He had to get out. He couldn't bear it. Sitting there, watching that woman shove needles into Potter's back...

Draco didn't care how weak he'd looked as he stumbled across the floor and wrenched open a door on one side of the fireplace. It didn't matter much how he looked anyway, all that was in the next room were two rows of meticulously made beds pushed against either wall.

The Hospital Wing was empty except for Draco, and he preferred it that way.

Draco sat shakily on one of the beds, passing a hand through his hair as he tried to regain control over himself. His breathing was loud even to his own ears, and his mouth had gone dry.

He hadn't even seen anything, actually. Just heard one healer talking to Potter, and the other putting on gloves and picking up what must have been the largest needle Draco had ever seen. The sight had made him queasy... though now that he thought about it, the healers probably would have pulled a curtain around the bed for Potter's privacy.

But still.

He didn't care who it was laying on that bed. He'd rather not see anyone stabbed with needles if he could help it. And besides, it bothered Draco to see Potter in that sort of state... he wasn't sure why. But it did.

"Curious, isn't it? How we with hearts cannot endure to watch a supposed enemy in a weakened state?"

Draco nearly jumped three feet off the bed -though he'd deny it if anybody asked- Dumbledore was standing right in front of the door Draco had just come out of... only, there was no door. The wall was smooth, well, as smooth as a wall could be. How...odd.

Dumbledore didn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary though. He sat down on the bed opposite Draco's, bouncing a little and chuckling when the bed-springs creaked in response. Draco's eyes were likely as wide as Galleons now, and he had to clench his teeth to keep his mouth from dropping open.

"How are you, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco's eyelids fluttered, "I- uh- I'm f-fine," he stammered. Dumbledore had just asked him how he was. Unbelievable. What was he even supposed to say? How did one conduct a conversation with a headmaster he was known for disliking?

After all, Dumbledore would have heard all the things Draco had said about him.

And when someone was asked how they were after the death of a parent, what was the expected answer? He couldn't exactly say that he could barely stand to look at himself in the mirror, let alone function like the world was normal. He couldn't say that more than anything, anything, he wished his father would contact him.

It had been at least four days since his mother had died, and Draco hadn't heard a word from Lucius. No one had said anything about a funeral either.

He couldn't ask. Every time the thought crossed his mind -which was more often then not- he choked up. The words froze in his throat and tears pricked in the corners of his eyes.

To his utter shock, Dumbledore leaned forward and pat his knee.

"As impossible as it may seem at this moment, Mr. Malfoy, time heals all wounds," said Dumbledore. He was looking straight into Draco's eyes, the sincerity in his words so strong that Draco couldn't help but believe him.

Didn't stop him questioning though.

"How do you know?" he asked, quite stupidly, for if he'd actually given it some thought, he would have realised that if anyone were to know how long it took something to heal, Dumbledore would. The man had to be... a hundred?

"I have lived through many things, Mr. Malfoy," began Dumbledore, "I understand the pain that comes from losing a loved one."

Draco lowered his eyes and picked at the leg of his black trousers.

"My sister, Ariana, died when she was very young," Dumbledore's voice sounded very tired now, and, chancing a quick glance up, Draco saw that his eyes were no longer twinkling. "Sometimes I wonder, if she knew how much I loved her..."

It didn't seem as though Dumbledore were talking to him anymore.

"W-what happened to her?"

Could Dumbledore possibly have anything in common with him?

When Dumbledore didn't continue, he looked up, catching sight of the small smile on the headmaster's face.

"A story for another time, perhaps?"

Draco nodded, sorry he'd asked.

With a heavy sigh, Dumbledore stood, his knees creaking beneath his luridly colored robes, "Come, Mr. Malfoy, I shall escort you home."

He'd said home meaning Severus' home. But Draco thought of his own instead. He wondered if he'd ever go back. If he'd ever see his room. If he might take something of his mother's. Just a small thing... a keepsake. Or perhaps the Dark Lord had been there with his father? What if they had burned all his mother's things?

Draco couldn't bear it if they had. He had nothing of hers. And, as irrational as it was, he feared that he might forget her.

Not forget her in the way where he couldn't remember her at all, but in the sense that slowly all the little things would fade away.

They seemed more important then ever now.

Like the way her lips curved into a small approving smile when she looked at his grades from school. Or what her hair felt like as it tickled his nose if she kissed him goodnight when he was younger... and the way it smelt too. Like vanilla beans and sweet cream.

If he could just have a photograph or a handkerchief with her initials embroidered into a corner. It would smell of her. He knew it would. It would make him miss her more than ever, but it would be worth it, oh, so worth it.

