Harry and Severus were enjoying an evening in front of the fireplace in mid-August playing a game of wizard’s chess. Well, Severus was playing. Harry was scowling at the board; attempting to get the men, he had gotten last Christmas, to obey his requests. Severus was trying to work on his son’s strategic skills by teaching him the finer points of the game. It appeared he needed to teach him the more elementary skills as well.

“Harry, that move is not going to work – I’ll have you checkmated in three moves,” he pointed out to the child.

“Bloody…” Harry swore under his breath.

“Harry! Do I need to summon the soap bar again?”

Harry quickly looked contrite. “No, sorry.” He propped his chin on top of his hand as he studied the board again.

Severus tried another tack. “Let your pieces help you, they do know what they are supposed to do. For an inexperienced player, they can be most helpful.”

Harry looked over at his father with a gobsmacked expression on his face. “Why didn’t anyone tell me this before?” He wiggled his way straighter in his chair, gazing back down at the board, a little more intently. “Alright gentlemen – and lady, start making your recommendations!” He listened closely as the knights, rooks and royalty began making intelligent suggestions. He started following their advice and the game took on a more competitive aspect.

The two dark men were deep into their strategies when the floo flared green and a small blond form tumbled out of it onto the hearthrug, coughing and moaning.

Severus moved, quick as lightening, almost overturning the chess table as he nearly apparated to the side of the young man curled up in a tight ball, crying and coughing up blood.

“Merlin’s beard, Dragon, what has that bastard done now?” He gently lifted the Slytherin student over to the divan coaxing him to straighten out so he could run the diagnostic charms. “He’s broken your ribs again, and bruised some internal organs – ah, and a punctured lung. Harry, floo Poppy and tell her to get down here with the Slytherin kit.”

Harry, who had been watching this scene with his mouth hanging open, stumbled over to the fireplace and, after throwing in a pinch of powder from the box on the mantelpiece, called out to the Medi-witch. She answered quickly and he moved out of the way, standing behind the divan as he watched his father, and then the healer, work quickly on his hated rival, pouring potion after potion down his throat and casting spells in rapid succession over the small student’s body. This is what it must have looked like when Severus had saved him from the Dursleys.

Harry didn’t know what to think – he had been through so many paradigm shifts the past few weeks; now to see his nemesis apparently had as bad a home life as himself… well, it just added another shift to his ever changing world. Apparently this was a common experience: his father had said something about it happening again. How many times had Lucius Malfoy beaten his son into a bloody mess? Was this some sort of pure-blood way of disciplining kids?

“Severus? Is he going to be all right?” he timidly asked his father, as the man stood up after covering Draco with a blanket when the child had finally fallen asleep. Severus looked up into the scared eyes of his son. It was obvious Harry was flashing back to the Dursley’s abuse.

“He’ll survive,” he said quietly. He nodded to Pomfrey as she laid a hand on his shoulder in sympathy before flooing back to the hospital wing. She knew Draco would be in capable hands.

“Why… why’d he come here?” Harry had adopted his protective stance of wrapping his arms around himself as he looked up at the older wizard.

Severus took a long breath. Harry was his son; he would have to know about Draco and his relationship with Severus. He would’ve preferred to have had more time to prepare Harry, but those were not the cards he had been dealt. He led the boy over to the dining table and sat him down, taking a seat opposite him.

“I’m his godfather, Harry,” he said quietly, watching for the reaction he was sure would come.

“His godfather?” Harry tried to swallow the lump that was forming in his throat. He had just found his father and now he was learning he had to share him with Malfoy, of all people? How more twisted could his life get?

Severus seemed to understand what was going through Harry’s mind. “Harry, I love you – I will always love you, you can not be supplanted in my heart. However, I love Draco as if he were my own – this is not the first time he has come to me out of fear of his father, nor will it be the last. I know you two do not get along, normally, but for my sake – while he is here – please try to bury the hatchet.” He placed a hand on the boy’s knee, giving it a slight squeeze in emphasis.

Harry nodded glumly. Obviously Malfoy did not lead the charmed life he led everyone to believe. Wealth did not buy decent parents. Well, he wasn’t going to tease the boy about it, Merlin knew he wouldn’t want to be ridiculed about his home life with his relatives; he would just wait and see what happened.

