~~~~SS~~~~

Thursday 20, March 1997

Severus was in no rush to start the second round of potions for the Dark Lord, especially considering it had been barely 24-hours since he was used as a Death Eater hexing dummy. In his old reality, he used to spend most of the day every Sunday brewing Harry's weekly potions that would last the Gryffindor from Monday through the following Sunday. A total of 56 phials worth of potions were required each week - and each of the eight potions took two or three rounds of brewing to make the required volume - though he usually brewed at least one extra for each type, totally 64 phials, just in case something happened to one; he wasn't about to risk Harry's health over a sloppily casted or forgotten anti-breaking spell. With the Dark Lord's regimen starting on Saturdays, Severus had to dedicate Fridays to brewing meaning he would get the rest of Thursday to recover from yesterday's events.

"Why can't you simply put a stasis spell on a full supply of potions?"

For once, he'd been trying to get some sleep early in the night when Nadine's very applicable question caused his eyes to open. In his old reality, he'd obviously considered the option of taking a full weekend to brew a month's worth and placing them under a stasis - in fact, it was Healer Walker who made the original recommendation - however he wanted to make sure Harry's potions were as potent as possible. A fact that he did not care about in the slightest for the Dark Lord.

"Because brewing these potions each week is the only thing keeping me alive at the moment," he replied, surprising even himself with his honesty.

"That's a fair point," she replied. "So then what will happen to us when he starts feeling better?"

The air between the two prisoners was heavy as neither wanted to say out loud that there was no conceivable way they were going to walk out of there alive. At some point in her last five months of captivity, the professor had to assume she'd come to terms with her own death, however that didn't mean he was set to discuss it now.

"Well," the professor started, "once everything is in place for the blood ritual, I'll start adjusting the potions back to the fatal formula. It will take some time to work, but they'll eventually kill him. If my calculations are correct, which is more likely than not, when that point comes he'll perish some time between the blood ritual days."

In the best case scenario, he hoped for two things: that they managed to remove the soul fragment from Harry first, and that it was a painful death, instead of a peaceful one in his sleep. It would come unexpected and therefore no one - outside of those involved in the poisoning - would think that he wouldn't make it to the next ritual, thus giving them the benefit of the surprise on their side.

"And then what?" She bluntly asked and Severus could tell she was excited about the prospect of getting out, yet wary of it actually working. "We're still locked in here with a dozen Death Eaters."

"That we are," he sat up further in his bed knowing sleep wasn't likely any longer, "but if you'll remember from the first war, they completely disbanded at the Dark Lord's, back then assumed, death. Unfortunately, once the leader is gone, the cavalry won't be far behind."

"And if he kills us beforehand?"

This - right here was why he both struggled and loved to teach Ravenclaws. They were never satisfied with a simple answer and instead used it as a springboard into the next anxiety-inducing question or problem. During Potion's class, it was a good quality to have, but while he was trying to focus on solving one problem at a time, it didn't help to think too far ahead. They were in the unique position to combine her Ravenclaw critical thinking skills with his Slytherin cunningness - and skills honed from years of spying - and maybe they could make it out of this intact.

"There's no point in dwelling on that, as there's not much we can do to prevent it." He wanted to give her better news on that front; to be able to tell her that he wouldn't kill them, but the Dark Lord wasn't necessarily the most stable wizard. "The best we can do is stick to our plan and try to find weaknesses that we can exploit. For example, if you listen carefully as you're being brought to and from the Dark Lord, I think you'll hear doubts among his followers. We can use that information to continue to build our alliances. This way we know who's willing to assist us as the Dark Lord gets closer to perishing."

"If they wanted to help us," she challenged him, "why would they join You-Know-Who to begin with? Why not just help us now?"

"You'd be surprised how quickly alliances can change when Azkaban is the most likely outcome, especially when dealing with Slytherins," he explained. "Outside of the Lestranges, all three of them, I think the Dark Lord has cast enough doubt within his ranks to turn some of them. It's only a matter of identifying them at the proper moment."

She didn't look like she believed a word he'd said, and he couldn't really blame her. The healer had spent five months here already and had seen or heard the Death Eaters celebrate countless petty deaths and it would be hard to get her on board to trust any of them to help.

Severus was about to go into the details he'd been thinking about for the last couple of days, until their door slammed open with so much force the former spy re-injured his healing cuts from sitting up the rest of the way so quickly. Before either resident could comprehend what was happening, the door firmly closed leaving Lucius standing directly in front of the potions workbench. At first, Severus assumed something had happened and Lucius had been discovered to be in talks with them, but then the patriarch pulled out his wand and warded the door behind him.