Dumbledore was pushing him back through the door that wasn't there, passed Severus who stood by a motionless Potter, passed the two healers that stood over a silver table, and straight into the fireplace.

Draco closed his eyes, the warmth of the floo enveloped him for a moment, and then he was cold again.

Dumbledore's hand was on his shoulder blade, but he wasn't pushing, just sort of guiding him to Severus' settee. Draco sat, not really thinking about anything. Just sitting.

The cushion beside him weighed down as Dumbledore sat beside him,

"I think, the person who understands best what you are experiencing," Dumbledore paused, "is Mr. Potter."

Draco's mouth opened a little. He wanted to say that if Potter knew anything at all, he wouldn't have the smallest idea about this. But his own thought gave him pause, because the truth was, Potter probably knew everything about it.

"I am afraid Harry has lost someone very dear to him earlier this year. The pain you are feeling is no different than his." Dumbledore stood, giving him one last pat on the shoulder, "I daresay you and Mr. Potter will call a truce of understanding soon. There is no need to fight against those who are no longer your enemies."

He crossed the rug and took a pinch of floo powder from the square box atop the mantle, "Rest, Mr. Malfoy, Severus shall be back soon. And I urge you not to close up... talking and time are both quite essential."

And with that, he floo'd away, and still, Draco sat. Only this time, he was thinking.

0000

It was the pain, not the sunlight, that awoke him. His back, his head... Merlin, his entire body. Harry groaned before his eyes were open. Cautiously, very cautiously, Harry cracked his eyes open and rolled from his stomach to his side.

He whimpered, his eyes already swimming with tears of pain. The small of his back felt like a million hammers were banging away directly on his hip-bone, and his head, ooh... a normal headache paled in comparison.

Harry brought both hands to his face and pressed the heels into his eyes, moaning quietly. Tiny bursts of orange color sprung behind his eyelids, but Harry didn't move his hands. He was too busy figuring out how to breathe without having to move his body. It was quite hard, especially because his ever-present runny-nose-and-sore-throat-cold made his breathing wheezy and heavy. Which, of course, equaled more body movement.

He hadn't even realised how hard he must have been pushing on his eyes until two hands closed around his and pulled them away. Harry snapped his eyes open reflexively, but without his glasses, all he could see were blurry shapes of color.

Blinking owlishly as he turned his head as slowly as possible to squint at the black blob that was closer to the top of the bed, Harry sucked his breath in through his teeth.

How could something be so sore.

"You need medicine, Potter, wait."

Well, he couldn't see him, but he'd know that voice anywhere.

"Sir?" His voice sounded gravelly and foreign to his own ears.

"Wait," replied Snape briskly.

Harry lay his head back down flat on his pillow, he could hear things clinking and shifting, but without glasses, his eyes were useless.

Snape pressed a heavy glass into one of Harry's hand and a rubber button-thing in the other.

But Harry didn't move the glass to his lips, "I need my glasses," he murmured, resting the glass -which he assumed had water- on the bed, his hand still enclosed around it.

"I can't see."

Snape took the glass back, slipping Harry's glasses into his hand, "I wasn't aware one needed to see to sip water," he said dryly.

Moving carefully, Harry slipped his glasses onto his face and tried to sit up.

It was a mistake. A very, very big mistake.

He didn't even make it half-way up before pain surged up and down his back.

Snape's hands were on his shoulders, gently laying him back down, "That was very foolish, Mr. Potter," muttered Snape.

Instead of answering, Harry grit his teeth, helpless to stop the tear that leaked from the corner of his eye.

"Let me help you," Snape said, he didn't wait for Harry's answer though. Plucking the glass from Harry's grip, Snape slid a hand behind his neck and supported his head, helping him sip the cold water.

Harry lifted the hand that still held the rubber...button, was it? "What's-" he cleared his throat, "What's this for?"

"It's for the pain. A muggle drug called morphine," Snape informed him, "You are supposed to press it to inject the drug through the IV and into your veins." Then, with a slight scoff, "I am told that it is made so that overdosing is impossible, no matter how many times you press it."

Harry had taken his glasses back off, after all, what was the point in wearing glasses when all he was doing was laying on his side? He squeezed the pump -which clicked as he pressed and released it- and started counting back from one hundred.

There was a problem though; all that water had gone straight through him.

If he could just hold out until his body didn't feel as though the slightest movement might do him in... he'd be safe. But Harry didn't think he could wait that long. Harry bent his legs at the knee and circled his arms around them. It hurt to move, but this position was better then the other.