“Why don’t you put him in my room tonight, I can sleep on the couch,” he offered.

His father gave him a rare warm smile. “Thank you, Harry. That is a generous offer, but unnecessary. I’ll merely transfigure the couch into a bed. I want Draco to stay here so I can monitor him closely and keep him warm. I appreciate the gesture, though; and I’m sure, if Draco was coherent enough, he would as well.”

Harry didn’t think that was rather likely, considering their past, but he let it slide and didn’t make the comment. “I’ll just go to bed then. Do you need me to get you anything?”

Severus stood up and walked around the table to his son, placing a congenial arm around the youth’s shoulders as they strolled to the hallway. “No, Harry, I don’t need anything. Go on to bed! And don’t forget your meditations!”

“Yes, sir!” Harry grinned shyly up at the man and entered his room.

***

Severus had placed a warning spell on Draco, and thus he was awake and quickly at the boy’s side when the blond began to thrash around.

“Shhhh, Dragon, it’s just a nightmare…” he soothed, stroking the hair back from his godson’s sweaty brow. Draco took a few hitching breaths before the grey eyes quickly opened to stare at his godfather.

“Uncle Sev? I made it?” the fear in his face broke Severus’ heart.

“Yes, Draco, you made it. Gave me quite a scare, but you are healed now, and safe.” He continued stroking the boy’s head to calm him down and was rewarded with a contented sigh.

“Thank you.”

“No thanks are needed, Dragon, you are welcome here at any time. What happened this time?”

“I don’t know…” the boy murmured as tears began sliding down his cheeks. “For all I know he made something up – or assumed I needed the yearly beating. Mother just walked away after giving me some sort of pitying look,” he ground out.

“Well, someone sent your school trunk over – so you’ll be staying here for the rest of the month.”

The blond head just nodded his acceptance of this fact; it had happened before.

“Now, try to get more sleep. Do you need a sleeping draught?”

“No, I’ll be all right. Thank you, Uncle Sev.”

Severus nodded and, after giving the head another soothing pat, left the boy and headed back to his room. He found Harry standing sleepily in the hallway. He motioned to keep quiet and beckoned the boy to follow him into his room where he closed the door and cast a silencing spell at the door.

Harry followed his father and sat on the bed when told to, dangling his socked feet over the edge. He knew his father hated fidgeting, so he drew his feet up under him before Severus noticed. He gazed over at the picture of his parents on their wedding day. Severus had shown it to him a few days before and he loved it. It helped heal a lot of empty places in his soul when he thought about them together. It seemed… right… somehow. His father had promised him that soon they would go through some more photos of his mum when she was young, and he couldn’t wait. But right now that paled with what he had heard in the hallway.

“What’s the matter, Harry?” Severus asked as he conjured a cup of soothing tea for the boy.

“Mal –Draco. His father beat him for no reason?” he spluttered out. “At least my uncle always had a reason…”

“Oh, I’m sure Lucius had a reason; most likely one of expectations not being met.” Severus snorted as he joined Harry on the mattress. “Lucius was always one for expecting perfection, and punishing harshly when perfection was not reached. But, Harry, just as it is wrong for Lucius to beat Draco, it was wrong for Vernon to beat you and treat you the way he did. Have you not ever seen that?”

“Not until recently… it was just the way things were. He always told me I was worthless and a freak, and that my parents were good-for-nothing drunks who had gotten themselves killed in a car crash; and until last year – I believed it all. I only began to really question it after Hagrid came for me.” He looked down into the cup, but did not drink.

Severus took Harry’s chin in his hand and turned it gently towards him. “You are none of those things, son. You are the most precious thing in the world to me, you are not a freak, and your parents were some of the bravest people in our world.” He removed the saucer from his son’s hand before he gathered the tearful child against his chest and let the boy hold onto him for a few moments.

