Harry poked at his breakfast, his eyes down and his mouth shut. The only sounds were cutlery on plates, the crinkling of the Daily Prophet, and birds outside. The early morning sun and the birdsong could do nothing to ease the suffocating atmosphere inside the manor.

It had been one week since he and Malfoy had begun their stay at Prince Manor. Only one week; it had felt like a year. Snape had been true to his word; they only saw each other at meals. The other twenty-one hours, he and Malfoy stayed hidden in their rooms. Snape hadn’t spoken to them about their curious appearance at Hogwarts since the first day, obviously determining he had the answer.

Dumbledore had brought him his belongings from Privet Drive the other day, but, other than to confirm everything had been retrieved, he hadn’t bothered with his trunk. Snape had disappeared for several hours three times, twice for what they both knew were Death Eater meetings and once for something unknown to them. They were locked in their rooms each time, only released many hours later or the next morning for breakfast.

He hated it. It felt just like the Dursleys’ but without the daily beatings. He supposed he could concede it was moderately better since it was just being ignored and locked away rather than that and beatings and starvation on top.

When Snape had returned from the second Death Eater meeting that week and had removed the Locking Charms, Harry had peeked out to see the professor. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe he’d hoped to learn if the man was a true Death Eater or a spy just by sight. Whatever he’d subconsciously hoped to see or learn, he found something else. The robes and upgraded silver mask had terrified him, briefly sending him back to the graveyard. He’d almost gone back into his room, but then he’d noticed the shaking hand that clenched into a fist. The man had stopped outside of his bedroom, bowed his head, and viciously punched the wall beside his door. Harry had jumped at the aggression and shrunk back. Snape had stood there for a time, his head down and fist against the wall. He thought he saw something drip form the professor’s fist, but it was dark and he couldn’t be sure. Eventually Snape had quietly slipped into his room and Harry returned to his, unsure what to think.

He'd found himself looking at Snape surreptitiously a lot since that night as though trying to figure out a mystery. If the professor had noticed his looks, he hadn’t shown any reaction.

“To your rooms,” Snape ordered as they cleared their plates.

Harry looked at the man again, making tiny, slow moves to make it seem like he was getting up to leave. Snape had been…off since that night. He seemed angrier, but it hadn’t actually come out. Something was bothering the professor and he wondered if it had anything to do with the meeting.

He pushed himself to his feet and settled on his crutch. He was about to head up to his room when Malfoy spoke, making him spin around.

“Sir, could we spend some time outside?” Malfoy asked quietly.

Harry’s eyes flicked between Malfoy and Snape as a tense silence grew in response to Malfoy’s question. Malfoy wasn’t looking at Snape, but had a determined expression on his face. Harry thought he could also see some desperation and he found himself relating to the blonde. He was losing his mind being stuck in his room, remembering the month he’d been locked in his room at Privet Drive after first year. He and Malfoy obviously had the same longing to feel more than a breeze through their windows and to see more than the same four walls.

Snape’s expression was completely unreadable as his dark eyes considered both Malfoy and Harry. The silence seemed to go on forever and Harry was going to resume his exit, assuming the man wasn’t going to answer, when Snape finally spoke.

“The fence that lines the property is also the edge of the wards. Do not pass the fencing,” Snape said and Harry couldn’t help but gape at the man. Even Malfoy had raised his head to look at Snape, his eyes wide, obviously surprised his request had been approved. Seeming to ignore Harry’s and Malfoy’s reactions, Snape swept from the dining room.

It took a few minutes for either Harry or Malfoy to move. Once they did, they both headed to the front double doors. Harry was nearly there when Dumbledore exited a room to Harry’s left, what he thought was a sitting room, and approached him, Snape hovering in the room’s doorway.

“Harry, might I speak with you for a moment?” the headmaster asked pleasantly.

Harry frowned slightly. “Uh, sure, I guess.”

“There is something I must tell you, my boy,” Dumbledore said. “Something has happened.”

“Headmaster,” Snape said quietly and Harry thought it almost sounded like a warning. There was something he couldn’t identify in the man’s face and Harry immediately tensed, readying himself for whatever he was about to hear.

“Last night, there was an attack,” Dumbledore said and Harry’s heart rate sped up. “Due to the weak wards, there was no longer any protection.”

Harry could feel his breathing change, coming shorter and sharper.

“Headmaster,” Snape said again, this time his tone hard as he glared at Dumbledore.

“I’m sorry, my boy, but your relatives were killed by Death Eaters last night,” Dumbledore finished and Harry felt like the world had disappeared from around him.