He heard Snape shift in the chair next to him.

"Where's Malfoy?" Harry asked, his voice sounded small and pathetic to his own ears, but it couldn't be helped, he needed a distraction, and Malfoy was it.

Snape shifted again. Harry cracked an eye open out of habit.

"The Headmaster returned him to my quarters," said Snape, his own voice quiet, though not because of weakness like Harry's. Harry called that sort quiet 'hospital quiet' because whenever he was in the Hospital Wing, people tended to keep their voices lowered, even if he was the only resident. Maybe it was the suppressive atmosphere. Like the way all the properly made beds and stark clean walls and floors made one feel dirty; the pressing silence made one feel loud.

That was Harry's reasoning anyway.

He closed his eyes again, "How long have I been here?" he thought to ask, surprised that he hadn't thought of it before. Maybe the thumping pain in his back had drawn his mind away.

"It is now ten in the evening," replied Snape, his tone as though he hadn't checked the time before then, "You passed out shortly after the operation."

Harry grimaced, leave it to Snape to mention that.

"You try having needles shoved into your back and just see if you don't pass out," he snapped, opening his eyes to glare at the blurry black figure that was his potions professor.

Snape, to his credit, did not rise to Harry's irritation, instead, he merely crossed his arms over his chest and regarded Harry with a rather dry look. Not that Harry could tell, but his next words gave him the impression that Snape was doing just that.

"I was not attempting to deride you," he stated in a most stilted manner, "I myself having never endured any muggle procedures, know little to nothing about the happenings of such an operation. Though from my viewpoint, it was neither comfortable nor painless."

Was Snape implying that he would have fainted too?

Harry couldn't be sure. But at least it wasn't an insult. That was something, wasn't it?

And if Snape was trying, why couldn't he?

"Er, it wasn't all that bad..." he attempted, then scoffed at his own words, "Actually, it was awful, I mean, it didn't hurt then, but now," Harry groaned, "I never knew my back, neck, head, and throat could all hurt so horribly."

"I was assured that the muggle medication would alleviate the pain and soreness," commented Snape, sounding almost... well, not sympathetic but, understanding.

That was new.

Harry released his knees in favor of folding his arms together and squeezing his biceps with his hands, "It takes a while to work," he explained, gritting his teeth. It seemed like he wouldn't be able to wait after all. "Muggle drugs aren't instantaneous like potions."

Breathing deeply through his nose, Harry released his arms, he'd have to go to the loo now or he'd never make it.

Slowly, he straightened out his legs and used his arms to push himself up into a sitting position. He wasn't half way upright when his arms started shaking from the pain in his back.

Snape's long fingered hands closed around his upper-arms, no doubt to lay him back down, "What the devil are you doing, Potter?"

Harry couldn't struggle, but he didn't let Snape push him back either, "I need the loo," he said, despising the waver in his voice. His eyes were beginning to water too.

Snape let out a sharp breath. Hah, as if he had anything to be sighing about.

"Wait a moment, I'll help you."

Harry's eyes must have been as round as galleons.

Snape laid him back on his side effortlessly, and before Harry could protest, adjusted the bed until it was upright. Harry slipped his glasses back on, blinking as everything came into focus. He turned until he was sitting sideways and his feet were touching the carpeted floor.

Snape was on the other side of the room, propping open the door to the loo and reaching inside to turn on the lights. He returned to Harry's side and extended his arm.

Harry gaze swiveled from Snape's arm, to his face, then back to his arm.

"I'm not three," he blurted, his need for the loo momentarily forgotten.

Clicking his tongue impatiently, Snape reached down and pulled Harry -gently- from the bed, "I am aware of your age, Mr. Potter, and it is of little to no consequence."

Harry began to splutter a protest, but his bladder and the ache in his lower back sealed his mouth. He found himself clutching Snape's arm in one hand, the steel pole he was connected to with the other, and dragging his feet as they made their way to the loo. He only let go of Snape's arm when the door jamb was close enough to act as a substitute, he glanced back at Snape, who stood with his arms folded over his chest and his lips pressed together.

"I've got it from here," Harry informed him.

Snape widened his eyes ever so slightly, "Indeed."

Harry took two steps into the loo, rolling the silver pole he was connected to, and then latched onto the sink, he made to close the door and lock it, but Snape stopped him.

"It would be unwise for you to close this all the way," he stated, pulling the door until there was only a fraction of space between the jamb and the door itself, "Fear not, Mr. Potter, I do not intend on barging in unannounced."

Great, thought Harry irritably, now he was being mocked.