"He's returned," the blonde said with an aura of panic surrounding him that was out of character for the normally aristocratic Slytherin, "Draco's returned."

Dammit

This wasn't supposed to happen. He was supposed to be safely under the Order's very close watch. He assumed that Dumbledore wouldn't let the teen leave his sight and yet somehow that clearly hadn't happened.

"Was he summoned?" Severus asked, standing to meet his friend at the potions bench as another just as pressing question came to mind, "Is he alone?"

"I've just been ordered to get the healer," Lucius looked over at Nadine with a scowl, then reigned in his worry underneath a mask of indifference. Severus wasn't quite sure if the mask was a way to convince himself that he didn't care if his son was killed or to convince those around him that he had more control over himself than he actually did. "All I know is that he's ended up in the cell where that bloody bracelet would take him if used, so I'm assuming he was not summoned nor is he alone."

"He has Harry." It wasn't a question. That would be the only real reason Draco would have returned. Severus's stomach was full of dread for both of the boys currently sitting in a cell probably not too far from his own. A million thoughts were running through his mind as he tried to solve the problems he hadn't expected to have before him. Whatever they did, they had to act quickly. "You both need to listen to me, and you don't have much time."

Understanding that she would be involved in whatever Severus was going to explain, Nadine finally stood and joined the two Slytherins.

"He has no reason to keep Draco alive if Harry is indeed here," the professor started, he raised his hand to prevent Lucius's anticipated interruption. "Draco is a perfect match for the blood ritual."

"How do you-"

"Trust me," Severus hoped his eyes could convey how important that single message was. "I don't have time to explain it all, but if you want to save your son, he is a perfect match and the Dark Lord would not be able to kill him with that knowledge."

Severus could see the wheels turning in Lucius's head as he was standing at his own crossroad, one that Severus didn't envy one bit. The Malfoy Patriarch could take a risk that the Dark Lord would have mercy on the teen because he managed to secure Harry in such a short amount of time, or he could take the opportunity to save his life now - or at least prolong it - by offering him as a source of healing to their master.

"It won't kill him?" Lucius asked a second later.

"No," the professor confirmed both quickly and confidently. "It won't be pleasant by any means, but it's nothing a blood replenishing potion won't easily resolve.

"As for Harry-" he turned towards the healer, "they need to get his chemotherapy here. The whole point of this was to keep him alive and at this rate he's in more danger here then he was back at the castle."

"Can't he just use the potions?" Nadine asked, frustrating Severus. If that would have worked, he would have suggested it.

Giving a sideways glance at Lucius, he made the decision to be honest. It was only a matter of time before they found out anyways, "His magic isn't strong enough. You know the dangers of the chemotherapy on a wizard's magical core, and he's definitely feeling it. He needs to continue the chemotherapy or his Leukemia will return and it will kill him."

She nodded her head, but didn't add anything. The three adults looked between each other

"Let us go," Lucius demanded, grabbing Nadine by her upper arm so forcefully he wouldn't be surprised if she had bruises to match the Death Eater's fingers.

"You should struggle," Severus added right before the pair left through the door, "it will explain the delay in her delivery."

He hated having to place the blame on Healer Walker, but they couldn't let the Dark Lord have any further doubts about Lucius. She'd get punished for her disobedience and that realization mixed with betrayal was evident in her bright blue eyes when she turned to look over her shoulder before being pulled from the room.

This was the hardest part, waiting and not being able to do a single thing, or know what was going on elsewhere in the Manor. Deciding there wasn't anything else in the room to keep his mind occupied, he pulled out four cauldrons along with the first set of ingredients, and started brewing in hopes of keeping his mind off the next glaring problem that he didn't want to solve: it was only a matter of time before the Dark Lord discovered how to make another horcrux and when that happened, Harry's protection would be gone.

Severus had no idea of the time; either when Lucius first came to tell them that Draco had succeeded in capturing Harry or when Healer Walker finally came back through the door. Trying to get a head start on the potions seemed like a good idea to pass the time and keep his mind busy, however he quickly found that his focus just wasn't where he needed it to be. Instead of the bright hues of the healing potions he'd expected to see, they all turned a dark murky green. He'd finally stopped his attempts when he realized he was simply wasting ingredients instead of making any actual progress.

"How is he?" Severus asked when the raven-haired witch returned. Her hands were shaking and the front of her robes were stained with blood that immediately brought fear to the professor.

"Which one?"

She sat exhaustedly onto her mattress, her hand methodically massaging the space above her eyebrows. At that moment, the professor wasn't sure he wanted to know what had happened.

