~~~~SS~~~~

Severus was exhausted. They were only on day two of Harry's repeat of consolidation - which consisted of eight out of eleven days of chemotherapy - and as they all had anticipated, it was hard on Harry; on both his body and his mind. Naturally, that meant the other two residents in the dungeon quarters were feeling the stress that was radiating in waves from Harry's bedroom, coating the walls in a foul anxiety that practically seeped into the Slytherins through their pores. Draco became as arrogant as ever in reaction to the stress, pushing every button, knowingly or not, that the professor had. For Severus, it took the unfortunate form of an extremely short temper, which more times than not, was funneled towards Draco; only about half of which the blonde actually deserved.

The first of these instances was that afternoon. He and Draco had a minor power struggle over breakfast when Severus had mentioned that helping out Madam Pomfrey with Harry's treatment would be a great addition to his pre-healer training and the teen shrugged it off. It was a gesture the professor hated when Harry in the old reality used to do it and under their current predicament he didn't want to put up with it from Draco, either. However at that point he'd been up all of the night with Harry, reminiscent of their Privet Drive or the 22 hour chemo days, and the Gryffindor had just started his four hour IV, so he let it slide. The major infraction didn't come until later that afternoon when Severus went out to the sitting room to find Harry's sketchpad in hopes of giving the young wizard some kind of distraction from the burning pain that restarted with that day's treatment.

Draco was working on something - Severus really wasn't sure what as he hadn't been paying attention when he walked from the corridor to the sofa - at the desk still dressed in a pair of his black pyjamas. That should have been a clue to the state of mind the blonde was in that afternoon because he had a feeling the Malfoys had it ingrained into their minds what was acceptable clothing to wear post-lunch. Severus could hardly say he had gotten dressed in the last two days, wearing a set of black trousers and a casual white shirt, but Draco had rarely been seen outside of his bedroom in his pyjamas, especially at a quarter past three in the afternoon.

"What are you searching so frantically for?" Draco called over his shoulder.

"Harry's sketching book," he replied, pressing his hands in between the sofa cushions in search of the elusive object.

"Dear Merlin," Draco aggressively pushed his chair back and brandished his wand, "are you all so daft that you forget about magic? Accio Harry's sketchbook."

Severus heard a hard slam on Draco's bedroom door, causing the blonde's pointed face to flush. A quick wave of his own ebony wand swung the door open and, as expected, the black covered book came zooming out of Draco's bedroom causing Severus to narrow his eyes. Why did the Slytherin teen have something so personal to Harry in his bedroom? They'd gotten along a lot better lately, leading up to and including their Transfiguration debacle from only two days ago, nevertheless he knew Harry wouldn't show just anyone his work and the last person would be Draco Malfoy. That only left one option: the Malfoy heir had stolen it.

"Why was it in your room?" Severus sharply accused with a tone of curiosity laced with anger.

Draco turned around quickly in his chair, his silver eyes filled with caution that soon gave way to fire when the implication of his question was understood. The teen closed his eyes and appeared to be counting, which in any other scenario would have made Severus proud, however after two long days he took it as insolence.

"You will answer me when I ask you a question. Now why did you have Harry's sketchbook?" He demanded, half yelling it across the small sitting room.

Draco stood suddenly and threw his quill at the desk to his side, breaking the tip of it, "Does it really matter? You clearly already think I'm guilty of something."

And then, the teenage wizard did the one other thing that irritated Severus more than shrugging; he walked away. If Draco had known what that simple act would trigger, Severus was sure he wouldn't have done it, but hindsight is 20/20 and thus they started down the path to their destruction.

It took the former spy a matter of seconds to make his way in Draco's wake to the teen's bedroom on the other side of their quarters. What he expected to find, a scowling blonde sixteen year old, was nothing compared to what he found upon pulling the door quickly opened. The room looked absolutely nothing like the one that had been created only three weeks ago for the young wizard. The once light colored furniture was now made of a dark wood with extensive moldings and carvings on them, and the fabrics around the four poster bed were now extravagantly made; similar to what he expected was in Draco's bedroom back at Malfoy Manor. The desk was larger than the old one and sat a bit lopsided, which he assumed was the last piece in the bedroom to get "redecorated" and its lack of symmetry was probably due to Draco's lack of focus or magical drain from doing this much Transfiguration at one time.

It was that fact which angered the professor the most. Last Friday when he walked on the hilarious ending to Transfiguration Roulette - the rabbit was by far one of the best "mistakes" he'd seen even from his own Slytherin days - he'd assumed that was the extent of the magical work. To now know that all of that came after this very calculated transfiguration was concerning; Draco valuing his furniture and décor above that of his personal safety. After all, if Draco wanted a different style of furniture, he only needed to ask and Severus would have asked for Minerva's assistance on something this glamorous and extreme. Had the professor been in a better frame of mind, he would have explained all of that to the teen, instead he used the opportunity to release some of his own frustrations.

"What is all of this?" Severus slammed the door behind him - so hard the clock on Draco's desk rattled around - and swept his hands across the air around him to demonstrate what he was furious over.

"I'd call it an improvement," the blonde arrogantly said. "The place was looking quite dreadful, I don't even want to know where the furniture came from before I fixed it into proper furniture."

"That improper furniture came from the spare rooms here in the castle," the dark haired Slytherin choked out between his gritted teeth. Pulling his wand out, he swept it across the room essentially untransfiguring every piece back to its less grandeur, original state. Draco, who had been seated on the bed, fell about 8 centimeters when his mattress returned to the smaller one that had originally come with the bed.

"What the bloody hell did you do that for, Severus?!" Draco yelled, standing up from his bed. His back was straightened out as tall as he could stretch to try to appear as an equal to Severus instead of just a child. "So now what? You think you can come in and punish me? News flash, you're not my father! You're not anyone's father, nor are you good enough to be anyone's father, so why don't you stop pretending-"

"Oh, because your father is clearly a paragon of good parenting-" he couldn't stop himself from looking at Draco's left forearm.

"Ha!" Draco spat back with a frown to match the look of disgust across his face. "At least I can say I was forced to get mine! Can you say the same about yours?!"