It was harder to use the loo then it had ever been in his entire life, but Harry finished in record time. It was getting back onto the bed that was the hard part. The trip was grueling to say the least, and by the end of it, Harry was clutching Snape's arm and panting as he was lowered back onto his side.

Snape sat back down in the chair beside him, this time, Harry kept his glasses on.

"What are you doing here, Professor?" asked Harry. The question wasn't rude, he just wanted to know.

That didn't stop Snape from regarding him with a rather irritated look though. "Was I to leave you here unattended?"

Harry hated rhetorical questions. Especially when they came from Snape.

He pulled his pillow so it fit more comfortably into the crook of his neck, which was rather stiff, for some reason, "I was just asking," he said, doing his best not to roll his eyes. Couldn't the man just answer a simple question normally?

Snape's lips thinned, like he was trying not to say something insulting. The silence pressed on Harry's ears.

Lifting his head with a grunt, Harry adjusted the pillow again. His neck was really sore.

"I would advise that you not move so much," said Snape, watching Harry with an unreadable expression. Harry ignored the advice, "My neck is stiff," he replied, repositioning his pillow.

"It is a side-affect. The muggle medicine isn't working?"

So that's why...

"Not sure," said Harry, sighing, "I mean, it still hurts..."

"Unbearably so?"

He considered that for a moment, "I guess not, it's just... sore. Really sore."

Snape nodded, "I was told that was to be expected."

"Great," said Harry dryly. Experimentally, he pressed the button again. The clicking noise was extremely satisfying. "At least I didn't have to feel the needle going in," he said, chuckling a little. But not because it was funny, because he was relieved.

Oddly, his statement made Snape look uncomfortable, almost... guilty.

Unable to stamp down his curiosity, he inquired, "Professor?" After all, Snape wouldn't murder a sick kid, would he?

"I gave you a potion, before your appointment," began Snape, but Harry interrupted before he could get any further.

"What do you mean you 'gave me a potion'? he asked incredulously, his voice far louder than he'd meant it to be, "I didn't drink any potions!" The only thing keeping him from sitting bolt upright and drawing his wand was his aching back. Despite that though, he propped himself up on one elbow, ignoring the throbbing pain that came in consequence.

As fierce as he was sure his glare was, Snape didn't looked moved at all. That same unreadable expression had taken place, but Harry could see something stirring in the dark eyes, he just wasn't sure what it could be.

"I mixed it into your drink-"

Harry very nearly clutched at his throat.

"It was designed to manipulate the mind into believing that the body felt nothing."

"...What?"

Snape clicked his tongue impatiently, "You felt the needle, but experienced no pain."

He said it as though it were the most simple thing in the world. Harry didn't think so though.

"You gave me a numbing potion?"

Snape scoffed, "The properties of a numbing potion are far and away from what I dosed you with." Then, as though taking pity on Harry's sleep and drug addled mind, "If the potion were a numbing agent you would have felt nothing at all, you wouldn't have been able to function, or walk, or speak. Potions of that type are generally used for severe burn cases or surgeries in which it would be dangerous to be unconscious. The potion you imbibed merely tricked your mind into believing there was no pain to feel."

Slowly, it was all making sense. Snape had helped him. Without being forced. As crazy as it seemed, Harry couldn't even be angry that he'd been slipped a potion unawares. Actually, it was all rather... improbable.

Taking Harry's silence as a prompt, Snape continued, "As the medi-witches and yourself realised during the blood test."

Harry nodded, though something was bothering him about the whole situation, "But.. Why didn't you just tell Healer Beesely when we first got here?"

"And listen to you rant about the dangers of living with Slytherins? No, I would rather the discretion of a quiet word with your healer after."

Snape's reasoning was sound, if not a little sneaky, in Harry's opinion.

"I suppose..." muttered Harry, but there was still something, "Healer Beesely was talking to you about it after, what did she say?"

He waited for Snape to bark that it was none of Harry's business what went on in conversations that he was not a member of, but the onslaught didn't come, in fact, when Snape did speak, Harry had to concentrate on keeping his jaw from falling onto the floor.

"It was remiss of me to give you a magical medicine when I knew little of your current situation. Your healer was most insistent that I not give you anything with the smallest relation to magic because of the affect it may have on your cancer," Snape said, his voice pitched very low, sounding, to Harry's ears, regretful.

Snape was admitting a wrong. A wrong he'd made against Harry. And it seemed as though he were actually sorry. It was almost too much for Harry to accept, but his thoughts were put on pause when Snape went on, "As I was informed by your healer, magic affects the growth of your cancer, which, in turn, affects you."