"Let's start with whoever that blood on your robe belongs to."

She looked down and immediately jumped, like she hadn't known there was still evidence of whatever had happened in the other cell.

"Draco," she said, pulling out a plain blue shirt from under the bed and turning away from him as he simultaneously did the same. Living in such small quarters, they had quickly become accustomed to providing whatever sliver of privacy they could for the other. He turned back after a quiet "thank you" was heard.

"Is he alive?" Severus's voice had an almost undetectable quiver to it when he asked the question he didn't necessarily want the answer to. As he waited to hear from the healer his anger over what the young Slytherin did dominated his thoughts, but anger wouldn't help Harry and he needed to be clear headed and focused. It was then that concern for both boys settled into him. Now hearing that Draco had been… it was too much. What if they'd been too late?

"He's alive," she gave a small quick series of nods, but it didn't stop the few tears that escaped the corners of her eyes. She picked up a large book he hadn't noticed she brought in and slammed it onto the floor before her so hard he felt the walls shake. "But he probably wouldn't have been much longer. He took the bait and somehow I'm supposed to feel better about a teenager being used as the final ingredient for whatever this ritual is? I don't want to do it!"

"You have to," Severus calmly replied looking at the book. It appeared like the Dark Lord did have access to a different set of Dark Arts texts since this was not the same book with the ritual that used to be in Lucius's possession. He found himself questioning how many other texts existed with the instructions to create a horcrux. Hopefully it would take him longer to hunt that one down. "I can help you prepare for it."

"You can… you can help..." she started, but stopped as a fire burned in her eyes, "no one should have to be prepared for something like this!"

"This is war," he reminded her, "and in war, you do whatever it takes to survive and right now the best- no the only chance those two boys have of surviving is if we do. And right now, that means getting you mentally prepared to perform a dark and ancient blood ritual."

She hung her head down close between her knees and was so silent that Severus almost thought she'd fallen asleep in that position. "It's sickening," she eventually whispered.

"You don't have to condone it, nor do you have to like it, but you have to do it or you'll get killed. And if you get killed, Draco and Harry will suffer from it." He watched her closely and sighed in relief when she gave another quick nod. He wasn't trying to make any heartfelt speeches and he definitely wasn't trying to scare her; he was being honest. "Tell me about Harry. How did Draco get him here?"

"Harry Potter was unconscious the whole time," she gave a small sniffle, still going over in her head the wounds she had to heal on Draco that had been made by Voldemort before he knew how important the young Slytherin would be. "Draco said he used some kind of muggle sleeping draft. I tried to wake him and he opened his eyes, but simply went back to sleep. I don't know where they ended up taking both of them, but I'm sure I'll be called there in the morning, if not before then."

"How was-"

"Nothing came up on my diagnostic scan," she interrupted and then leaned back against the stone wall and closed her eyes. "I'll have to do a more thorough exam when he wakes up. It could be a mid-day tomorrow though..." She trailed off and Severus could tell she was struggling and he had zero idea of what to do. He expected something emotional, yet wasn't surprised when she went the complete opposite route and turned clinical instead, "I made sure to emphasize that he needs to continue his muggle treatments. It did not go over well."

He cringed at that and remembered his sacrificial remark about her as Lucius was pulling her out the door. The fact that she'd been able to bring Draco back from however close he was to death must have worked in her favor at least until that statement.

"And?"

"And what do you think?" She opened her eyes and gave him a hard glare. "Guess who gets to figure that one out? Draco did manage to bring a set of tablets, but I have no idea what they do."

"He'll know," Severus quietly responded, "Harry will. If not, try to write the names down, since I'm naturally assuming bringing them here is out of the question, and I can tell you what they do. As for the rest, we'll figure something out. We should have at least another week."

"You really care about him, don't you?" She said it so suddenly, Severus was taken aback. Then she leaned forward and rested her hands on her crossed legs and simply waited for him to answer. He didn't though; there wasn't much else to say. After the Rita Skeeter article, he'd gotten the gamut of responses about his role in Harry's - no, The Chosen One's - care. It had gotten so bad, for a period of time he stopped accepting any of his mail. "You do have your hands full."

The former Death Eater actually gave a small chuckle at her nervous deflection, "That's a story for another day."

Without waiting for her response, he laid down on his tiny, sorry excuse for a mattress and turned to face the wall signifying that he was finished with the conversation. Tomorrow he would need to complete the full 64 phials of the next potions regimen, tomorrow he would ask about the encounter with the Dark Lord in detail, tomorrow he would start working on the next set of problems to solve: getting Nadine ready for the Blood Ritual and making sure Harry could continue to get his chemotherapy.