There was something about that question, and the look of betrayal in the steel eyes watching him, that took the former spy by surprise. He looked around the room again, why had he done it? He could have just as easily lectured the teen about the dangers in using this level of magic unsupervised, especially when it was on objects he was physically using. Or he could have taken a much higher road and recognized that Draco's Transfiguration level was such that these likely would be permanent fixtures and instead he could have offered to help fix some of the mistaken Transfiguration so that the furniture was at least safe to use. Instead, he'd chosen the most detrimental path, the one that taught no lesson to the wizard in his care and gave himself the ultimate satisfaction in watching the work become completely undone. It was cruel and, worse, it was something his own father would have done. And to top it off, he got into a yelling match with the teen over something so trivial.

Feeling like the pressure in his chest had been released, he gave the room a quick glance over again before his eyes fell onto Draco. He looked just as tired as Severus felt and though the Malfoy heir would never admit to it, Severus saw the hurt in his eyes that his work had been reversed.

"Draco-" he started, but was interrupted by the sphere vibrating in his left pocket. The sphere that Harry had hardly used all last phase and was now an acting lifeline for the ill wizard. And though there was little the former spy could do to help him, he knew that by just sitting beside him - sometimes talking, other times not - made the Gryffindor feel marginally better and he was willing to do whatever he could, no matter how small.

"Go," Draco firmly said, not hiding his disappointment, he's eyes lingering on the orange sphere in Severus's right hand. "Who knows what he's managed to get himself into this time."

"This conversation is far from over," Severus pointed his finger threateningly at the defiant teenager thinking to himself that this was not going well in the slightest.

"Sure it isn't," he heard the other Slytherin mumble as he left the room.

His guilt weighed heavily on his mind as he crossed the short distance from Draco's bedroom, across the sitting room and into Harry's bedroom. He'd need to make things right with Draco, but his mind was too clouded to be able to do that today. Did it really matter in the long run that Draco had transfigured all his furniture? His student had obviously been safe during the process, though there was plenty that could have gone wrong, so why did he feel compelled to undo the work so quickly? He was unwilling to admit that it was simply to give him control over the situation, when there was so much he couldn't control lately, but that didn't mean he wasn't aware of that simple fact.

As he opened Harry's door, he surveyed the scene in front of him and was relieved to find nothing out of the ordinary; or at least what had become ordinary for the last two days. Harry was lying in his bed, dressed in a pair of blue pyjamas from yesterday's treatment that he hadn't yet changed out of today. His face was grimaced in pain, but at this point there wasn't anything Severus could do to help him as the young wizard wasn't due for another dose of pain medication for another hour. Forgetting that he'd left the sketch book - his entire reason for leaving to begin with - in the sitting room, he pulled out his wand and summoned it with a small shake of his head at the memory of Draco's sarcastic comment.

Harry didn't sketch though; he couldn't stay focused on the page in front of him, which looked far too much like Harry lying in a hospital bed for Severus's liking. He briefly considered looking through the book as a way to check on Harry's viewpoint of himself and those around him, but decided against it, choosing not to risk shattering the trust they'd built that such an invasion of privacy would inevitably cause. The professor helped the young wizard to the lavatory several times over the next couple of hours until finally he'd fallen asleep just past seven o'clock, meaning they had both missed dinnertime.

Not at all feeling hungry, Severus went to the kitchen to prepare some basic soup for himself, hoping that Draco had eaten at their usual time. The door to the blonde's room was closed, which didn't really mean much of anything, but there was evidence he'd at least eaten so the former spy was set to let the issue go for now. He'd already shown that he was far too tired to logically handle the situation at the current moment.

Monday 24 February, 1997

Severus originally planned not to teach during Harry's two hard weeks of chemotherapy, but after everything with Draco at the Quidditch match, he felt the need to be in at least his sixth year classes. Since Harry did half of his treatments on Saturday and Sunday that only left him missing Monday morning's treatment. Molly Weasley offered to stay with Harry during this time and he was grateful for her ability to help out, giving him a much needed break from his caregiver role.

He wasn't surprised when Draco did not appear for breakfast that morning, though he had hoped to clear the air between the two of them before class. Most of the night he'd spent up with Harry, but it gave him some much needed time to think about what had occurred with Draco and how unfair he'd been to the teen.

Today in class he originally planned a lecture on Lethifolds since they'd already covered Dementors and the Patronus Charm and it would make the subject a relatively easy one. However even with an extra cup of his morning coffee - spiked with an Invigorating Draft - he knew there was no way he would be able to stay focused enough to do the coursework justice. During the walk up from the dungeons, he was racking his mind for something else to do for the day when the sun shining through one of the extravagantly decorated windows caught his attention. There was still some light snow on the ground that could easily be cleared away for his idea to work, but the ground would still be frozen and the wind bitter cold making the conditions far from a smart idea. The more he thought about it, the more he realized it was probably a terrible time to do this, however once the idea attached itself into his brain there was no stopping it. Today, he would be taking the class on a small field trip for a different type of lesson outside.

By the time he entered his classroom - a minute late, yet he knew not a single student would dare to call him out on it - he stood before the group of students making the final decision to go forward with his plan.

"You are all to go back to your dormitories and collect your winter cloaks and gloves," he instructed with no preamble, "I expect each and every one of you to meet me in the courtyard in no more than fifteen minutes. Should anyone not return to the courtyard, you will get a zero for the day and on your next exam."

There was an expected murmuring throughout the classroom, but not a single student made a motion to move.

"Go!" He yelled, which had its intended effect as all the students left the class with haste. The professor rustled through his desk until he found the exact two things he was looking for: a model of a Norwegian Ridgeback and a Urkranian Ironbelly, before heading out for the courtyard himself.

It didn't surprise him that the Gryffindors were the first to arrive, followed by the Hufflepuffs, then Ravenclaws. But when the entire Slytherins waltzed in at the fourteen minute mark, he held back the expression of concern he was tempted to show. It was disconcerting that he went from being the professor that this particular group of students practically worshipped to the professor they pushed the limits consistently; not to mention that he was their Head of House and should have more respect than he'd been given. Not that he wasn't already, but it showed how close of an eye he'd need to keep on his house, especially considering Draco's task and what happened with the Quidditch attack.

