing else, a practical businessman. He knew when to rid the books of useless inventory, when it became too much of a risk to hold onto. He had gotten the reports from his plants in the Ministry that Severus was putting together a case to have Draco removed from Lucius’ custody. Well, if Severus was so keen on stealing his son away from him, teaching him to turn his back on his name and heritage – then he was welcome to him.

Flicking his wand, after contemplating the painting one last time, he reduced it to ashes, rose to walk back to his desk, and a waiting owl, and prepared to contact his solicitor.