~~~~HP~~~~

"Crucio!"

Harry shot up out of the bed and out of habit grabbed his forehead before he could even register that there was no pain or burning in his scar. Without his glasses, there was very little he could see around the unfamiliar room, but he could definitely tell there was a person standing near his bed. Instinctually, he grabbed for his wand even though in the recesses of his mind he knew it was worthless to him. It didn't matter though because wherever he was, he did not come with his wand.

"Oh!" the person next to his bed jumped when he moved for his wand. She had kind blue eyes and black hair that reminded him of Hermione's. She handed him his glasses and said, "Good morning, Mr Potter."

Skeptical of this new person, he took his glasses and placed them on his face. Realistically, he wasn't going anywhere without them, so it was a solid first step in figuring out what happened; not to mention if whoever the witch next to him was, had wanted him dead, she had plenty of time to do it before he awoke.

"That's better, I'm sure," she smiled at him and he continued to get a good look at the place he was being held.

The room around him was over twice the size of his room in Hogwarts - both in the dungeons with Snape and up in the tower with McGonagall - which made sense given the fact that there was a bed on the opposite side of the same wall. His bed was adorned in a set of navy blue linens with a matching blue bedspread covered in small stars sewn delicately into the fabric. It was plush, like his favorite green one from home, but somehow felt heavier and thinner at the same time. The bed to the left of his own, belonging to his unknown roommate, had similar linens but they were in a bright silver instead of navy. Beside each bed was a small, ornate table where his glasses must have been held and his table also had his tablet medications sitting out on display confusing him as to where he could possibly be and why. All of the furniture gave him a familiar feeling, made of a wood so fine didn't even know what kind it was and adorned with delicate carvings and moldings, but he couldn't place where he'd seen work like this before; certainly not at Hogwarts or his relatives house, and even Grimmauld Place wasn't this neat and tidily kept.

Taking a sweeping glance across the room, he noticed the two beds matched a celestial theme that had obviously been the design behind the bedroom. All four walls were silver, and the two parallel with the beds had small navy and yellow stars painted - by magic or hand, Harry couldn't be sure, but he thought the latter - across the top third of them. The floor was covered in a large navy rug that looked so lush, Harry wanted to run his bare feet through it and somehow pictured himself sitting upon it and sketching by the warm fire. A large lantern, or chandelier because Harry really wasn't sure of the difference, was placed in the center of the extraordinarily tall ceiling and a large fireplace across from the two beds provided ample light in addition to the picture window - taking up most of the wall space - that sat between the beds.

Harry very carefully sat up and looked out the window to try to gain some knowledge of where he was. The low sun in the sky told him it was around dinnertime, though he was far from hungry. Peering down from what he guessed was the second story of the building, a set of gardens were laid out in front of him that Harry assumed had to be enchanted because unless he'd travelled across the sea, there was no way the flowers would be completely bloomed and full of color in mid-March as they currently were. In fact, compared to the rest of the overall dreary space, the gardens were a refreshing pop of brightness that he was immediately drawn to. He would have loved to go out and smell each and every flower, except in the middle of the garden, just beyond an elaborate fountain that was not currently flowing, was a hedge maze reminding him too much of the Triwizard Tournament. Through all of that though, what startled him the most, shocked him to his core and filled his entire weak body with dread, was the white peacocks strutting about the grounds, confirming where he had assumed - but hoped he'd been wrong - he was being held.

Not knowing if the witch now watching him intently was part of Voldemort's Death Eaters - she looked friendly enough not to be - he turned back towards the room trying not to make any sudden moments. In addition to the fireplace on the wall directly across from his bed, there was a door to the far left, on the wall with his roommate's bed, and another door directly across from it on 'his side' of the room, but flushed with the fireplace. The second door would be the easiest for him to quickly escape, yet there was no guarantee that particular door would lead to the corridor and to his freedom. It could very well leave him trapped in a lavatory and he'd already confirmed he was not on the ground level to climb out of the window; assuming they opened and weren't charmed not to break.

He wouldn't make it. With no magic, no wand, no idea of where he was in the Manor outside of the second story, and not to mention the plethora of wards he was sure were placed on the room and grounds in general, there was no way he was making it out just by running. No, this time he'd have to think more carefully of a plan and at the rate things were looking, it might be a while. The first question he had was why was he still alive?

"Why am I still alive?"

He hadn't meant to ask that out loud, however it didn't seem to startle his captor in the slightest. Quite the opposite, she appeared to almost relax at his abrupt inquiry.

"You have nothing to worry about," she told him as she continued to inventory his tablets. Once she had whatever information she needed, she turned to him and introduced herself, "My name is Healer Walker, how are you feeling?"

The name sounded familiar and he was embarrassed that it took him so long to remember why. He'd seen her in the vision right after her own capture. His face blanched as he remembered Lucius pulling her - or more accurately dragging her - before Voldemort and the excitement the evil dark wizard felt over her fear of him. The witch in front of him no longer looked as terrified, but she had a tremble in her hands giving away how nervous she was.

"I'm alright," he said, pushing himself further up on his elbows to try and find out more about his situation. "What happened? Why am I here?"

He tried to keep the panic out of his voice and failed miserably at it. The healer turned to look at the other bed drawing Harry's attention to the mop of platinum hair that lay on the pillow still asleep. Anger. That was the feeling consuming him inside at the sight of Draco in the bed beside him and he was brought back to the last thing he remembered: having tea with the Slytherin after he'd been released from the Order's interrogation.

"He brought me here?" It was asked as a question, but never did he expect an answer from the healer.

"It's more complicated," she said hesitantly, "just try to relax-"

"How can I relax when I'm staying with the Death Eater that just brought me here?!"