“Harry, the authorities contacted me this week about the trial. It’s to be right after school starts. Because you are a minor, they want you to have an advocate in court with you. He would be someone there just for you, representing just your interests – not mine, not the Dursleys. He would like to talk to you this week. It could help…”

“Why can’t you? I don’t mind talking to you – I don’t know about someone else. You’re the only one who has ever believed me – other adults just… Well, they would get intimidated by my relatives, and believed them when they said I was a liar and should appreciate the home my relatives had so graciously provided for me.” He said this with a sneer as if it was a common thing for him to hear, and he detested it. What he didn’t say was that it had only taken one instance of him going to a teacher for help, and getting rebuffed in this manner, that had convinced him that no one would ever be able to help him.

“I’ll be there as well,” Severus reassured him. “But I’ll be looking out for both of our interests. This is just some added protection for you, and I think he would help. His name is Whitney McDonald, and he specialises in Child Advocacy. He works with the wizarding courts as well as the Muggle ones. Will you let me invite him over?”

Harry finally nodded from his spot on Severus’ chest. Severus gave one last pat on Harry’s back and then eased the boy up.

“Come on, then, get under the covers; you might as well stay here the rest of the night.” Harry gave him a weary smile and scrambled under the duvet that his dad held invitingly open. Severus Nox-ed the lights and walked around to the other side of the bed and stretched his lanky frame along the length of it. He was pleasantly surprised a moment later when Harry cuddled up to him in his sleep. He sighed contentedly and closed his own eyes as a thin, warm arm wrapped itself around his torso.

***

Harry was sitting at the table the next morning, putting the final touches on his transfiguration essay, when their guest woke up. The blond sat up, stretching his arms and legs and gently fingering his ribs. He smiled when a deep breath did not invoke the pain he was expecting and, giving a little bounce, stood up. The bed immediately reverted back to its couch form and the blankets neatly folded themselves, settling on the cushions. Harry blinked rapidly at this – magic still stunned him sometimes – and then gave a wary look at the other boy. Malfoy had just noticed him.

“What are you doing here, Potter? Already in detention? During the summer?” the blond sneered. “Merlin, I knew you were idiotic, but I didn’t know you were stupid!”

Harry snorted as he set his quill down before it could drip ink on his parchment. He would restrain himself from punching Draco before the other boy had breakfast; but after that? All bets were off. “I’m neither, but I think you should ask Severus that question.” He indicated down the hallway towards his father’s room with his quill tip, which he had picked up again. “He’s down there.”

“I’ll do that,” the other boy retorted as he stormed across the lounge area to the corridor beyond. Harry heard him murmuring to himself “Severus! That’s rich! Who said Potter could call Uncle by his first name…”

“He gave me permission,” Harry retorted. “ And while you’re at it,” Harry called, “your trunk is in my room. You might want to shower and change before talking to Severus,” he suggested pointedly. He heard a snort in reply and a mumbled, “Your room, hah!” Harry tried to contain his snicker, but was mostly unsuccessful. He nearly fell off his chair laughing when a loud, “Bloody Hell!” came carolling down the hallway as Draco opened the door to the red and gold bedroom. A warning, “Draco! Language!”, from his father’s room, had Harry completing the manoeuvre, and he was giggling his fool head off while seated on the floor.

Severus stuck his head out of his door and saw his son laughing happily. He just shook his head in amusement, rolled his eyes once and pulled his head back in before Harry saw him.

Ten minutes later, Harry was re-seated in his chair when he heard a knock on the door to Severus’ room and a muffled “Enter”, before the door snicked open, then closed. He heard nothing else and assumed Severus had cast another silencing charm, so he proceeded on, finishing the final draft of his last essay for the summer. McGonagall, along with all the other teachers, had told him that he could turn it in early if he wanted to, and he did.

She had been remarkably supportive of their news; and he’d had some pleasant talks with her over the last week, with her reminiscing about Severus and his rivals, the Potter gang – or, as they called themselves, The Marauders.

“Oh, yes. They put the Weasley twins to shame – although those two are fast approaching their sheer… audacity.” He remembered her saying. He had discovered there had been four Marauders; Remus Lupin had been one of them, as well as his dad – or rather his step-dad. She didn’t say much about the other two, and he had gotten the impression that their stories were not happy ones.

Another half hour found Harry rolling up his essay, and gathering his books. As he wandered back down the hallway towards his room, his father’s door opened to reveal Severus with his hand on Draco’s shoulder. Draco’s face revealed his inner consternation about having to live in the same rooms with Harry.