Harry found his eyes slide from Dumbledore’s to the hardwood of the foyer, his vision tunnelling and blurring. His heart was about to explode, and its beats were deafening him. His breaths were fast and short, making his chest hitch and rise unevenly. He felt both hot and cold at the same time.

“Harry?” Dumbledore said. “Do you understand what I’ve told you?”

Weak wards…no protection…weak wards…no protection…killed by Death Eaters…weak wards…weak wards… 

“Yes, sir,” Harry heard himself say. “Excuse me.”

He finished the distance to the front door and pulled one open. He limped out onto the front porch, unable to register what it looked like or that Malfoy was sitting in a porch swing. He didn’t notice the blonde look at him with a confused frown or hear the blonde call for him. He walked down the couple small steps and limped across the grass. He stopped a few meters from the porch and just stood, swaying slightly as he stared nowhere in particular, unseeing. His eyes were burning, but he didn’t realize the tears that had begun to streak his face. His hand clenched around his crutch and his other fisted at his side. He was still breathing quickly and sporadically, and his heart was still pounding. However, alongside these feelings, there was something else: a pressure in his chest. If he hadn’t been so lost in the news and his overwhelming guilt, he may have recognized the pressure.

Weak wards…no protection…weak wards…no protection… 

He couldn’t stop repeating the words in his head. He couldn’t think of anything except what he’d done. It was his fault. If he had gone back, the wards would have still been there and the Dursleys would’ve been safe. He should’ve gone back. He should’ve just dealt with it; he had his whole life. They had died because of him. He was pathetic and selfish. He should’ve gone back.

Weak wards…no protection…weak wards…no protection… 

It was his fault. He killed them, just like he killed Cedric. He killed everyone.

“Potter?”

He barely heard the call, Malfoy’s voice muffled and far away. He couldn’t focus.

Weak wards…no protection…weak wards…my fault…I killed them…my fault… 

“What’s your fault? Potter?”

He heard Malfoy a little more clearly. He frowned. Why was Malfoy there? He shouldn’t be there. He’d die if he was near Harry. Everyone did.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Get away,” Harry muttered. He had to protect everyone. They had to get away from him. He had to be alone. He didn’t want to be, but it was how it had to be. He couldn’t kill anyone else.

“Potter, you haven’t killed anyone. The hell is wrong with you?”

“Get away,” Harry said a bit louder, the pressure in his chest growing.

“Potter, stop being an idiot. Look at me.”

Malfoy’s hand landing on his arm broke Harry’s daze.

“Get away!” he shouted and the pressure in his chest exploded outwards in a blast of heat.

“Bloody hell!” he heard Malfoy yell. He moved his gaze to the blonde, assuming the shout meant Malfoy was leaving. His eyebrows furrowed as his foggy mind tried to understand what he was seeing.

Malfoy was cursing and staring at his left arm, the one not in a sling. His shirt sleeve was incomplete with black edges. The skin underneath was red and an odd texture.

“Oh, God,” Harry breathed as he realized what was wrong with Malfoy’s arm.

It had been badly burned.

But, how?

“Potter,” another voice said, but it was weird. The tone didn’t belong with the voice. A black button-up shirt entered his line of sight and he looked up at Snape.

“I…I’m…I’m sorry, I…I don’t…” he stuttered.

“Potter…”

“I’m sorry, it’s my fault. I should have gone back. It’s my fault. I killed them. I—” Harry could feel his breath coming in gasps again.

“No, it is not your fault,” Snape said.

Harry shook his head. “The wards. If I’d gone back, the wards would’ve been there. If I’d gone back—”

“Your relatives would have likely killed you,” Snape said.

“They should have, then I wouldn’t get everyone killed,” Harry said, choking on a sob as he saw Cedric’s body fall.

“No, Potter, you deserve to live and you have killed no one,” Snape said firmly.

Harry just shook his head again. “It’s my fault. It’s always my fault.” He dropped his eyes to his feet and he frowned when he didn’t see green grass. Instead, it was black and dead. “What did I do?” he whispered.

“It would seem a further investigation of your magical abilities is warranted,” Snape said. “That is for another time. Come, Potter, to your room.”

“Not my room. I have no room…no home,” Harry mumbled, hardly aware he was speaking aloud. “I have no one.”