The panic was swelling up inside of him, blocking out his reasoning. If Voldemort wanted to kill him, he would have done it already. That wasn't true though, and Harry knew it. Only two years ago, the young wizard had been tied up in the graveyard and yet, he'd not only been released from his bindings, he'd been given his wand back to duel! The fact that he was still alive meant absolutely nothing to his future fate.

"I promise you, he won't hurt you," Healer Walker said like he was just supposed to believe her. "Now, could you explain to me about your medication?"

"Go to hell," he practically yelled at her, "I don't have to tell you anything."

"Wow," she commented rather flatly; Harry had been hoping for a better reaction, "Severus never mentioned you'd be so feisty."

The Gryffindor wasn't sure what threw him off more: the fact that she didn't react to his exclamation or her casual mention of Snape's name. So much had happened in the week since the prophecy vision, that he was somehow more confused on his feelings about the professor residing in the same Manor as he was, likely somewhere below his own room. Whether she meant it as a way to distract him from Draco or not, that was the end result.

"Have you seen Severus?" Harry asked quietly, the fuel on his angry fire now deflated. He'd deal with Draco separately.

She nodded and narrowed her eyes at him, "I'm living with him, actually. Do you want me to give him a message from you?"

"Erm… No," Harry shook his head. "How is he?"

"Angry, but I get the feeling that's pretty normal for him," she answered, placing a tray with a bowl of soup on the bed. Harry eyed it warily, but the smell of the beefy broth made his stomach grumble which was something he hadn't felt in a long time. Pulling up a chair next to his bed, the healer picked up a second spoon that was sitting on the tray and took a spoonful herself. "It's not poisoned."

He couldn't hold back the smirk that showed on his face. It was such a bold move that somehow showed him that even if there wasn't another person he could trust here, he could most likely trust her. It broke the silos he'd placed around him the instant he knew where he'd woken up and then locked tighter when he knew that Draco was his new roommate. Quietly, so as not to wake the now sleeping Slytherin, she answered as many of his questions as she possibly could. She explained how he'd gotten there, Draco having drugged him with his own sleeping pills, and that while she didn't know the exact reason, she was told to keep him alive at all costs. Somehow Harry knew that the evil wizard discovered the Horcrux. The soul fragment living within him, was now not only protecting whatever magic he had left, it was saving his life, at least until Voldemort knew how to make another one or decided to keep Harry as a prisoner forever.

Naturally, that led into her asking what felt like dozens of questions about his treatment: what the thing in his chest - his port - was used for, when he started the next round - cycle, he corrected her because now he was on cycles that lasted 12 weeks each and was supposed to start next Saturday - and how his medications were administered. Unfortunately, he was no help in how to actually obtain the muggle chemotherapy without Dr Swanson's help. They'd - meaning the Death Eaters or Voldemort - would need to get the tablets filled on a regular basis, and his monthly IV and IT treatments. The young wizard shuttered at the thought of who would be administering them and the complications that could arise if they were done incorrectly; including paralysis from a misplaced IT needle in his spinal cavity, burning from a loose IV connection, to instant death if they mixed up the two IV and IT medications. Yet even going through all of that in relation to his own circumstances, it was the unspoken truth that his muggle doctor would likely end up in the Manor before long that caused his heart to ache. She had a family - not to say Healer Walker didn't, Harry didn't know anything about her - but Dr Swanson wasn't part of this world; she didn't necessarily know about Voldemort or the war waging between their two worlds, she'd be brought here and held against her will until his three years of Maintenance were done and then she'd be killed. Not for the first time he questioned if saving his life was worth it. Yes, there was a prophecy about his ability to defeat Voldemort, but didn't Dumbledore also say at the end of term last year that it wasn't set in stone?

"We'll figure it out, Harry," Healer Walker mistakenly took his muted silence as concern for his own health. "I promise you, we will find a way to get your treatments here."

That was how he left it. He didn't correct her that she was basically condemning another person to her own fate trapped forever in the eerie Manor. They'd be partners in treating the same disease in two very different individuals who chose - though Voldemort would never look at muggle medications as a choice - very different treatment routes. Harry actually did laugh at the thought of how much Healer Smithe would have loved to scientifically see the two of them. Of course, this was no laughing matter and for that reaction, Healer Walker gave him a worrisome look.

"So what am I supposed to do here?" He asked after the myriad of questions was coming to an end.

Once again, she peered over her shoulder at Draco's still sleeping form, "There will be a constant guard outside your door at all times. I'll see what I can do to get you some flexibility to move about the Manor, but I can't give you any guarantee on how much you'll have. There are wards in place over both of you, similar to a baby monitoring charm-" she laughed at Harry's eye roll from that statement, "-so if you go anywhere, they'll know."

"So I can't jump out the window?"

"No," her bushy hair swung from side-to-side as she shook her head, "they can't be opened by magic or by force."

"That's a shame," Harry mumbled, "and what about him?"

He motioned with his head towards the other bed.