Harry sucked in a breath.

" I-" Snape swallowed, "Apologise for the oversight. I can assure you, it will not occur again."

"But nothing happened, right?" Harry asked, the waver in his voice more prominent then he would have liked, "I mean, the potion didn't do anything to me?"

Snape leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and the weight of his upper body on his forearms, "According to your healer, no, but you aren't to have anything magic related anymore."

Harry sighed, this was starting to feel like summer at the Dursleys'... only it was worse here. Because here, he had to watch everyone else use magic while he couldn't. As awful as the Dursleys' had been, at least they had no wands to wave about when he didn't.

Realising he was sinking into self-pity, Harry turned his thoughts back to the predicament with Snape, "Thanks for the potion, Professor," he said honestly, sinking back into his pillow, Harry ignored Snape's derisive snort.

"No, really," he began, more insistently, "If you hadn't given it to me, I probably wouldn't have made it through all those needles." Harry shuddered, wondering how many more he might have to endure.

"Nevertheless," said Snape with a vague gesture which Harry took to mean that the apology still stood.

That sparked something in Harry's mind, something he'd rather not think about at all, but popped up whenever he was around Snape. Harry picked at his sheets, just thinking about it made his face burn.

But if Snape could do it... couldn't he?

Harry opened his mouth to speak, though his gaze was still fixated on the blanket covering his legs, "Uh, I- er-" he stuttered, his teeth clicking together as his mouth snapped shut. His face must have been on fire by then.

"What is it, Potter?" asked Snape, sounding rather urgent, "The healer said she would be back to give you a different pain reliever. Is the pump not working?"

"No, I- wait what?" Harry's brow furrowed.

"Are you still in pain?" enunciated Snape as though Harry were very slow indeed.

Harry scowled, "I'm fine."

"Do not insult my intelligence, any fool would know that you are indeed not'fine'."

He said it as though Harry's pain and his concern over it were the most natural things in the world. Which, in point of fact, they weren't.

But Snape's unexpected consideration only made Harry's previous thoughts return to their previous train. Biting his lip, Harry decided now was better than never... especially because he'd have to spend so much time in the dungeons with Snape anyway.

"Um, Professor? I was- Well, that is... I just wanted to say," Harry stopped himself and took a deep breath, "Listen, Sir, I'm sorry... about last year, when I, erm-"

"Invaded my privacy and proved yourself to be a meddlesome little brat?"

He wanted to protest, hell, he wanted to rant about how Snape had plied through his own personal life, but the difference between the two were clear to Harry. The only reason he'd delved into that pensieve in the first place was to satisfy his curiosity. Except, instead of finding out what the Order had been keeping so secret, he'd gotten a front row seat to watch the three men he admired most behaving at their worst.

So, instead, he settled for nodding and picking at his sheets, feeling thoroughly chastised.

Snape cleared his throat and shifted beside him, "I think, Mr. Potter," he began, causing Harry to look up, "That it is time we leave the events of last year behind us, and come to an agreement, of sorts."

Harry stared.

Snape wanted to call a truce?

Un-bloody-believable.

Was this how their infamous rivalry would end? With a truce based on the fact that last year had taken a turn so far down the road to hell that neither one wanted to even acknowledge it? But even if that were so, was Snape expecting Harry to forget every single infraction the man had made against him? If that were the case, Harry would have refused, point blank.

Fortunately, before he could open his mouth and tell Snape just what he was going to do about that truce, the man went on to explain his reasoning.

"As I am sure you realise, we will be residing beneath the same roof for some time."

Harry's sigh stopped him from continuing. So the living arrangements weren't just for now, then...well, Harry had sort of expected that. But it was a bummer, none the less. Having nothing to say, he waved his hand a bit for Snape to go on -ignoring the way the man's eyes narrowed at the less than polite prompt.

"As such, some sort of understanding needs to be had in light of our mutual, ah," Snape paused searching for a word less offensive than what was no doubt 'hatred', "Our mutual antipathy for one another. However-"

At this point Harry was ready to accept the truce if it meant that Snape's long-winded testimony would end, but the way those piercing, black eyes were now fixed upon him caused him to clamp his mouth shut and pay attention.

"I am neither suggesting nor requesting that you change your opinion of me, Mr. Potter... or mine of you, for that matter. I merely believe we ought not to be at each other's throats at such a point in time. Especially when cooperation is such a must at this juncture."