Draco waited in the foyer awkwardly as instructed by Snape who had swept off down the hall past the kitchen. He gritted his teeth as his burned forearm continued to sting and ache. He still wasn’t sure how it had happened, what Potter had done. He glanced to his right at the headmaster, frowning at Dumbledore’s odd expression. He didn’t seem terribly distressed given the news he’d just given to his beloved Potter and he was staring at Draco’s burn with an odd glint in his eye.

He was getting uncomfortable when Snape finally returned with a jar and bandages. They were all silent as Snape carefully applied a gel to his burn before wrapping it in the bandages, though Draco did wince at the slight pain the actions caused. Snape offered a Pain Reliever, but Draco declined. It didn’t hurt too badly.

Snape nodded his head at Draco’s refusal and banished his supplies back to wherever he had gotten them from. “Upstairs, Mr. Malfoy,” he said.

“Yes, sir,” Draco said and started up the stairs as Snape and Dumbledore disappeared down the hall, presumably to the study.

At the top of the stairs, he chewed his lip as he glanced at Potter’s closed door. He wasn’t sure why he was considering checking on Potter. He certainly didn’t care about or like the Gryffindor, but he also couldn’t ignore Potter’s reaction to the news about his relatives. With a small sigh as he silently acknowledged how badly this could go, he walked over and slowly opened Potter’s door.

“Potter?” he said quietly, looking at the Gryffindor sitting on the edge of the bed, head bowed. However, once Potter heard Draco, his head snapped up and his green eyes narrowed into a hateful glare as they fell on Draco. He couldn’t help but notice the redness in the green eyes.

“Get lost, Malfoy,” Potter spat.

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Not a very nice greeting for someone that’s come to check on you.”

“I don’t care and neither do you, so get out,” Potter said angrily.

“Considering you’ve just added a new injury to the ones I’ve already got, I’d say I care a little,” Draco said, holding up his newly bandaged arm. Potter’s eyes flicked to his hidden burn and he was sure he saw embarrassment or guilt flash in the green eyes. “Do you actually care that your relatives are dead?”

Potter’s face twisted into anger again, but it seemed to be to mask something else. “I actually have emotions and don’t hate Muggles just because they’re Muggles.”

Draco ignored the jab at his well-built persona. “And what about Muggles that beat you?”

Potter’s glare was deadly. Quite frankly, Draco was surprised the glare didn’t kill him where he stood.

“Shut the hell up.”

“Oh, so, that uncle of yours doesn’t abuse you?” Draco said lightly, knowing he was treading on dangerous territory. He just couldn’t understand how Potter could be upset that his horrid relatives were dead. He blinked in shock when Potter hopped off his bed, balancing precariously on his one good leg.

“You don’t know anything, Malfoy,” Potter snapped.

Draco narrowed his eyes, feeling his own anger flare at the assumptions he knew Potter made about him. It was the assumptions he always wanted people to make to help him hide the truth, but now, in this moment with Potter, he couldn’t allow the assumptions to persist.

“I know more than you think,” he said tightly.

Potter sneered. “Somehow, I seriously doubt that.”

“I’m here too, aren’t I?” Draco shot back and saw a brief flash of understanding in the other boy’s eyes. He saw Potter clench his jaw.

“Whatever,” the Gryffindor said. “You still don’t get it.”

“Then tell me,” Draco said. “How could you possibly care about what happened to them?”

Potter kept his stare hard. “Just get the hell out.”

“No.” Draco matched the Gryffindor’s stare.

“Get out,” Potter said through gritted teeth.

Draco straightened, standing his ground even though he still had no idea why he was pushing. He flinched, but stayed where he was as Potter limped over to him, standing nose to nose with him.

“You want to know why I care?” Potter said in a low voice filled with rage, but also something else. “I don’t care about them, but it’s my fault! Happy? Now, get out!” 

Draco was startled when Potter shoved him hard, making him stumble and gasp at the pain in his still healing shoulder. He held it with his other hand, grinding his teeth at the pain.

“The hell is wrong with you? How is it your fault?” Draco asked.

“Because I didn’t go back,” Potter said, the anger leaving his voice slightly.

“And what would have happened if you went back? What would they have done to you?” Draco asked, thinking about what would likely happen to him once he returned to Malfoy Manor in two weeks.

He saw the rapid changes in Potter’s face. His rage gave way to fear and hurt only to quickly morph back into rage when he remembered who he was talking to.

“No worse than what your bastard of a father does to you, I assume,” Potter snapped hatefully.

Draco’s own anger boiled up again. “Shut up, Potter.”

“Don’t pretend to understand anything about me,” Potter said. “You’re just as pathetic as you think I am, letting your own father hit you.”