"Draco will probably sleep until morning," she sadly said. "He had quite a few extensive injuries before I was able to get to him and was given a dose of Dreamless Sleep to help give him time to finish healing."

He does look pale, Harry conceded to himself before he could stop. The other wizard delivered the Boy-Who-Lived to Voldemort's headquarters, he should have been celebrated like a hero. What could have happened to make things go bad enough that he needed to be medically asleep to finish healing? Harry thought back to when he first woke up this afternoon, the Cruciatus Curse he'd heard - or remembered - wasn't directed at him. If he thought hard enough, he could almost remember bits and pieces of curses being thrown fueled by hatred and anger; not one of them were to him though.

"Get some rest," the healer said, picking up his half empty bowl and placing it back onto the tray. If he didn't get injured, he had no idea why he needed to rest or why that sounded like such a great idea. He'd been fighting sleep since Snape's disappearance and since his magic died, and now he had nothing left in him to use to fight. Thinking of his magic brought to his mind something he actually did want Snape to know.

"Can you tell him that it's gone?" Harry called out right before Healer Walker left the room.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Severus," he clarified, "you said you're staying with him, right? Can you tell him that it's gone? He'll know what that means."

She turned her head inquisitively, likely wanting to ask him to elaborate, but she just nodded her agreement and continued on her way. While the Gryffindor didn't think he would be able to keep the fact that he was currently magicless quiet forever, his instincts deep inside said that he shouldn't announce that fact to just anyone, and until he could be sure this new healer was an ally that was all she would know.

The next time Harry woke it was dark, proving he'd somehow managed to sleep at least a few more hours though he wasn't sure why. There was now a fire crackling in the fireplace across the room near the foot of his bed giving Harry a false sense of security, but it didn't do anything to warm the chill from within his thin frame. A quick turn to his left revealed an empty, and strangely fully made up bed and Draco nowhere else in sight. Pulling the plush bedspread back, a shiver ran through him and he wished he had his warmer pyjamas, his favorite ones to wear on chemotherapy days. He swung his feet over the side of the tall bed, and was surprised when his feet touched the soft navy rug and a warmth radiated from the fabric into the soles of his feet. While he'd been to a fully magical house before - both the Borrow and Grimmauld Place - he'd never thought about having enchanted floors, or rugs, to keep the resident's feet warm.

If I ever make it out of here, I wonder if we can do that on the dungeon floor, Harry found himself thinking before he could stop himself.

The warmth radiating through the bottom of his feet was the one thing that seemed to help push out the cold from within him. Given everything his body had been through, it always felt petty to complain about the cold, but it made such a big impact on him he wouldn't be surprised if he eventually moved somewhere south, where it was warm year-round. Now that he was standing, he could fully appreciate just how tall and expansive the room that was his prison. While it wasn't as big as some of the rooms back at Hogwarts, it was by far the biggest private bedroom he'd ever been in and the thought of growing up living here filled him with both envy and fear. Draco would have never wanted for anything growing up in a house like this, although the more he thought about it, didn't the blonde mention something about his parents growing up? As Harry approached the large window separating the two beds, he continued to ponder what growing up in a full wizarding mansion would have been like. It couldn't be any further from where Harry grew up; a cramped cupboard in a fully muggle household, and yet it seemed both wizards held secrets of their childhood close to his chest.

The gardens, which had been stunning in the evening sun, were equally beautiful in the dark night sky. They were only days away from the full moon and therefore he could perfectly see the outline of the hedge maze in the center of the large open space, with the water in the fountain rippling in the moonlight cast across its surface. All around the bushes, trees, and hedges, small lights twinkled like fireflies in and out of the greenery in such a rhythm he knew they couldn't be randomly placed. But the best part of the whole scene, the one he immediately thought of Hermione and how much she would love this view if one could ignore the evil wizard taking up residents with them, were the two or three dozen floating lanterns - enchanted he was sure - bobbing up and down across either side of the maze. Every color of the rainbow was represented and they matched the colors of the flowers that had been in those locations earlier that evening, giving the nighttime garden just as much liveliness as during the day.

"I always loved the gardens at night," came a soft, timid voice from behind him. Having been completely lost in the view outside, the Gryffindor missed the door opening behind him. It also meant he missed his chance to find out which door led to the corridor. "It was really the only space on the property I could make my own."

Harry's heart practically stopped as he turned and watched Narcissa Malfoy from across the bedroom. She was standing by the doorway near Draco's bed, marking that doorway as the way out. She was pristinely dressed in a black set of robes with silver embellishments across the collar and the waistline, and her blond hair tied loosely behind her head. Harry had only met her a handful of times before, and each time she appeared as cold as Draco was arrogant. Now, standing across the room from him with the soft orange glow from the fireplace silhouetting her petite frame, she didn't appear nearly as haughty as he remembered. In her hands were a stack of folded cloth, and from his vantage point, he couldn't tell if they were blankets, clothing, or something else entirely.