“Let’s head to your room, boys,” Severus stated and indicated with a push on Draco that he was to follow Harry to the other bedroom.

When they entered, Harry found that the room had already been expanded a bit more to accommodate another bed, wardrobe, desk and nightstand. A peek into the bathroom revealed another sink had been added in front of the mirror. It was clear the new area was Draco’s, as the bed was adorned in green and silver and a green oval rug was on the floor next to his red one.

Harry walked over to his desk and set his books down before taking a seat. Draco went to sit on the other side of the room at his new desk; as far away from Harry as he could get, it seemed. Severus surveyed them both before speaking.

“Gentlemen, for the next two weeks you will be sharing this room. You both now know, generally, how the other individual has lived at home,” he said, ignoring the glare from his son, as the child realised he had revealed some of his problems to the young Slytherin. “And I expect both of you to be civil to each other while in my home. Draco, I don’t think I need to warn you that the information you now possess, about the relationship between Harry and I, is confidential. However, should you even think about passing this information along to your father or his associates at any time, you will suffer my wrath. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Uncle Severus.”

“Do I need a Wizard’s Oath from you?”

“No, sir,” said the blond, respectfully.

“Good. Harry, I expect you to be a good host while Draco shares your room with you. Please keep your Gryffindor tendencies down to a minimum for the duration, please, or cleaning cauldrons will be the most pleasant of your punishments.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Lunch in ten minutes, gentlemen.” He turned around, his robes billowing behind him as he stalked back down the hall.

Harry sighed to himself as he fiddled with his quill on top of his desk. What a situation to be in. Here he was - having to share a room, and his father - with Malfoy. He looked over at the blond who was sitting at the desk trying to look pompous and failing miserably. Harry sighed to himself and set his quill firmly back down on the desk blotter. He had promised himself to give Malfoy a chance, back when they had met in Diagon Alley. Before he could back down out of cowardice, he stood up and walked over to stand in front of Draco, who stood up with a hint of self-defence in his stance.

Harry stuck his hand out to the other boy. “Hullo, I’m Harry Potter-Snape.” Malfoy stared at the hand for a moment, as if it was going to turn into a snake and bite him; but a grin suffused his face, erasing the snootiness, as he clasped the hand and replied, “Hullo, Harry Potter-Snape, I’m Draco Malfoy.”

Harry sat down on the edge of Draco’s bed. “So, I bet you were surprised when Severus told you?”

“Surprised is putting it mildly; I nearly had a seizure,” he admitted. “I bet you were troll-stomped. How long have you known?”

“Mm, a little over a week, now. And yeah – it had me floored. Apparently my mum had some kind of charm on my appearance – it broke on my birthday. I’ve been changing ever since. I’m sorry about… you know…” he waved a hand vaguely in the air to indicate Malfoy’s injuries.

“My father?” Draco said with a sneer, understanding Harry’s hint. “Yeah, I’m sorry too – that he’s my father. Severus said you’re here originally because your family beat you? Everyone supposed you were pampered and coddled by those Muggles. Why didn’t you ever tell anyone about it – like your head of house?”

“Well, I wasn’t coddled. Far from it.” Harry got a frown on his face, before looking at the other boy. “I’m sorry, I’m not ready to talk about it. I haven’t really got a good track record when it comes to telling adults things. I tried to tell McGonagall about last year – and she didn’t believe us at the time.” That was one of things she and Harry had spoken about, as well as her not noticing where his letter had been addressed. She had apologised in her brusque no-nonsense way, but he could tell she was sincere: her brogue had gotten quite thick with the emotion she had been holding back. “I pretty much figured no one would believe me if I said the reason I didn’t want to go back to my relatives was because they treated me like dragon dung,” he quietly explained. “I did try to get the headmaster to let me stay – but he said I had to go back, because of protections.”

“Huh, doesn’t work too well against those who live with you, does it?” Draco nodded in understanding as they heard Severus calling them to the lunch table. “Well, I know what you’re going through – a little bit; if you ever want to talk…” he offered.

“Thanks, Malfoy, I’ll keep you in mind,” Harry said as they headed towards lunch.