"Es freezin' out 'ere," Seamus Finnigan complained to the group of his fellow classmates around him.

"You'll warm up," Severus replied, which did get the desired effect of causing the Irish wizard to jump at his unexpected answer. "We, or more accurately you, are going to play a game for this class. Has any heard of Capture the Dragon?"

The talking among the students increased ten fold as they were getting excited for what lay ahead of them during the class. Completely ignoring the questions about specific rules and level of hexes and jinxes that could be used, he walked out of the courtyard and down the path to the area he'd seen from the window in the castle. It was a perfect set up for the game and he was surprised that more picked up games of this, without the hexes of course, weren't played here in the past. The area consisted of a nice open space, perfect for combat, and two "bases" on either side - one made of the circle of rocks and the other a small set of trees - that would be used to protect the miniature dragons he had in his pocket that he would charm with the appropriate colors. He cleared out the snow with a heating spell and cast the appropriate charms on their makeshift arena for his specific rules of play. Capture the Dragon was a wizarding version of the muggle game of a similar name - Capture the Flag - that he'd seen played too many times in the field near his home in Cokesworth. Not particularly keen on athletics in general, he would never partake in the game as a child or teen even if he had been invited to play; which he never was. The wizarding version had many names depending on the object being captured, but the rest of the rules were more or less the same.

With the arena now ready, he not-so-randomly, while making it look in every outward appearance as randomly, separated the class into two teams by changing their robes to orange or purple - to prevent any house loyalties - as evenly as possible based on each students' skill level. This meant intentionally placing Longbottom on the Orange Team with Draco - who was opposite to Hermione - to balance out the experience along with Nott to ensure there would be no accidental curses thrown at one another. The rest of the Slytherins could be divided up pretty evenly because no one besides Draco stood out too much in aptitude.

"I've placed a model of a dragon in each base that you will attempt to collect. The orange is on the side of the trees and the purple on the side of the rocks," he pointed to his left and right respectively. "Your objective is simple, when you see the green sparks from my wand, each team will attempt to collect your team's dragon and return it to your base before the other team.

"The rules are also simple: you're limited to only jinxes and hexes that will not cause any lasting damage and you are only allowed to be hit by three hexes before you're put in a one minute time out, which will be in the form of an automatically casted freezing charm. Once someone has their team's dragon, it can be passed from player to player for a better position, but if it's dropped it will automatically be sent back to the opposing team's starting base. Neither Accio nor Wingardium leviosa will work on the charmed dragons and should you attempt either, they will independently count as one of your three penalty hits."

He paused as the teams all nodded and immediately went into strategy planning. Given that they were pretty evenly matched, he was interested to see how each one took to their specific strategy. He intentionally did not explain that they could use counter jinxes on their teammates who had been hit by their opponents, and he had his own internal debate going on if it would be one of the Hufflepuffs or Gryffindors that suggest a teammate be designated as the "curse breaker." If he'd ever played this as a teen, that was the exact position he would want to do, and he would have been good at it.

"Teams, take your sides! Should neither team manage to secure their dragon before the end of class, the red sparks from my wand will signify the end of play and I will determine which team is furthest to a win," he called out after giving both teams ample time to strategize and he held his wand above his head. "Remember, if I see anything even remotely close to a damaging spell, you will not only fail the lesson, but I will personally see to it that you are scrubbing the lavatories with Mr Filch for the remainder of term."

Satisfied with the appropriate nods and "yes, sirs," he spelled out green sparks from his wand and took to the side to watch the battle unfold.

For this lesson, which was already a better use of his exhausted state than his intended lecture on Lethifolds, he would simply be watching for appropriate use of their defensive strategies in the line of fire. The benefit to a game like this, as opposed to dueling, was that not only are there multiple opponents to keep track of, but more importantly there was a target that the student was trying to keep safe; mirroring any defensive scenario more accurately. Rarely would any witch or wizard find themselves in a one-on-one duel, especially given the war that was starting, rather they would not only be battling in multiple fronts, they may also be trying to keep others safe around them. He had a feeling that Hermione, Ron, and Neville would find this exercise oddly like their experience in the Department of Mysteries and if the political situation were different, he would like to have them speak about that encounter. Given that the class had at least three students whose parents were active Death Eaters, that would not be very intelligent on his part.

The game started out more or less as he predicted it would, with the Gryffindors taking the front lines - all of whom were in Harry's defense group - and the Slytherins, less Draco, held further back. It almost fit too well with their house traits, that Severus found himself questioning if by sorting, they were doing a disservice to the students by endorsing their strengths instead of building up their weaknesses. It would be something he would plan to discuss with Albus. He couldn't help thinking about how much of a difference raising Harry in his old reality, with a little extra self-preservation, made; it very well could have been what was needed to prevent the Dark Lord's accession here. Imagine what the next generation of the magical population could be like if they encouraged the students to coexist across houses. If the Gryffindors who were currently trying every which way to get to their dragon had a little more cunning added to their plan, or the Ravenclaws put a little more action behind their well thought out one.

Both teams managed to get their dragon in the first quarter of an hour. Draco secured it first for the Orange Team relatively quickly compared to Dean Thomas who sneaked in for the Purple Team right under the quarter hour mark. Severus was impressed that Draco had taken the initiative, and it again fed into his theory that the students needed a little more characteristic diversity. Unsurprising was the fact that neither team thought to set up any major defenses for the dragon they were trying to keep from their opponents. As this was Defense Against the Dark Arts, an essay on protection strategies would be a perfect follow up to this lesson. For once, he was actually looking forward to marking them next week.

