Draco Malfoy prided himself on several things. Firstly, on the status and prestige granted to him because of the Malfoy name. Another was the ability for that name to get him any and everything that he wanted. The youngest Malfoy also prided himself on be being always being intimidating and feared, but never doing the actual fearing.

Oh, how wrong he had been.

He shakily made his way through the common room, to stand before the door. His fellow students were gazing entreatingly at his back, even those older than him, begging him not to mess up the task set to him mere hours into the first day back. He reconsidered. The older years looked far worse than the younger students, who only had a fleeting understanding of what Voldemort’s return to the land of the living meant.

He was not at all pleased with the amount of pressure he was under. If he messed this up….he shuddered. He didn’t want to think about what would happen, to him, or others. They’d never make it back to Hogwarts. That much he knew.

Pushing open the door, he silently, if a bit hesitantly, began his trek up to the headmaster’s office. Draco had never liked the old man, but he preferred him to the maniacal tyrant their parents served. Voldemort’s fiery red eyes floated before his vision. He shuddered. No, they could never serve him, or it, as he liked to think to himself.

The walk to the Head’s office was shorter than he expected, even while he trudged along at a snail’s pace. Much too soon for his liking he was standing before the ugly stone gargoyle.

He had always had a bit of luck when it came to guessing the password to the Headmaster’s office. Before now, he had always chalked it up to ‘pureblood’ superiority, or, on occasion, when he was feeling particularly generous, that the old professor was simply getting careless, to use the names of Muggle candy as his password.

But tonight, Draco was just grateful he knew the names of as many Muggle candies as he did.

He was also grateful that he was alive to think about it. The past summer had not gone as planned.

Upon arriving on Platform 9 ¾ last June, Draco had been unceremoniously wrenched from his friends, or, lackeys, rather, if he was being truthful, and had been Side-Apparated with his father to right outside the Malfoy Manor gates.

From there he had been literally hauled inside, too shocked to even consider the reasons for his father’s incredibly odd behavior over the past three minutes. Lucius did not spare a word for his son, nor had he taken a moment to look at him as he dragged him along behind him. If he had, particularly as he dragged him upstairs to the sleeping quarters, he surely would have snapped about proper pureblood decorum and deportment, neither of which Draco, mouth hanging agape and complexion an odd mix of pale and flushed, was demonstrating to his standards.

The boy had balked, when he finally realized his destination. He hadn’t been allowed into these rooms since before he started Hogwarts. Long before he started Hogwarts. His father hadn’t paid him any mind though, and determinedly marched his towards the clearly occupied bed.

At that moment, he had thanked all the gods he could think of for making Pansy Parkinson obsessed with both him and calories. She had commandeered all the snacks he had bought on the train, and had declared, in a lofty voice reminiscent of the Granger, that they contained far too many calories to be considered a healthy snack after such a filling lunch. She had made them all go hungry, and no amount of yelling in the world had made her relent.

As such, when his eyes found the disgusting creature reclining on his parent’s bed, there was nothing for his churning stomach to expel, as it so dearly wanted to. Instead, Draco had averted his eyes, following his father’s example and sinking to one knee, and had taken in the other occupants of the room. He had not been comforted by what he saw.

A short, balding man stood sniveling in the far corner, looking as repulsed as Draco felt, though he had the freedom to express it. His robes were torn and tattered, and he was filthy. Draco was sure he stank, but was much more inclined to think that the more sulfurous fumes came from the still silent figure on the bed.

Reclining on the chaise lounge was his mother, or a woman who Draco fervently hoped was not his mother. He was seeing far too much of this woman to harbor any type of maternal feelings for her. Draped over her torso was a partially transparent sheet, covering just enough of her to be considered moderately decent, or decent enough for privately entertaining her husband. Draco’s stomach turned into a leaden ball. The way she was gazing adoringly at the ….thing on the bed suggested just that.

“Lucius.” The thing hissed! It couldn’t be human. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

“My lord.” His eyes had widened. This couldn’t be…. This had to be wrong….. Surely this wasn’t….

“I am most pleased with your son, Lucius. His magic is strong. There is a fire in him. We must teach him, Lucius, all of our ways. He will be great; he shall do great things for me.” Draco could practically feel his father burning with pride. The soft, almost tender way he held him as they were dismissed showed just how much he was longing to praise, but Draco wasn’t entirely sure they were to be directed at him or at his father’s lord.