"It's lovely," he said warily, not willing to let his guard down no matter how innocent she sounded. He looked over to the empty bed beside his own, assuming she'd come to see her son, and added, "I don't know where Draco is. The healer said he'd probably sleep till morning, but he was gone when I woke up."

She smiled at him and Harry didn't know if he should be happy or scared, "He awoke about an hour ago and went for a shower after dinner. We have some... proprietary healing potions the Healer was not aware of."

Harry did, in fact, hear the shower running from the door directly across from the foot of his own bed. Had he been a little more aware of his surroundings - something that Snape would admonish him about - he would have known where his new roommate had gone. As for the healing potions, Harry didn't doubt that the Malfoys had a wide range of things, mostly dark arts related, that Healer Walker didn't know about. If he remembered right, the Malfoy fortune was made from the Apothecary business, so it made sense.

"I'm glad he'll be alright," Harry lamely replied. "Do you want me to tell him-"

"I brought these for you," she awkwardly held out the bundle that was in her hands and when Harry made no movement to meet her for them, she neatly placed them at the foot of his bed. "They're some of Draco's more casual clothing. I thought you and Draco were about the same height, however these may still be a little…"

She trailed off, but he knew what she was thinking. She'd expected him to be the same Boy-Who-Lived that was on the front cover of the Prophet all those times and not the underweight sickly wizard - though was he technically a wizard if he didn't currently have magic? - that now stood before her. He didn't validate her observation with a response.

"Either way," she continued as she gained more control over herself, "they should fit you well enough and I thought you might want something clean to change into after you awoke."

His face started to flush, which thankfully the Malfoy Matriarch wouldn't be able to see in the darkened room, as he realized he was still dressed in his pyjamas from McGonagall's quarters. They suddenly felt scratchy and dirty against his skin and the thought of getting out of them, into a shower, and dressed in something more comfortable was suddenly at the top of his mind.

It was also an olive branch, he recognized; a way to say that after everything was said and done she was probably - most likely, but as a Malfoy, Harry couldn't be completely sure - on his side. She had been about to go into hiding with the Order after all, plans that were now completely worthless, but at the same time she wanted to wait to get her own life in order first. So, did that really make her an ally?

"Thank you," he eventually replied and looked at the door directly behind her, anxious to see if he could find out who was guarding them. Still, he didn't move even a step closer to her.

"If you need anything…" again she trailed off, but this time it was because she was talking to him like she would a guest. As if he were one of the countless other visitors who were paraded through the elegant Manor before coming through the same doorway the Matriarch did for the night. He wasn't a guest though, and neither was her son. They were prisoners being held against their will for who knew what purpose exactly and how long.

She left as silently as she'd entered, but this time Harry was watching and caught sight of the two guard's standing on either side of the door. One of them he recognized as the Death Eater in his last vision - Rabastan - and the other was Dolohov. With two high ranking Death Eaters watching over the room, there was no way Harry would be escaping without being noticed.

"Well look who's finally awake."

Harry jumped slightly at the statement from the only other doorway in their room. It was now the second time he was startled that night and that immediately put him on edge. Draco was walking out of the attached lavatory wearing a set of black silk-like pyjamas that appeared almost identical to the ones he often wore back at Hogwarts. He was towel drying his platinum blonde hair, reminding Harry that neither of them had a wand at their disposal. The Slytherin's casual demeanor infuriated Harry more than just the idea that he'd managed to capture him in the first place.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Harry demanded and charged up to the other teen. He wasn't sure exactly what he'd do, and by the time he reached the fireplace he backed off, knowing that starting a muggle fight probably wasn't the best idea, "I trusted you! Snape trusted you!"

Not that the Gryffindor would have expected anything less, Draco didn't stand down from the accusation. He threw the small towel down and met Harry the rest of the way across the room, "There you go acting just like a Gryffindor and jumping to all of the wrong conclusions, because of course the great Harry Potter can never be wrong about anything!"

Harry gritted his teeth, trying to hold in his seething anger and not take the bait being dangled in front of him. It would feel good to lash out at the wizard in front of him, the one who was responsible for his current imprisonment.

"I was drugged and kidnapped," he yelled back, clutching his hands by his side wishing he had his wand, "there's nothing else to it! Or maybe this was your intention the entire time? I bet dating Hermione was all an act too! Was she just a means to an end in your master plan? What's the harm, right? Maybe you get extra-"

The Gryffindor was abruptly cut short as a pale hand grabbed him by the front of his shirt and shoved him roughly against the nearest wall. "Think you have me all figured out, do you?" The Slytherin sneered at him, but the usual smugness in voice was filled with anger and hurt. "So what does the brilliant Harry Potter think will happen next? Choose your words wisely, Potter. If I'm the immortal chav you make me out to be, I'll have no issue slagging the infirm. And trust me — if you say one more thing about Hermione, you'll be begging the Death Eaters for a new roommate."