The next major observation the professor took notice of was which students ended up in the one-minute time out for getting hit with three hexes. Lavender Brown was by far the worst offender, followed closely by Ernie Macmillan and Terry Boot. A piece of parchment was charmed along with the arena so that it documented each spell that made a successful hit - marking both the caster and receiver - so he could keep track of each student and his or her progress. On his next version of the activity - having already decided this was a success and would be worth repeating - the charm would be set up to record every spell cast including the spell used, caster, recipient, and if it was a successful hit or block. That would allow him the ability to keep track of each pupil's individual progress regardless of if the spell hit its intended target.

As they approached the forty minute mark, and the end of class, neither team had successfully placed their dragon back in its rightful home. So far, the Purple Team had come the closest, until Neville managed to hit Pansy Parkinson with a leg locking jinx, causing her to immediately fall to the ground, and drop the dragon; automatically sending it back to the orange side. Padma Patil, the Purple Team's designated "Curse Breaker", saw her go down and ran to perform the counter jinx. As if Longbottom taking out Parkinson wasn't odd enough - and Patil running to the Slytherin witch's rescue - Draco actually congratulated the other wizard on his quick spell work, proving the blonde's competitive nature overruled his normal social stature.

Severus raised his wand in the air, ready to release the red sparks indicating the end of the game in less than a minute. In their current standings, the Orange Team would have an "assumed win" because the purple dragon was currently sitting in the orange base and Nott was three-fourths of the way across the field with the orange dragon in his hands. The professor paused his arm mid-air and watched the scene play out. Hermione was the closest Purple Team member to the orange base and immediately took off towards it in an attempt to recapture their dragon after Parkinson's fall, until Zararchias Smith used a well placed shield over himself and the dragon, rebounding her Flipendo back, knocking the Gryffindor witch to the ground. Simultaneously, Dean Thomas shot a well aimed Relashio at Nott in an attempt to get him to drop the dragon, which would end the game in a draw. The Slytherin somehow anticipated the spell coming his way and tossed the orange dragon across the remainder of the field to Draco, who jumped and grabbed it, demonstrating his well honed Seeker skills, and placed it on the base, winning the game in the last ten seconds. From Severus's wand came a flash of orange sparks denoting the team that had won as well as the end of the game. It was a game played in perfect team synchronization where the students had somehow managed to put aside their difference for a common goal; a lesson witches and wizards well beyond their sixteen and seventeen years could learn.

All around him students were speaking over one another discussing their triumphs and trials from the game.

"Did you see when-"

"- got lucky there."

"-need to practice my-"

There were very few times the professor felt he was actually making a difference in his classroom, most of that coming from the fact that he never envisioned himself as a professor to begin with. However that morning - while overhearing the bits and pieces of the conversations around him, as the students were returning from the field - he thought that for once he'd done something right and taught them something of value they could use both inside and outside of the school.

"Sneaking in a last second win is the Orange Team," he announced the results, though they all already knew. "The Purple Team will write an essay, due at Wednesday's class, about ways you could have improved your chances at winning. Please keep in mind things outside of your personal spells such as communication with your teammates, strategies, and weaknesses.

"I expect everyone to write an essay due Monday on how a good defense is just as important as a good offense as well as how the different positions, or roles, of each teammate impacted your success or failure. I am not requiring a length on either of those, however keep in mind that should we repeat this exercise later in the year it would behoove you to have a solid understanding of these concepts."

By not requiring a length, he knew exactly what he would get: a solid line drawn between those who were taking this class seriously and those who were looking for an easy out; he would use that to his advantage next time.

"Class is dismissed," he called out, but then added, "Mr Malfoy, please stay behind."

He'd kept a close eye on Draco throughout the game given what had happened the previous night. If nothing else, his anger and aggression seemed to have died down from the running and casting the activity required; not too unlike dueling with Harry to ease his pent up anger last month. And providing the last minute win for his team had caused the newest spy to release a rare smile, showing that under all his tough exterior he was still a sixteen year old boy. As expected, the blonde bid his girlfriend farewell in a manner that was little more reserved compared to previous encounters.

"Let's walk back inside," he told Draco, leading him back into the warmth of the castle. When they were back inside, utilizing an empty classroom that he secured with a privacy ward, he turned humbly to his newest charge, "I'd like to apologize for my actions yesterday afternoon. My inability to keep my temper under control should not have been taken out on you. That being said, you will respect me in our quarters regardless of my lack of familial ties to you. As the one person currently ensuring your personal safety, I expect no less."

It was an unfortunate truth he hated to bring up. If it weren't for him demanding that Draco live with him, Albus would have likely sent the teen back to the Slytherin dorms after the Quidditch attack. Who knew what would have happened if he'd gone back?

"I know what you're doing for me," Draco admitted a bit reluctantly, "and I do… appreciate it."

"We're all in a difficult position, Draco," the professor explained, though it wasn't an excuse, "I'll speak with the headmaster to get an update about your mother. Hopefully all of this will be put behind you very soon."

A scowl crossed the blonde's pointed face at the reminder that the end goal of all of this was to go into hiding. He'd leave behind his education - though a privately held one at this point wouldn't necessarily do any harm - and his friends, primarily his girlfriend. The professor wasn't sure how much the young wizard knew about Harry and his role in the war, at a bare minimum he didn't know about horcruxes and that Harry had to get through chemotherapy before they could remove the soul piece, so the length of time he'd be in hiding would remain a big unknown to Draco. It was a hard concept for even an adult to understand, therefore expecting a teenager to not only understand, but be accepting of it wasn't fair. Though as he always said life rarely was fair, at least in his experience.

Thinking back to this year it had, without a doubt, been the worst one to date. With each passing week, Severus found himself hoping - an act he usually tried not to do - more and more that things would eventually settle down and yet each week brought a new, sometimes worse, set of challenges. Taking a play from Harry's book he tried not to think too hard about the upcoming months, the antithesis to his spying days, otherwise the unknown of what was coming became too much for even him to try to comprehend.

"If you want to redecorate your room," he said to the teen across from him as a way to signify their disagreement was behind them, "I can ask Professor McGonagall to supervise your work."

Draco gave a small chuckle, "No, the more I think about it the more I get the feeling I won't be here much longer to enjoy it."