“At least he’s not a disgusting Muggle,” Draco fired back.

“You should just go back there. I say you deserve it,” Potter said. “You’re no better than him.”

Draco saw red and he snarled. “You know what? It is your fault, just like Diggory.”

He knew it was a low blow, but he didn’t care. He would not accept being compared to Lucius any longer.

“Don’t you dare talk about Cedric,” Potter growled, clenching his hands into fists.

“Some chosen one you are,” Draco sneered.

He was shocked at the magic that suddenly pulsed through the room, radiating out from Potter. His eyes widened when he saw flames fly toward him and he threw his hand up, knowing it would do nothing. He waited to receive another burn, but, when it never happened, he opened his eyes and stared in shock. The flames were hovering just in front of his palm, wrapped around a ball of silver and white light. Going by instinct, he closed his fingers and the light and fire were extinguished.

He stared at his hand and then at Potter, his eyebrows furrowed. What in the hell had just happened?

“Well, Severus, I do believe your determination that these two boys Apparated by use of accidental magic may be incorrect.”

Draco turned to the doorway with Potter, finding Snape and Dumbledore standing there. He became nervous, wondering how angry Snape would be at him and Potter fighting when Draco was meant to be in his room.

“Indeed,” Snape said. “A matter for later. Mr. Malfoy, to your room.”

Hoping it meant he was escaping punishment, Draco nodded. “Yes sir.” He glanced at Potter once more before hurrying across the hall.

Severus watched Malfoy slip into his room before turning back to Potter. The Gryffindor was flushed with obvious anger, but also with exertion. He swayed on his one leg and, after the two bouts of unexplained magical outbursts, was likely experiencing magical exhaustion. He sighed and walked over to the boy, ignoring the way he flinched.

“Sit down, Potter, before you fall down,” Severus said and he gently pushed Potter’s shoulder before the boy could argue. Potter allowed it and fell onto the edge of the bed, clearly trying to hide his heavy breathing. He pulled the desk chair over to sit by the bed and be on a more even level with Potter.

“Harry, I wanted to apologize for distressing you,” Dumbledore said.

Severus just barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. He was sure it had been the headmaster’s intent to upset Potter in hopes of making the boy reveal his secret power. Whether the headmaster had intended to make Potter feel guilty or not was unclear.

“Now that your relatives are gone, you will be unable to return to Surrey,” Dumbledore said.

Severus watched the Gryffindor’s eyes fall. The boy was clearly conflicted, hating the home he grew up in but knowing no other.

“Where will I go?” Potter asked quietly, despondently.

“You will remain here with Professor Snape for the summer, as arranged,” Dumbledore told him. “Next summer, however, it is likely you will have to remain in an Order safe house.”

Potter looked at the headmaster, confused. “Order?”

“The Order of the Phoenix. Professor Snape will explain it to you.”

Severus glared at the man for not taking the time to explain things to the boy properly and leaving it to him.

“A safe house?” Potter repeated. “Alone?”

“You will have a rotating guard, but, for your safety and the safety of others, yes, you will be there alone,” Dumbledore said and Potter’s eyes dropped again. “I am sorry, my boy.”

“Right,” was all Potter muttered in response.

“I must take my leave,” Dumbledore said. “Harry, ensure you listen to the professor and work hard on your newfound magic.”

Potter said nothing and Severus couldn’t help the slight glare he gave the headmaster for treating Potter so coldly.

“Severus,” Dumbledore said, nodding at him.

“Headmaster,” Severus said stiffly and watched Dumbledore leave. He sighed as he looked at Potter, the boy’s head bowed.

“Potter—” he started to say.

“Just leave me alone,” Potter interrupted quietly. “Please, sir.”

He knew he shouldn’t given the boy’s state of mind, but he also had no idea how to comfort Potter. If the Gryffindor wanted to wallow in self-pity then so be it. He wasn’t going to lower himself to arguing with teenagers and coddling Harry Potter. He ignored the slight pull he felt in his chest as he looked at the depressed boy and thought of the guilt he was likely feeling.

“Very well, Potter,” Severus said, getting to his feet. “We will speak tomorrow.”

“Sir, I—”

“It is not negotiable,” Severus said firmly. “There are things you must know and things you must understand.”

Potter glanced up at him. “Yes, sir.”

“Rest. I will call you for dinner,” Severus said. He watched Potter shuffle around until he was laying down and then left the room.

He sighed again as he looked at Malfoy’s closed door. How was he meant to deal with two abused teenage boys that apparently had secret powers?