***

“Harry, Draco, come down, it’s five o’clock and Mr McDonald is here.” He turned to the wizard beside him who was carrying a muggle briefcase. “Sorry about that, but both boys are Quidditch crazy and Draco is vying for a position on the Slytherin team this year. Harry already plays on the Gryffindor team; he’s been helping Draco hone his snitch seeking skills this week. Any chance they get, they’re out here,” he said shaking his head. Whitney McDonald just chuckled as he watched the boys catch the snitch one more time - Harry actually caught it - and direct their flight paths over to the two older men.

The boys dismounted a short distance away and walked towards the wizards. Severus made the introductions.

“Whitney, this is my son, Harry…”

“Good catch, my boy!” Whitney praised.

“Thank you, sir,” Harry said, stuffing the snitch into a pocket. His father had gotten him the little golden ball to use for practicing with Draco. It was a top of the line practice snitch and he was quite proud of it.

Severus continued, “And my godson, Draco Malfoy.”

“A pleasure meeting you, Mr Malfoy.”

“Mr McDonald,” Draco acknowledged in his best patrician tones.

Harry had to restrain himself from elbowing his roommate; Draco could be such a prat at times. They were getting along better, after a few days of rooming together – although Harry still thought Draco could be a stuck-up prig about things, mostly grooming and food choices; he spent inordinate amounts of time in front of the mirror, and complained constantly about Harry’s culinary tastes – much too plebeian for the pure-blooded boy.

But, they had found common ground in Quidditch and Chocolate Frog cards – of all things – and Harry had discovered that Draco liked studying about magical creatures, so he’d introduced him to Hagrid. After a few awkward moments, the half-giant and the Slytherin had begun chatting up a storm about their mutual favourite subject.

“Shall we go inside and have a spot of tea while we go over things?” Whitney suggested, and they all headed towards the castle, and Severus’ quarters in the dungeons.

After they all had warmed up with some tea, Severus began to suggest to Draco that he should take his books to the library and study, but Harry stopped him, laying a hand on his sleeve, and glanced over at the blond.

“It’s all right, Dad, Draco can stay. He might as well hear it all. He won’t understand my nightmares, otherwise.” Draco paled at that, but sat resolutely in his chair, looking from Harry, to Severus, to Whitney and back to Harry again. Harry’d had a few nightmares over the past several days, waking Draco up – but Severus had always gathered Harry up and taken him to his own room, so that Draco could resume sleeping. Both Snapes had been reluctant to relate the subjects of those dreams, and Draco hadn’t pressed – although he was curious.

Severus looked deep into Harry’s eyes, seeing the sincerity there, and reluctantly agreed. Whitney lifted his briefcase onto the table and, after opening it up, took a Muggle spiral notebook and biro out.

“There are some things that Muggles have improved upon,” he said as explanation to the incredulous look on Severus and Draco’s faces. Harry just smiled along. “Shall we retire by the floo? Harry I want you to sit here on the divan next to me, Severus if you will sit next to him and Draco, the other chair please. Good. Now, Harry, in order to be your advocate, I need to understand what your relatives did. This is going to be hard for you, I know, and it will bring up some very nasty memories; but we have to do this. The medical scans that Madam Pomfrey took, tell me what injuries have occurred to your body over the years, but not how they occurred.”

Harry gulped hard and nodded his head. He felt Severus cover one of his trembling hands with his own and he soaked in the comfort his father was offering. He didn’t think he’d be able to do this without Severus being there.

“Fine, now I want you to think back to your earliest memories of living with your aunt and uncle. When do you first remember them treating you different from your cousin?”

Harry cast his mind back to his earliest childhood and answered the question. “When I was a baby. Dudders always got seen to first; Diaper always changed, bottle presented when he screamed… I was left in the playpen in a dark corner of the room. She only changed me when my diaper overflowed, and I didn’t have any toys… just my blanket that I was wrapped in when I came to them. I might get a bottle once or twice a day. When I was old enough to toddle around, she put me straight to work, giving me more and more chores to do as I grew. When I got too big for the pen, they put me in the cupboard. I stayed there until my letters came from Hogwarts.”