~~~~HP~~~~

The drawing room where he was meeting with his most loyal followers was so eerily silent he could hear his own racing heartbeat practically crashing through his chest. He'd been ill, more ill than he'd ever been before, confirming just how awful muggles and their filthy diseases were. Not willing to show any weakness to anyone in his ranks, by the end of January he stopped attending the well planned raids. There was still carnage, he made sure of that with his liberal use of his Legilimency gift. None of them stood a chance against him in that regard anymore, because while he was physically weak, his mind was still as clear as could be. Now, he needed to start moving forward with his plans to take over the Ministry, so when he was finally free from this prison he could move as quickly as possible.

The long ornate table was the only piece of furniture left in the drawing room. He'd pushed the rest of the usual furniture against the wall for this occasion; this was not a social visit, it was planning. Illumination and warmth came from a roaring fire beneath a handsome marble mantelpiece surmounted by a gilded mirror. He was always cold, and the last week or so had been far worse than anything he'd experienced before. According to his newest spy within Hogwarts, his symptoms were matching that of the Potter boy, though the young Malfoy heir would not know of their link and how that was possible. He was not present at today's meeting, a strategic decision made to keep him focused on his task ahead, as well as to provide the opportunity to check in with his latest mentor - Rabastan Lestrange. The younger Lestrange brother has proven his worth time and again, which was much more than he could ever say about the Malfoy Patriarch. The latter was here merely as a form of torture: to watch his young heir step into the role of Death Eater or die trying.

"My Lord," Yaxley started once everyone was seated, their backs straight and tall in his presence so their fear could not be seen and exploited. "A well placed Imperious Curse upon Pius Thickness should be more than enough to jumpstart the collapse of the Ministry into your hands."

Many of those sitting around Yaxley looked impressed; his neighbor, Dolohov, clapped him on the back. But he was not so convinced.

"It is a start," he said. "But you must think bigger. Thicknesse is only one man and Scrimgeour must be surrounded by our people before we can make our move. One failed attempt on the Minister's life will set me back a long way."

"Yes – my Lord, that is true – but you know, as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Thicknesse has regular contact not only with the Minister himself, but also with the Heads of all the other Ministry departments," he could feel the self-doubt radiating from his second most successful follower, "It will, I should think, be easy enough to subjugate the others once we have control over such a high ranking official, and then they can all work together to bring Scrimgeour down for us."