"Go for it," Harry nodded, letting his own anger drive his words. If he had taken a moment to think, he would have remembered Healer Walker alluding to Draco's grave situation, but it felt too good to get all of his frustrations out. Either he'd get hit or he'd continue getting to say all the things he'd been holding inside. "We both know exactly what happened. Voldemort-" he emphasized the name knowing it would cause the youngest Death Eater pain, "-offered you a better deal, didn't he? That was why you joined the Order in the first place right, to make sure you were on the winning side? Did you think we were losing? So now what did you get for you delivering me? Because from where I was sitting while you were still passed out, it didn't look so glamorous."

Draco stared down at him, his free fist clenching and loosening as if in debate with himself if throwing a punch was a sound approach. "In all of your glorious insight, tell me oh so intelligent Chosen One... why - if I was getting a kick back from him," he refused the name even if the other didn't, "- am I as much of a prisoner in here as you? No, actually, don't answer that." He slammed the other boy roughly against the wall, not caring anymore for the pain and discomfort he might've caused. "You know nothing because you are nothing. You just sit in your safety net watching every other bloke sacrifice life after life. And what did you sacrifice, hm? Your parents? Yes, I've heard that sob story before. Let's hear a new one. Please. Regale me with all of your sacrifices and trials in this war."

Standing there face to face with his former nemesis, the other teen's hair now almost dried as a visual reminder to the time past while they fought. The truth was that he wasn't the one out in the trenches and even if it weren't for the Leukemia, he wouldn't have been allowed to be. For whatever reason - the prophecy of course - his role was deemed too important to risk. Draco had been right, before he was even old enough to speak a full sentence, his fate had been decided for him; he was to sit on the sidelines until his time came like a specialized weapon, except Harry had no idea what it was he was supposed to do. Being the Boy-Who-Lived or the Chosen One didn't actually mean anything, it didn't give him any special abilities, besides of course surviving the killing curse. That one event would forever plague him. And Draco was a prisoner here as much as him, so what did that mean?

"Why does he want me alive?"

Draco sneered, having been equally ready for the muggle fight which would have been an abhorrent idea, "He knows about the Horcrux. So now instead of killing you, he wants to protect you. Seems to me like he should make up his fucking mind before sending his followers out on a pointless mission."

Anger now mostly subsided, Harry sat at the edge of his bed, leaning over with his forearms resting on his thighs, as he took in the information he'd just been given. It was one thing to assume the dark wizard knew about being a horcrux and another for it to be confirmed. The good news was he wouldn't die, but ultimately it probably meant he should. Having cooled down, though less so than Harry, Draco went to sit on his own bed mirroring the Gryffindor.

"And how did he discover this?" Harry asked, keeping the fear from his voice.

"By ripping it from my mind at the same time he found out that I am still working for the Order," Draco firmly answered and then anticipating Harry's next question added, "you and Hermione should be more careful what you say in the library. It's easy for anyone to overhear you. Why do you think I got you Snape's book?"

"In hindsight," Harry said, lightly, "to flirt with Hermione?"

"Well, obviously," the blonde replied, "but what do you think she'd say if I'd brought something completely irrelevant?"

"Is there ever a time you're not strategizing over something?" The Gryffindor genuinely questioned.

"Well I obviously didn't think far enough ahead when I planned this," Draco swept both of his hands in Harry's direction and then across the room indicating the reaction to his kidnapping hadn't gone quite how he'd expected.

"What happened?"

"Now I get to be used as a potion ingredient," he bitterly answered. It would have been funnier - as every student who ever had Snape as a Potion's Professor had said that exact phrase - if somehow Harry didn't recognize it was true. "It was either that or get killed as a traitor… technically tortured and killed, but I'd already been tortured at that point. And yet, I didn't even get a choice in the matter because if it were up to me, you'd be sitting here alone."

For the longest time, silence filled the space between their beds, just the crackling of the fire and murmurs coming through the door leading out into the corridor echoed throughout the celestial room. Neither teen said a word - there was nothing to say - nor did they make eye contact, or dare to move from their position; both afraid that by disturbing the air it would break whatever truce that they had managed to land between them.

Harry was the one to finally break the silence. "I'm going to take a shower."

He looked through the set of clothes Narcissa had left at the foot of his bed and picked out a set of soft black pyjamas. With his arms wrapped tightly around the clothing, he slowly walked to the door leading to the - sure to be equally extravagantly decorated - lavatory.

"Towels are in the cupboard next to the sink," he heard Draco say right before he was about to leave the room.

Harry turned his head back towards the bedroom where his Slytherin roommate was now laying on his back staring up at nothing. And just like that, Harry knew things between them would work out on the end. Maybe they could figure a way out of this mess after all; one that didn't require subjecting themselves to being potions ingredients and whatever it was Voldemort had planned to 'keep Harry safe.'