“Letters? I thought they only sent one?” Whitney enquired. So, Harry explained about his uncle destroying all the letters, and the lengths he went to in order for Harry to never receive the letter and read it.

“…so Hagrid took me to Diagon Alley to get my school supplies,” he concluded. Whitney chuckled at the image of Dudley with a pig’s tail.

Whitney looked at his notes before addressing Harry again and Harry took the chance to look over at Draco. The boy was buried in the chair, face nearly as white as his hair, eyes wide with fear on Harry’s behalf. Harry gave him a reassuring look, then turned back to the advocate when he asked another question. “Harry, it says in the notes from Madam Pomfrey that you were undernourished when you arrived last month and that it was a chronic condition; erm, it had been going on for awhile,” he clarified. “How long had that been?”

“Always,” came the quiet answer. “I never was allowed to eat with them, I always had to get food when and where I could. Uncle Vernon would withhold food if he felt I didn’t measure up to his specifications on chores, which was almost every day. He would pour chemicals over the leftovers in the garbage so I wouldn’t even think about scrounging around in there to get some. That started after he caught me one night. Sometimes I had to beg for food, just to be able to complete my chores, otherwise I would’ve been too weak.”

“When did the physical beatings start?”

Harry felt his father’s hand grip his harder. He stared down at the rug on the floor, tracing the pattern with his eyes as he answered, his body trembling in remembered pain. “When I was three. I was taking a cup of tea to uncle and Dudley tripped me, making me spill it on uncle. He thrashed me right there and threw me into the cupboard. After that, I was made to sleep there.” He heard a gasp from Draco’s chair, but didn’t look up.

“And when did the other abuse start?” Whitney asked gently. Harry started at that; how did they know? They couldn’t, shouldn’t know! No one was supposed to know about that! Then he remembered that Madam Pomfrey had to document everything she found in her scans, and of course she would have found something…. there. Not only were there signs… there… but his soul felt like it had a black mark on it, twisting it wrongly, befouling its entire substance. Severus gathered his son into his side and wiped the tears from his face, as the boy sat rigid in absolute terror of the question and everything it represented.

“Harry?” Whitney asked again.

“I have to answer?” he asked his parent.

The man nodded. “You have to try, son.”

Harry took a deep breath, trying to force himself to talk. He tried to convince himself that it was to his benefit if he told. They were in custody; they couldn’t reach him… Could they? He took a deep breath before whispering, “When… when I was nine. He was drunk and Aunt Petunia had taken Dudley and a friend to the cinema for his birthday.” There, that was easy enough. He continued on in a quieter voice – not wanting to shatter the stunned silence in the room. “I was locked in my cupboard. I could hear him shouting around the house about losing a client, and blaming it on me… then he opened the door and… and…” He looked pleadingly into his father’s eyes; he couldn’t say it, he couldn’t admit it. He had tried and he just couldn’t do it. He shook his head in negation as he buried it in his father’s robes, trembling and sobbing.

Severus stroked his son’s head as he stared at Whitney, the two men sombre. They had both seen what perversions, such as Dursley, could and would do to a small boy or girl. They both understood why Harry could not vocalise the abuse. Draco, turning whiter than before, had bolted from his chair and tore down the hall, barely making it to the toilet before throwing up his lunch.

“I’m sorry, Harry, Severus. Unfortunately, I have to know in order to help; perhaps we can work later on this, or find some other way to retrieve the information, short of drugs.”

“I understand, Mr McDonald, I may have some suggestions for later.” Severus summoned a calming draught from his stores and coaxed his son into drinking it. “I think that will end today’s session, however.”

“I agree, professor. Harry, I want you to have this.” He handed Harry a blank notebook and Harry took it with a puzzled look on his face, as he scrubbed his eyes with Severus’ hanky. “It’s a journal, Harry. I’ve found that writing down your feelings and thoughts at the end of the day helps you put things in perspective and to acknowledge them. It might help you to acknowledge what your uncle did, at least to yourself. You see it is charmed so no one else may read it – only you. Anything you write will be between you and the journal. I want you to promise me that you will write every night before going to bed, even if it’s only ‘I hate to write in this stupid journal’.” Harry smiled wryly at the man’s attempt at humour. “Can you do that for me?”