“Oh, Lucius?” He could only watch dully as his father spun on the spot into a low face-meets-floor position of submission. “I hope you don’t mind, I took your wife to me whilst you were away today. Surely you approve?”

Cold and heat washed over the nearly fifteen year old boy, his cultured stomach turning painfully at the images the previous statement had brought up to his mind’s eye. He stumbled blindly forward as his father practically vibrated with pleasure. “Of course Master.” His voice was soft, sounding slightly breathless. “All I have is at your disposal.”

A warm arm softly wrapped itself around his shoulders, and Draco was led to his room, amidst soft murmurings of praise and thanksgiving, rapturous endearments and whispers of the future.

Draco blinked, and realized he was still standing in front of the motionless gargoyle. He swallowed, wishing he could bury the memories of his past summer deep in the recesses of his mind, and never ever EVER have to think about them again.

“Mars Bars.” Of course he would have to. The Headmaster would want to know for sure he was sincere. Draco wasn’t naïve enough to think different. While Dumbledore portrayed the doting grandfather figure to the students he deemed worthy, Draco was quite sure the powerful mage side of him would and could be quite visible and, he shuddered again, scary.

“Gumdrops.” Still, the gargoyle made no movement. Draco growled, and willed himself to concentrate. It never took him more than three tries to get the password. It would be disgrace if he needed more now. Though he was sure others would deem it an understandable failure, this wasn’t about anyone else. This was about his personal record. He’d never forgive himself if he got this next one wrong.

“Snickers.”

The gargoyle smiled and moved aside. Draco grinned in spite of himself. The third time was always the charm.

~*~

Harry hovered nervously right outside the potions lab sequestered between the door to the bedroom and what he assumed was the man’s private study. From where he stood, he could see his Potions Professor, selecting jars of ingredients seemingly at random, peering intently at their contents before replacing them. To Harry, it seemed like nervous behavior. But the man certainly could not be nervous. He was foolish to think so.

But Harry was. He was absolutely dreading going into the room. He knew what Snape would want to talk to him about, and he was none to enthusiastic to begin that conversation. No matter that he had already decided to tell the man exactly how his relatives treated him, or that he, for that matter, had effectively shown the man already. No, Harry’s full stomach (wow, wasn’t that a feeling) was tied into knots because he knew, sooner or later, he would have to face the headmaster, and then, he’d have to go back

He swallowed harshly. Harry didn’t think he could handle that.

“I trust you remember the events of yesterday’s train ride?” The silky voice wafted over to him in the quite dungeons, startling him out of his thoughts. How had he known he was there? He nervously fiddled with the edge of his shirt. The pajamas Snape had transfigured with him were all he had, and so, after he had had a quick shower he’d put them back on, His brow furrowed in confusion. At least he thought he’d put them back on. In any event, he hadn’t a clue where the blue shirt in his hands came from, or the jeans he was now wearing. On his feet were, thankfully, not shoes, or he would have begun to doubt his sanity, but thick socks, that kept his feet from getting cold on the freezing dungeon floor.

“Relax, child. You’ve done nothing wrong.” Harry felt rather than saw the man looking at him, as he was currently studying the smooth stone between his feet. For a minute, he wondered if Snape would reconsider and berate him for stealing, since the shirt and jeans were obviously not his, and the man knew he didn’t have anything. All he got, however, was “That’s an interesting choice of shirt, Harry. Do you like cats?”

Bewildered green eyes swiftly looked up at meet black, before falling again to study the shirt covering his torso. Sure enough, there was a cat, stretched out lazily, a human hand scratching its back as it purred in pleasure. Across the bottom of the scene, in choppy white letters read ‘Yes, my hooman, yes. When I rule the world, you shall be spared.’ The last word shuddered in time tot the cat’s tail, and Harry could see why the image amused Snape.

However,

“You’re not mad?”

“Why would I be mad?”

“I did magic. I mean, I didn’t mean to, to get this shirt I mean, but I still did, and I’m not supposed to, am I? And I did magic on you yesterday too, and I really didn’t mean to, honest everything just happened and it was too much and then I just let go ad I didn’t mean for it to happen honest, I – “

Harry’s apologetic chatter was cut short by Severus clamping a hand over his mouth. Truth be old he was a bit alarmed. Weren’t children supposed to outgrow the incessant need to chatter on endlessly at around seven years old? Resisting the urge to massage his temples he led the boy into his study, still covering his mouth. Gently, he deposited the child into a squashy armchair, and settled himself on the couch across from him.