Snape settled back into his chair, his expression grim. In Harry's opinion, the man looked as though he'd said a great deal more than he'd wanted to... Not that it would have made any difference to Harry, who had barely gotten two words out of the expertly phrased jumble of words he'd just had laid out before him.

Well, that wasn't strictly true, considering. But Snape's speech had been a little much... actually, more than a little, Harry thought.

Nevertheless, Harry extended his hand towards Snape, "Truce it is, then," he said, his voice every bit as grim as Snape's expression.

After their brief, but significant handshake, Harry went back to withholding moans and grimaces, and Snape flipping through a book.

It wasn't until around 12 o'clock in the morning that Harry began to drift off again. He figured he'd rather be asleep when his medication wore off.

When pain woke him again a little after two in the morning, Snape pressed the button for him; twice. As soon as the aching in his lower back and neck seeped away, Harry fell asleep once more, and didn't wake up again until daylight streamed through the window above the couch, bathing the room in sunshine.

Harry lifted his head a bit, blinking because of the brightness. Everything was blurry again, but he couldn't remember removing his glasses before he fell asleep. Squinting as he looked around for his glasses without moving more than just his head and arms. Unfortunately, just as his finger tips brushed the earpiece, he knocked them from the small table beside his bed.

"Damn," grumbled Harry, dropping his head back to his pillow with a thump and shut his eyes.

It felt like the room was spinning around him, and keeping his eyes open just made that worse. There was a noise beside him, like someone inhaling sharply, then, "Harry?"

Despite how light-headed he felt, Harry turned towards the voice, which sounded exactly like... "Remus? Is that you?"

The sound of a muffled yawn came next, "Yes, yes it's me, how are you feeling?"

He'd been about to say 'fine' but he doubted Remus would believe him.

"Oh, well, I never much liked hospitals..." he edged, gesturing with his hand to the room around him.

Remus chuckled, "I didn't like staying here much either, when I was in school. Something about the smell."

Harry grimaced, "Yeah, I know," he replied, then, remembering what he was doing before Remus had spoken, "Say, Remus, could you summon my glasses, I dropped them somewhere."

Beside him, Remus shifted in his chair, "Accio Harry's glasses," he said, handing said spectacles to Harry seconds later.

He slipped them on, blinking as things became clear, he looked at Remus' scarred face and smiled, "It's good to see you," he said.

"Likewise."

Harry tried to push himself up on the bed, but the room spun around him and the sensation of falling sideways took over the minute he moved. "Whoa..." murmured Harry, swaying as he dropped back down.

Remus tutted beside him, "You should try and keep still for a bit, the painkillers will make you dizzy."

"Right."

"Do you need anything, Harry? Anything at all?"

"Nope, nothing at all," replied Harry, popping the p in his nope, then he reconsidered his answer, "Wait, Remus, can you make the room stop spinning? I think I'm going to sick up... No, maybe not, but still."

He didn't even notice the alarmed look Remus gave him.

"And Remus," said Harry, completely oblivious to his former professor's worry, "Did you know that Snape's been housing me?"

Remus let out a breath, "Yes, Harry, I did. In fact, he was here earlier, he left when I came to see you."

Harry thought about that, "Snape's been acting funny," he said decidedly, "Not funny... weird."

"Professor Snape, Harry, how so?"

"Um, sort of... nice? I think that's it," Harry chortled, "Snape's being nice to me," he hooted, "Something must be wrong with him!"

Remus frowned, "I think he's just beginning to see you for you Harry," he commented.

"Dunno," admitted Harry, "D'you think I'll have to stay in here very long?"

"Stay where?"

"Here, in the Hospital Wing!"

"No, I believe you're to be floo'd back to Severus' quarters in an hour or so."

Harry sighed, "I guess that's alright then."

Remus pat his shoulder, smiling kindly, "You've grown up, Harry," he said, a quiet sort of pride in his voice, "A year ago I do not think you would have been so accepting of the matter."

Harry pursed his lips, "Oh but I'm not, Remus," he beckoned Remus closer, whispering very seriously, "I just don't want to show it."

Remus sat back, "Is that so?" he inquired, an eyebrow arched, "And why is that?"

Well, come to think of it, he wasn't sure, "Dunno," he shrugged.

He yawned, "Sorry," he muttered, "I'm really tired, y'know?"

"Hmm, maybe you should close your eyes," remarked Remus.

Harry closed his eyes, "You'll stay though, won't you?"

Remus' hand covered his, "Of course, Harry." And with that, Harry was slumbering once more.

0000

"I just want to go for a walk... I feel like I can't- breathe, down here."

Draco picked at the arm rest of the arm chair in which he sat, "Please, Severus?"