“I think so,” came the whispered answer.

“Good. And you may want to read the poem I have charmed to the inside of the fly cover. Only you can read it, and I have found that it can have a profound impact on abuse survivors, such as yourself. Give it a read later. Severus, can I talk with you at the door?” Severus settled Harry on the couch, clutching his notebook and laying on a throw pillow with an afghan tossed over him, staring into the small fire that danced in the floo.

“I’ll be right back, son.” Harry just nodded and closed his eyes.

Severus walked over to the door where Whitney stood waiting, his briefcase clutched before him.

“Severus, I couldn’t help but notice – is your godson also a victim of abuse? I only ask because he seemed to relate only too well to Harry’s narrative.”

“Yes. Unfortunately politics dictate that I cannot accuse his father just yet. I try to do as much as I can. Fortunately the school year is almost upon us and his father will have limited access. I’m going to insist Draco stay here for the winter holidays. I consider him as much a son as Harry – I just wish it could be so for real.”

Whitney shook his head in sympathy. “You have your hands full, professor; I don’t envy you. Perhaps the same exercise will help him? Here is another notebook and pen. And, I would suggest including Mr Malfoy in our sessions; it will help him. And if you ever decided to take those steps you wish to take, don’t hesitate to contact me – I may be able to help, I am Slytherin!”

Severus agreed, taking the proffered book and Muggle pen. After seeing Whitney out of the Dungeons, he checked on Harry who had, thankfully, fallen asleep on the couch. He removed his glasses and the journal, placing them on the table, then went down the hall to the boys’ room to check on his other son. He found Draco hunched up on his bed, chin on his knees. He looked up as his godfather sat on the edge of the bed.

“Merlin, Uncle Sev – he raped him, didn’t he? That’s why he couldn’t go on. Not even my father is that depraved. How come Harry isn’t a catatonic mess? How can he be so… functioning… after all that?”

“That is one of the greatest mysteries of the wizarding world, Draco. How does that child survive the things he does, and still be intact? Are you still jealous of him?”

“No, far from it.” He shook his head vigorously, dislodging a few well-placed locks of hair. “I don’t think I could ever survive his life.”

“I’m glad to hear that. However, he wouldn’t want your pity, either. I think, though, he might like your friendship. He could use a friend in Slytherin,” he suggested, rubbing a hand along the boy’s back. “I think there may be many problems when his friends find out our secret next week,” he admitted.

“You can’t restore the charm?” his godson asked curiously.

“No, my wife was too clever; only she knew how to apply the charm. Besides Harry and I don’t want to hide this. But we felt that September first was soon enough to reveal it.”

“We’ve been getting along this week, not too many fights,” the blond pointed out.

“And I, and my sanity, appreciate it, I assure you. However, was the pillow fight necessary? I’m still finding feathers in the unlikeliest of places!”

Draco grinned at that. He and Harry had started the fight when Draco had thrown a pillow at Harry after his roommate had made a snide comment concerning Draco’s insistence on good grooming. Harry had thrown it back, hitting Draco square in the face. Before either of them knew it, they were pummelling each other in the centre of the room, while calling each other names; laughing hysterically as the names got ruder and more inventive by the minute, and feathers were flying everywhere.

Severus had stormed in, only to get caught in the stomach by both pillows, which split open further, showering the man in thousands of goose feathers. The boys had ended up rolling on the floor and laughing at the sight until Severus had dumped a bucket of cold water over each of them and made them clean up the resultant soggy mess, without magic.

They had each spent the next afternoon preparing the most disgusting potions ingredients, but they still had grinned at each other as they remembered the fun they’d had.

Severus chuckled at the grin on Draco’s face and stood up. “Are you going to be all right for now?”

“Yes, Uncle.”

“Very well. Harry is napping on the couch, why don’t you finish your essays before dinner and I can forward yours and Harry’s to the other teachers at the staff meeting? Oh, and Mr McDonald has suggested you do as Harry will be doing, and keep a journal. It is totally private – for your eyes only,” he said, holding out the book.

The boy nodded, taking the book and pen and, unfolding himself, headed to his desk.