Severus sighed. The child was gazing at him curiously, but at least he was quiet. He was not looking forward to this conversation, but it had to be done. If he wanted to get anywhere with the boy facing him, it had to be done.

“First of all,” he said, making sure he had the boy’s attention, “you are not in trouble. Nor will you ever be for using magic for necessity. It’s quite alright for you to transfigure one set of clothes into another if you have none available, and furthermore, I am largely impressed that you accomplished that. Not many fifth years could manage a transfiguration of that complexity, let alone one including a moving image. Well done.”

For a minute he thought the child was going to cry. Little did he know, Harry was thinking the same thing.

For years, he’d waited for someone to say those words, to even hint that they were proud of something he’d done. He’d spent nearly his entire life fearing a punishment after every bit of accidental magic he ever did. Now, here, he’d done accidental magic and gotten praise for it. It made his chest tight, thinking about it. Of course Remus had praised him when he’d finally mastered the Patronus Charm, but he’d been working on that for months, and even though Professor Dumbledore awarded him points after all of his and his friends’ adventures those first three years, this was somehow completely different.

“Harry?” Snape’s voice called. A part of him wanted to smile. He’d been so disappointed that first year, when Snape had turned out to hate his guts. He’d been trying, though he didn’t realize it until late into his second year, that he’d always wanted the man’s approval. His vision blurred. It seemed like he finally had it. After nearly being killed twice, and being made a fool by the wizarding newspaper and, for years, the man himself, he finally had it.

All of a sudden he was angry. Why did he care all of a sudden? His sleepy-hazed thoughts from the night before found their way back to him. Was he feeling sorry for him? Did Snape think that if he suddenly started to be nice then Harry would forget everything he’d put him through?

“Why are you being so nice?” He knew he sounded rude, especially after all that Snape had done for him, but he really didn’t care.

Severus almost smiled. Of course the boy was still the defiant, stubborn teen he had always been. Of course, now, he was also a lot more, but this angry Harry was familiar, with this boy, he didn’t feel so much like he was out of his depth. Not that he would tell the child, of course.

“It will undoubtedly come as a shock to you, Harry, but cared for quite some time. However it is not in my nature to show many feelings, and too, it took me a while to realize. Poppy has always told me, along with Professor Dumbledore, that I was in denial, hiding behind my dislike for your father as an excuse to mistreat you. For that, I must say, I am sorry.”

“I know what you are thinking. I do not pity you. At least, that is to say that I truly regret that you had to live with people that treated you as if you were less than a person. While it may seem like a stretch for you, I do know what that feels like.” His eyes dropped. He didn’t know why he had told the boy that. Hell, he didn’t even know he had been thinking about it. Perhaps he wanted the child to know he actually did understand what it felt like. Maybe he was trying to establish some common ground?

“I know.” Surprised black eyes looked up to meet emerald. Harry blushed. He hadn’t meant to say that, really. But he did know that what Snape was saying was true. Those eyes, though, were starting to look suspicious. “It’s just that yesterday, I mean, the memories, they weren’t all mine.”

“I see.” Suddenly they were both studying their hands. Neither knew quite what to think. Snape was still vaguely shocked. He had remembered a night or two at he mercy of his father, but he had thought it was a throwback from watching the boy’s own traumatic experiences. Perhaps there was already enough common ground to work with. Harry, on the other hand, was bracing himself for the other questions. Because he wasn’t stupid. He knew there would be questions. He wasn’t angry anymore. He couldn’t hold on to it for more than a few seconds. Even before Snape had apologized. Somehow, it seemed like he and the snarly man were starting over, almost. He wasn’t even residually angry. He liked how it felt, sitting here with Snape, and the fire blazing merrily beside them. Now that he was awake enough to think about it, he wasn’t the least bit uncomfortable with him. At least, not like he might have expected to be. He was still hoping the man wouldn’t turn him over to Dumbledore, after all.

Severus cleared his throat, and prepared to go on. The silence was becoming awkward. “As I already know the extent of your relatives’ treatment of you, I will not ask you about them. However, I must ask you why you have not endeavored to bring this to the attention of any of your professors.”