"As long as Thicknesse is not discovered before he has converted the rest," he challenged, "I suggest you firm up the timeline before attempting the Imperious as our time will be limited once that happens."

This needed to work, he needed the Ministry under his control and if they failed Yaxley would pay the price for it with more than just rotting in Azkaban. There was a snickering around the table before the next order of business was attended to. The healer's missing presence had not gone unnoticed and there had begun an investigation that would eventually lead to Lucius and their Manor. This was not his concern right now; they would simply need to find a way to explain her months long absence or find him a new healer and dispose of this one. In the end he assigned this task to Dolohov, who seemed keen on Yaxley's good, but meager, work.

"Rabastan," he called out as the group anxiously left the room upon their dismissal.

As the good and faithful servant he was, the thin man sat back down at the table, though he noticed three seats still separated them. Lucius lingered at the doorway, his eyes shifting nervously between the two wizards left in his former drawing room. Reluctantly, and only at the insistence of his wife, the Patriarch gave in and slowly exited the room, closing the door at the last possible moment.

At first, neither of the two remaining wizards said a word, then clearing his throat the Death Eater said, "Yes, my Lord?"

"Tell me," he hissed across the table, "how is your new protégé?"

"Everything is going as expected, my Lord," Rabastan confidently replied, "we'll have a plan in place for you in the coming weeks to flesh out the traitor."

Friday, 28 February 1997

Harry woke up completely disoriented, something that generally didn't happen too often now that he had been back under quarantine at home, but something about that vision felt different to him. In the midst of his confusion, he hadn't noticed his scar was actively bleeding down the side of his face due to his lower than even his normal platelet counts.

"Harry?" Draco came walking tentatively into his room and his grey eyes immediately went wide causing Harry to grab at his forehead where he finally felt the warm sticky blood beneath his fingers. "Shite!"

"I'm alright," Harry blurted out quickly, but the Slytherin had already left for the lavatory and returned with a wet towel that he awkwardly handed to Harry. "Thanks."

"I hope you don't think I'm heartless enough to let you bleed out," Draco replied sarcastically. "Hermione would never talk to me again."

"Well, thanks anyways," Harry oddly held up the towel and an uncomfortable silence fell upon them. The Gryffindor's mind was racing, but eventually landed on a single thought, "It didn't burn this time."

That was what felt different; he didn't wake up to the telltale sign of a vision with his scar searing his forehead.

"What are you talking about?" Draco asked, taking a seat at the desk and picking up the book he'd been carrying before going for the towel.

"Where's Severus?"

"I can see why that 'answer a question with a question' thing bothered you so much," Draco replied. The comment earned him a hard stare from Harry so he was satisfied with himself over it.

In truth, the two teens had barely seen each other since the intense chemotherapy had started, mostly because Harry rarely left his room, even though the first round ended three days ago. Snape had taken most of the work managing the IVs, tablets, and feeding tube, along with Madam Pomfrey and Dr Swanson's assistance, and while he'd encouraged Draco to take interest, the young Slytherin just couldn't do it.

"He's got his weekly date with Professor McGonagall," the blonde said, narrowing his eyes at the Gryffindor. "It's Friday night, didn't you know that?"

Harry shook his head; he hadn't realized that it was Friday night. The days from this awful week had all more or less merged into one where he slept when he could regardless of the time of day, hardly ate anything making him grateful for the feeding tube, and tried every which way possible to relieve the pain in his body. He was exhausted, physically, mentally, magically, inside and out, and now he was getting told that he would be starting it all again tomorrow. At this point - based solely on the level of burning in his stomach - he assumed his magic had to be almost gone, but he was too afraid of the answer to ask or try any out on his own. It was a depressing thought that almost made falling back into the vision preferable to staying awake.

"What are you working on?" Harry asked, nodding his head to the book that he already knew was their defense text.

"Just an assignment from Snape," Draco's face turned a deep, dark red giving away the fact that it was probably something he didn't want to admit. Then as almost an afterthought he added, "It's due Monday."

Harry leaned back against his bed and closed his eyes, "Have I missed anything good?"

The silence was deafening and Harry could feel the guilt - or as close to guilt as Draco Malfoy could get - pouring out of the wizard at his desk.

"We learned about Lethifolds on Wednesday," Draco nonchalantly said. "And then Monday we played Capture the Dragon. That's what the assignment is from, we have to explain the benefits of defensive strategies versus offensive ones."

"Who won?" The Gryffindor was trying his hardest to keep the envy out of his voice. Growing up in a muggle household, he didn't exactly know what Capture the Dragon entailed, but he'd seen plenty of kids in his primary school play capture the flag. If only they had known how good Harry had been at running and dodging around people - a honed skill from Harry Hunting - maybe then he would have gotten to play with them. That of course wouldn't have done anything to stop the other kids from being terrified that Dudley would hunt them if they befriended his spectacled freak of a cousin.

"He split us up randomly and I ended up with-" Draco crinkled his left eye closed thinking about his team, "Nott, Longbottom, Patil… the Gryffindor one… Brown, Finnigan, Goldstein… Smith, and Corner. Naturally, yours truly brought his team to victory."