Severus was examining him over the lip of his coffee cup, his eyes dark and calculating.

Draco licked his lips. He wanted to get out, even if just for a bit. And the fact that he planned on taking his walk in the direction of the owlery had absolutely nothing to do with the roll of parchment tucked into the pocket of his trousers.

Placing his cup down on the short table before him, Severus gave Draco one more once over. The look made Draco shift uncomfortably, the parchment in his trousers beginning to burn the skin of his leg. He tried not to appear guilty, but the shrewdness Severus regarded him with told him that he looked just that.

"I need," he licked his lips again, "Some fresh air. I- I won't be gone long," he rushed to say, desperation seeping into his words.

What if his mother had been buried already. What if he'd missed her funeral... his last chance to say good-bye?

The thought made him sick to his stomach.

"Severus," he implored once more, "Please."

Severus sighed, "It is unwise for you to be out alone, Draco," he said regretfully, "I would accompany you myself, but Potter is due back in another thirty minutes or so."

It took great effort to reign in his initial retort, which was something along the lines of Potter always being the center of attention. Sure he'd regained control, Draco went on, "I won't be long," he repeated, "I won't even leave the castle."

And he wasn't going to either... besides, walking to the owlery only ought to take about fifteen minutes at the most.

Severus' eyes were narrowed again. How in the wizarding world did the man know he was hiding something? Draco licked his lips nervously, his mouth was dry.

"I cannot, in good conscience, allow you to wander about the castle without a chaperon," said Severus at last, "I am sorry, Draco, but, I will take you with me to the forest, later today, if you still wish to go."

Draco slumped in defeat, "Why the forest?" he asked anyway. The missive in his pocket might not be going anywhere, but he might as well. He hadn't been lying about not being able to breathe.

Standing, Severus plucked his mug from the table, "Potions ingredients," he said, making his way to the kitchen. As he passed Draco, he used his free hand to squeeze his shoulder comfortingly.

It wasn't much, but Draco appreciated it all the same.

He sat for a moment longer, tapping his fingers against the armrests of his chair. Maybe he should just tell Severus that he wanted, no, needed to talk to his father. Severus would understand... wouldn't he?

Draco brought his hands together, methodically cracking each knuckle even though he knew it was horrible for his fingers. He couldn't seem to help himself... it was like a- a nervous tick, all this fidgeting. Or maybe a side-affect of the constant anxiety he felt. Draco rubbed his hands down over the legs of his trousers, smoothing them until he reached his knees, then picking up his hands, and starting at his thighs once more. He blew out a tremulous breath, trying to get hold of himself.

It was getting harder and harder to do that.

Get a hold of himself. Like his mind actually wanted to be set free.

It piled nervousness on top of his anxiety.

Draco swallowed, running a shaky hand through his hair, wondering at which point he'd completely lost every last shred of his dignity. With that thought in mind, Draco stood, breathing deeply to regain control of his emotions, berating himself for behaving as though he were a Hufflepuff instead of a Slytherin and a Malfoy.

"I'm writing to my father."

Draco clutched the back of the wooden chair pushed into the kitchen table, letting out an imperceptible sigh of relief when Severus didn't snap at him.

Severus dried his hands on a tea towel, his lips pulled together in a thin line. He wasn't glaring at Draco, but the silence that draped over the kitchen after Draco's statement was ominous.

Wiping his hands of one last time, Severus slipped one edge of the towel through the handle, pulling the end until the cloth hung evenly. Draco gripped the chair harder to refrain from wringing his hands.

Just when he was sure his composure would crack, Severus spoke.

"Sit down, Draco," he said tightly, taking a seat himself.

Draco obeyed, figuring he'd have a better chance at appearing levelheaded if he listened to whatever Severus had to say he might appear as though his sanity wasn't dangling over a cliff by a string.

Severus let out a sharp breath. Draco tucked his hands under his thighs to keep from fidgeting.

It seemed like an eternity before Severus finally spoke, but in reality, it was less than a minute.

"You are wise enough to know that missives can be intercepted," he began, the fingers of one hand drumming against the other, "I do not think I need to explain to you the amount of danger not only you, but I as well would be in if any information fell into the wrong hands."

Severus' emotions were inscrutable, as always, but Draco hazarded a guess that irritation wasn't far off.

"You don't understand," began Draco, struggling to keep the plaintive note out of his voice, "He might be trying to find me." That time it was desperation he had to hide. What if Lucius wasn't trying to find him? What if Lucius didn't care? Draco shoved the memory of his last day in Malfoy Manor to the the deepest recess of his mind.