“I did,” the boy said hotly. “I told professor Dumbledore.” He faltered, picking at a hangnail. “I-I mean, I didn’t exactly tell him everything, really. I just said they didn’t really treat me nice.” He swallowed, turning his bright eyes to his potions professor. “I wanted to tell him, I did, I swear. It – The words just wouldn’t come.”

Snape nodded.”I understand.” His eyes darkened. “It seems his list of transgressions grow longer.” It was barely audible, but Harry heard it anyway.

“Professor Dumbledore sir?”

For a brief instant, Severus considered ignoring the question, but thought better of it. This child had an uncanny ability to find answers to questions when refused answers. “Yes. I visited him last night to report your …. condition, and he seemed most disinterested.”

Harry paled dramatically. “He’s going to send me back?”

“No.” He reached forward to grasp the child’s limp hand. “He was adamant that you be removed from their care, fortunately. However, I expressed doubt in his ability to choose your next guardian, and so, for the foreseeable future, you will be staying with me.”

“You’re my new guardian?” The boy’s eyes were wide, almost alarmingly so. Gently, Severus brushed the surface of the boy’s mind. Surprisingly, he boy let him in. He could actually feel the blocks drop around him. He was surprised. Never had he thought the boy would be a natural Occlumens. But then again, Harry probably developed his skills in the same way he did. Closing off all his emotions in the face of his abusers.

But this was different. He wasn’t looking for memories, but feelings. The boy didn’t seem upset about his new status, but it would be nice to be sure. A wave of warm washed over him, and Severus could distinctly separate surprise from a mixture of pleasant emotions that gave him a comforted feeling in his stomach. An image of the venerable elderly Headmaster swam into view, accompanied by a wash of fear. There was pain, and longing accompanying a picture of Remus, along with Sirius, but Severus could feel the boy felt apprehension about how the man would react to him being Snape’s ward.

After another few minutes, Severus was able to pull away from Harry’s mind. The exchange had been enlightening, to say the least. He believed they had communicated better than they ever could have with just spoken words, because one could not lie through Legimency. He could have simply told the boy why he hated his godfather and his best friend, why he favored the Slytherins in and out of classes, why even after he decided to protect him from everything and himself he continued to berate him, though it did not negate his apology. He could have simply told the boy everything, and ask the boy to do the same, but he didn’t. Though it wasn’t planned, this way the child knew he was sincere, he could feel the truth, even if he didn’t know that lying was impossible while linked to another’s mind..

Those green eyes were staring at him. “Thank you.” The word met his ears, and whispered through his mind. Severus started. He’d closed down the link, the boy couldn’t still be using Legimency! He felt a hand squeeze his, and then he understood. His surprise, confusion and understanding sizzled along their joined hands, and then suddenly Harry let go, and retreated far into the chair.

“Sorry.”

The older man’s eyebrows furrowed. “What for?”

“I used, magic, and it wasn’t necessary.” He glanced over at him hesitantly. “I’m really sorry.”

“Harry, its alright. Really.” He waited until the child met his eyes. “I can’t punish you for accidental magic. It is very rare to find a natural Legimens, and I can’t possibly expect you to be able to control it so soon after many of your magical abilities have been unbridled.”

Because he could now see that that was what had happened. Harry’s aura was now so brilliantly vibrant it was almost overwhelming. He had noticed it when he was studying the boy earlier: the child’s aura was considerably stronger than they were when he left the school last June, or even when he boarded the train the previous evening. Somehow, that wild bit of magic that had healed the boy had destroyed all his magical blocks, and the boy’s power was nearly unlimited. It was enough to give him a headache.

Dragging his thoughts back to the present, Severus continued, “We’ll help you control them, surely. But it will take some time.”

Harry nodded. After thinking about all that had happened since he boarded the train yesterday, he was pretty sure this year would be more interesting than all the other ones bound together. Shaking his head, he asked, “What happens now, sir?”

Severus studied the boy before him for a moment before answering. ‘Now, child,’ he thought to himself, ‘we make sure Albus cannot get his manipulating old hands on you, ever again.’ To the boy he said, “Now, we make a family call. I do believe its been far too long since I’ve last seen my brother.”

Standing, he beckoned Harry to follow him, and after transfiguring a bowl into a pair of sneakers that the teen enthusiastically deemed “Brilliant!” they entered the Floo, and were off.