Harry shook his head at the arrogance that felt so normal it almost made him smile. If nothing else it would be nice to talk to someone who didn't feel the need to walk on eggshells around him. He was sick, and he was in an extreme amount of pain, but none of that compared to how emotionally draining it was to know the person you were talking to was filtering out the things they thought you didn't want to hear; essentially patronizing him.

"That put you against Hermione again?" Harry gave a small chuckle, but had to stop abruptly when a pain radiated from his side across his stomach causing him to grimace in pain. "I take it you weren't... easy on her?"

"Hey now," Draco retorted as he simultaneously handed Harry the glass of water from the desk, "a Malfoy is always a gentleman to his lady."

"You forget that I saw you duel her last month," again Harry had a hard time keeping a straight face as he said his sarcastic comeback.

Draco narrowed his eyes again, but ultimately nodded his agreement. He had beaten his girlfriend in the tournament style duel after the holidays, so he couldn't actually deny anything. Somehow, that small exchange broke the dam between them and Draco started giving Harry a play-by-play account of what had happened in the game with such detail that the Gryffindor felt like he could have been right there sending jinxes with his classmates. Harry thoroughly enjoyed hearing the different strategies they'd tried until it was finally a "all hell broke loose" race to the middle of the field throwing hexes and jinxes.

Deep down, Harry wished he could have been there to participate. It all started by him wondering what team Snape would have put him on because it didn't seem like it was completely random like Draco had alluded to. He didn't know a lot about the Slytherins level of Defense, but based on the rest of the D.A. members, it appeared like Snape separated them based on their skill level; he chose pretty much the same teams Harry would have chosen if it had been a drill from one of last year's meetings. That led him down a winding path of what strategy he would have suggested. No matter which team he'd been on - except maybe Ron's because everyone knew the redhead was a great strategist - there were enough D.A. members for them to have unofficially made him the captain. So what would his strategy be? A year ago, he would have probably been right in front charging to get the dragon, but today he couldn't be so sure he wouldn't be in the back with the Slytherins. Maybe he'd observe his opponents and try to find their weaknesses first so then when he raced forward - because there was no way he'd sit in the back the entire time - he would know how to best them.

Assuming he would be exempt from this assignment, he didn't feel guilty at all discussing his ideas with Draco. He even noticed the blonde taking some notes, which was both surprising and encouraging to him. Harry had no idea how long they'd been talking, but it had definitely been doing a great job at keeping his mind busy because he hadn't noticed Snape walk in the door carrying all the supplies to set up the feeding tube. The professor's sudden presence startled the Gryffindor, causing him to drop the goblet of water he was holding, soaking the bedspread around him.

"Sorry, sir," Harry mumbled.

"Don't be," Snape simply replied while waving his hand across the blanket to dry it, "I should have knocked. I heard you talking and didn't want to interrupt while you fed Draco the key points for his essay. Now I know what not to accept in his work on Monday."

"Wow," Draco said dramatically, feigning hurt feelings, "I see what you both think of me now. It's crystal clear."

Snape left the two teenagers briefly to go to the lavatory and wash his hands as he would be handling the materials for Harry's feeding tube. When he returned, he stopped still and Harry noticed the all too familiar flick of his black eyes to his forehead. Sometime while talking to Draco, he'd forgotten about the vision and his bleeding scar.

"Draco," the former spy commanded, "I think you've had enough help on your homework for the night."

The Slytherin stood and exaggeratingly wiped fake dust from his trousers and stretched slowly, "I can hear a dismissal like that from a mile away. See ya later, Potter."

Harry gave a small smirk as he watched the hubristic Malfoy heir grab his textbook and leave.

"Care to tell me what happened?" Snape predictably asked when the door closed. He was working on Harry's supplies as he spoke.

"I had a vision while you were gone," the young wizard explained, "I forgot about my scar bleeding, is it alright?"

After taking a closer look at his scar, the professor said, "It appears to be clotting well."

After all this time - plus during the Privet Drive attack, the fight with Ron, and the incident with his Potion's knife - he hadn't really thought about what would happen if something hadn't been right. What if he started bleeding and it just couldn't stop? Would this continue to be a problem once he was in Maintenance phase? And if so, what about when he was living on his own? The whole situation was too overwhelming to think about with his current mindscape where it was, so he tabled those thoughts for later. Maybe it was something he could ask Dr Swanson about before he started maintenance; by then, hopefully it wouldn't matter anymore.

"What was the vision about?" Snape sat at the end of the bed after starting the nutrients to ask the question Harry knew he'd been anxious to ask since finding out he'd had a vision.

"He's planning something… at the Ministry," Harry thought hard about what he'd seen. "It wasn't a full meeting, because no one was in their robe and mask."

"Anything specific from this meeting? Or about their plans?"

Harry considered the question and lectured himself for not thinking to write it down when he'd woken up. "He's going to use the Imperious curse on… I can't remember who, but I think he's got to try to kill Scrimgeour. Afterwards he asked one of them to stay, and I think they're going to kill the healer because of an investigation into her disappearance."

It was that last part that had the young wizard worried the most. He looked up at Snape and begged him through his dull green eyes to help her.

"I'll speak with the Order and get the investigation dropped. That should save her at least a little while longer," the former spy reassured him. "Did you recognize the wizard that stayed behind?"