His father hadn't meant to hurt his mother. He just hadn't.

Realising he had removed his hands from beneath his sides and was now gripping the edge of the table, Draco took a deep breath, releasing the wood. "I wouldn't say where I am," he said, "I'm not an imbecile."

Severus raised an eyebrow, "Indeed not."

Draco breathed as sigh of relief.

"However," continued Severus, seemingly unaware of how Draco had tensed up again, "You may not be intentionally let slip vital information-" He held up a silencing hand when Draco made to protest, "Even the most carefully coded of messages can be deciphered."

Draco tried not to slump in his chair, disappointment and resentment coursing through him simultaneously. Why couldn't Severus see how important it was that he speak with his father as soon as humanely possible? Draco glared at his hands where they rested in his lap. He resented Severus for not helping him, he despised himself for resenting Severus, and he hated that he was alive when his mother was not.

He blinked back the tears that pricked behind his eyelids, his jaw working resolutely.

"There are other ways to communicate with your father, Draco." Severus' hands were suddenly on his own, and he looked up to find that the man himself now stood beside him. "You must have patience. For your safety, and those around you. The Headmaster will keep us appraised of any developments concerning your mother," he paused as though considering whether or not he should continue.

Draco shifted, his palms beginning to sweat from the heat of the hands that still rested upon his own. Sighing deeply, Severus went on, "As of right now, her body-"

Draco bit the inside of his bottom lip.

"Is in Ministry custody." Severus crouched beside Draco, his hair swinging forward as he moved. He flicked it back as he studied Draco carefully. "I had wished to keep the less than comforting details to myself," he said, drawing one hand away from Draco's and using it to grasp Draco's chin and meet his eyes, "But it occurs to me that even gruesome information is more comforting then none."

Draco attempted a nod, but as his chin was still in Severus' grasp, the movement was limited.

"I cannot tell you everything," warned Severus, "I likely won't have much to relay on the matter at all."

"But my father..." muttered Draco, "What if he is looking for me?"

"Then it is for the better that you remain hidden."

That brought Draco pause, "W-what?" he stammered.

Severus shook his head, "Foolish child," he chided, standing once more and withdrawing both hands from Draco's skin, "Lucius works for the Dark Lord, do you believe that he is not under orders to bring you to his master the moment he sets eyes on you?"

An almost out of body rage took over Draco. He stood up, moving so fast that he toppled the chair on which he'd been sitting, "You don't know what you're talking about!" he hissed, right in Severus' face, taking a step closer for good measure.

He wasn't much shorter than Severus... well, his head was about the same height as the man's shoulder. But that didn't bother Draco.

"My father wouldn't send me to die! He wouldn't!"

He was shouting now, his face red with rage.

Severus' hands settled like iron grips on his biceps, but without even two thoughts about it, Draco wrenched himself free.

Severus' eyes narrowed dangerously, "Do not be so naive as to think your life is Lucius' priority," he said, his voice deadly quiet. So quiet in fact and with such a level of severity that it drained some of the rage from Draco's mind. "You saw with your own eyes what happened to your mother. Was it not Lucius who brought Narcissa to the Dark Lord? Was it not he who dutifully reported her wrongs? Hmm?"

Draco was trembling now, but not from cold.

"Do you believe that I know not where-of I speak?"

With each barked question, Draco stepped further away. Far enough that his back bumped the stone wall behind him. But even that wasn't far enough. Not to get away from these... these... accusations.

"Your mother's death lies in your father's fault." Severus kept on, eyebrows drawn together and fists clenched at his sides, "Wake up from this jaded dream you continue to believe! Lucius lusts for power, he will not let anything jeopardize his position within the Dark Lord's ranks."

"Stop," croaked Draco, his hands press flat against the stones behind him, "Please-"

But Severus didn't. "Do you understand now, the severity of your situation? Why you must remain hidden? If the Dark Lord were to find that it was I who harbored you, that we would both die slow and painful deaths?"

"Stop," he repeated, a little louder this time, shaking his head, he stepped away from the wall. "I won't send the damn letter then," he ground out, glaring at Severus, "You don't need to keep going on and on about it." Then, almost wishing he could stop himself before he said it, added, "And besides, you're one to talk, the Dark Lord owns you as well!"

Severus' mouth opened, and then shut. Draco swallowed.

"I'm not going to send the letter," he reiterated, "But you have to tell me what happens with my mother. As soon as you hear it." He held his breath as he waited for a reply.

Severus gave one curt nod, before sweeping from the room.