Harry shook his head, "I saw him at the Department of Mysteries last year, but that's all I know." Furrowing his brows, he thought back about the man and tried to describe him, "He was really tall and thin with dark hair, and pretty clean cut besides a goatee. I never heard his name."

It was Snape's turn to nod his head and the young wizard wanted to ask if he knew who he'd been describing, but didn't. He was quickly running out of energy and really didn't want to remember that there was a point where these people had been in Snape's circle. If things had gone differently this year, or technically last, Snape would have been part of that conversation. He would have an opinion on taking over the Ministry for whatever purpose Voldemort saw necessary. But things did change; this man was now Harry's pillar to get through this latest challenge and he was holding on tight, afraid if he dared to let go, he may not find his way back.

"Try to sleep, Harry," Snape said softly. "You've really done great this week and Dr Swanson will be here in the morning to start the next round. Just hang on a little longer, you're almost there."

Harry inwardly groaned. He didn't want to repeat this horrendous week. Tomorrow would start with an IT and five hours of the worst combination and as much as he wanted to complain - to scream that he may look like he's handling it well, but he felt like he was dying inside - he held his tongue. The last thing he wanted to add to his current circumstances was to feel like he was letting Snape down.

Monday 3, March 1997

He was sure that this time he was dying. It was either late on Sunday night or in the early hours of Monday when Harry was awoken from a restless sleep by a sharp pain rushing through his body followed by a heavy round of nausea. The further he'd gotten into these latest rounds of chemotherapy, he found the combination of those two side effects - the former being from his magical core and the latter from the chemo - almost unbearable. He was almost there. Today would officially mark the halfway point through his last bad round and if he could just hold on a bit longer he would only be two more moderate rounds away from Maintenance Phase. That's what he'd been telling himself, but this time it did nothing help him.

The young wizard sat up in his bed trying his hardest to breathe through the pain and let the nausea pass. Unfortunately, tonight was a tornado of everything culminating together and he found himself stumbling to get out of bed for the loo, but he ended up doubled over in pain trying to make his way to the lavatory while bringing his stand with his nutrients along with him. With every agonizing second that ticked by and with every shaky step he took, he was sinking further and further into the depths of disparity in his own mind until he found himself - how he ended up here he'd never know - on the cold stone floor of the lavatory. Unable to stand or keep his composure any longer, he laid there at the base of the loo and he cried. The pain was more than he'd ever felt before and he would give anything for a potion to just take it all away, but the sad truth was even if he was comfortable using one, they probably wouldn't be much stronger than the muggle pain medications he was on. The pain from his magical core was so deep nothing would be able to stop it. And in some sadistic twist of the fates, these medications that he was taking to try to ease the pain caused his nausea to become even worse than just from the chemotherapy alone.

Sweat started to bead down his forehead and completely coated his chest - his pyjamas now clung to his body- causing him to violently shiver from the cold. Only two days left, was the mantra he kept telling himself, but he knew he couldn't do it. Each day had only added to his struggle and while he knew Snape would be disappointed in his lack of resolve, from where he lay he would rather die from the cancer then continue for two more days.

What's the point anyways?

He was going through all this pain when he would have to die in order to allow Voldemort to be killed. He'd hoped that by now, Snape would have said something about the soul fragment and how he'd save Harry from what he knew had to happen. Maybe at this point, it was better for everyone if they just let nature take its course and both he and Voldemort would succumb to Leukemia. It seemed a fitting end for them both.

The Gryffindor was too lost in his thoughts to understand it was his current circumstances pushing him past his mental limits. He'd tried to be brave and strong for so long this year that he just couldn't do it anymore. Lost in his own misery, he didn't hear the door to the lavatory open and he didn't register Snape kneeling down besides him on the floor. The professor lifted Harry's upper body and rested him against his chest while casting a drying spell on his shirt that warmed his skin almost instantly, but it did nothing for the cold deep within the center of his bones.

"I can't do this anymore," Harry said, completely defeated. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry. I just can't..."

The chest he was leaning against inhaled deeply, "It's ok, Harry. We'll get through this."

"No," he said frustrated. "I don't want to. I just can't anymore."

Why didn't Snape understand what he was trying to say? There wouldn't be anything to get through. This was it, he was done; it was just how things went in his life.

I'm destined to die to kill off Voldemort.

"What did you say?" The panic in Snape's voice couldn't be hidden given the situation they found themselves in at almost three in the morning. "Why would you think you need to die?"

Harry hadn't meant to say his last thought out loud, but it didn't matter because Snape already knew about it. He'd trusted Snape to figure out how to save him, and if the professor couldn't figure it out, then it was hopeless. After all, Snape was the smartest person he knew; even more so than Hermione.

But she'll get there...

" 'cause I have his soul next to mine," Harry said without opening his eyes in a rather calm voice given the amount of pain he was feeling and admitting to such a large secret that had been sitting between them for months. "But, you know about that already. It's al'right though, I'm ok with it. I can die to get rid of him."

Time seemed to stand completely still. The young wizard opened his eyes, squinting against the light from the lavatory as it hit his pupils. He'd hoped to find relief in the obsidian ones above him, that maybe the man had found something to save him, but instead he found a panic in them he had never seen before. In those seconds when their eyes met, Harry knew it was, indeed, over and he found himself filled with a peaceful acceptance.