Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Harry slowed imperceptibly as they reached the hallway leading to the soul dorms, until he was a few steps behind his new mates.

New mates! He shook his head. It was supposed to be impossible, but he’d talked to the Healers and seen the changed marks for himself, so he supposed it had to be true. Just another impossible thing for Harry Bloody Potter.

He choked back a bitter laugh. A few days ago, learning that Blaise and Theo weren’t truly his mates would have been the best news he could have imagined. But, of course, his luck wouldn’t stop there. No, he had to turn out to be mated to another happy pair, a third wheel again. And worse, they were the only two people at Hogwarts who hated him worse than Blaise and Theo: Snape and Malfoy.

This was going to be hell.

They were opening a door; he hurried the last few steps to catch up before they yelled at him for keeping them waiting. They stepped in; he followed and stopped just inside, head bowed, waiting to see what was in store for him.

His clothes didn’t disappear, which was a pleasant surprise. Of course, they might have to wait to get a collar for him. No one was yelling yet, either, so he sneaked a look around from the corners of his eyes.

The room was more lavish than Blaise and Theo’s had been, which didn’t surprise him much. Snape was a professor and Draco a Malfoy; obviously, they got the best of the best. The bed was huge and drowning in thick blankets and soft pillows; he forced his eyes away from it. There were a couple of desks in the far corner, one of them absolutely enormous and piled with scrolls. There was a fireplace with two armchairs and a low table. There were bookshelves and tapestries on the walls, and rugs on the floor.

It was all decorated in emerald and silver, which shouldn’t have surprised him. He wasn’t meant to be here, after all.

And now was their chance to show him that, to put him in his place. To take out years of irritation and anger and antagonism on his sorry hide. Harry gritted his teeth, trying to tell himself that he was used to this, that it wouldn’t be anything he hadn’t handled before. He couldn’t convince himself, though. Snape was an adult and a Death Eater; he could do far worse to Harry than anything Blaise and Theo could come up with. And Malfoy had hated him for years, where his old mates had ignored him until the marks appeared. Surely Malfoy would give Snape a run for his money in coming up with horrible things to do to Harry.

That was just the way it was. Everyone who was supposed to love him ended up despising and hurting him. If Snape and Malfoy truly were his mates, obviously even magic itself agreed. The only sort of family bond he deserved was one that involved pain for him.

He realized that Malfoy had been speaking. Harry couldn’t focus on his words, though; his own thoughts kept running around in circles. Love, pain, mates, family - it was too much.

Suddenly Snape was standing directly before him. Harry flinched and wrapped his arms around himself, hunching over, bracing himself.

But Snape’s voice, when he spoke, was calm and even, the way he spoke to his Slytherins, but never Gryffindors. “Are you well, Mr - Harry?”

Harry could make out every word of that - he’d been trained for years to respond to that voice, after all. He jerked a nod, then remembered that Snape insisted on verbal answers. “Yessir,” he managed to slur out.

Snape stared at him as if he were a potions ingredient he was debating how to chop. Then he turned slightly to face Malfoy.

“Dragon, go down to the kitchens and ask the house elves for some cake. Finding a mate necessitates a celebration, after all. And here.” He snapped his fingers and a piece of parchment and a self-inking quill came flying to him. He wrote on it swiftly, sent the quill back with a flick of his fingers, and tapped the parchment with his wand. He handed it to Malfoy. “They’ll send up three glasses of champagne when you get back.”

Harry looked up enough to see Malfoy’s eyes widen. “Of course, Severus!” he said, and slipped back out the door.

Harry felt Snape’s attention turn back to him and dropped his eyes hurriedly. “Harry,” Snape said, very deliberately. “Come sit down. We need to talk.”

Well, that wasn’t ominous at all. Harry obediently followed him across the room to the armchairs. Snape sat in one, but Harry hesitated. Was he supposed to sit in Malfoy’s chair or on the floor? He had no idea which one Snape would consider an insult.

Before he could decide, the armchair sidled away from him. Well, that answered that. He started to lower himself to the floor, almost surprised that nothing hurt as he did so, but before he could do more than bend a few inches, a loud pop sounded behind him. He looked around to find one of the squashy, overstuffed red armchairs from the Gryffindor common room sitting there, looking terribly out of place in the elegant green-and-silver room.

He looked back at Snape, who was staring at the armchair with disdain. He didn’t say anything scathing, though, to Harry’s surprise. “Have a seat.”

Harry obediently climbed into the armchair, automatically tucking his feet under him and leaning on one arm, as he usually did back in the common room.

“I need to tell you the rules of the situation.”

Harry bit his lip and tried to tell himself that it was better to be told the rules up front instead of only after he broke them. It might have been true, but it didn’t stop the fear.

“I convinced Madam Pomfrey to release you a day before your 72 hours were up on the understanding that I would maintain a competent watch over you.”

Harry blinked, startled into looking straight at the man for the first time. Snape’s face told him nothing; he could have been discussing the weather. If Snape ever did discuss the weather. Which Harry doubted, actually.

“In cases like this, a competent watch means that you will not leave my sight for the next day. When you sleep, you will have a monitoring charm placed on you that will inform me the instant you wake. I will accompany you to the loo. If you wish to shower, I will be there.”

“To the loo? You’re joking!” Harry exclaimed. This was even worse than he’d expected.

“Believe me, Po- Harry, neither of us will be particularly enjoying this,” Snape growled in the tone of voice Harry was more used to hearing from him. “Especially since you will also not have access to your wand. But I believe it to be preferable to an infirmary bed.”

Harry winced and nodded in reluctant agreement. He’d had quite enough of being strapped down, even if he’d been unconscious for most of it. He was somewhat surprised that Snape hadn’t mentioned the bonds. It wasn’t like Snape would try to avoid an unpleasant topic. He positively delighted in digging Harry about them.

Snape was just looking at him. Oh, right, verbal answers. “Yes, sir,” he said, more clearly this time.

Snape sighed. “On that note. A mating bond between a student and a professor is unusual and … somewhat awkward at times. You may wish to discuss this with Draco.” He paused, but Harry had no idea what to say. What was Snape trying to get at? “One of the things we use to delineate the different aspects of our relationship is forms of address. In this room, or when we are alone together, I call Draco Dragon, and he calls me Severus, or Sev. You may call me Severus, as well.”

Harry couldn’t help himself; he gaped. After years of being harped on to use the man’s titles and honorifics, now Snape wanted him to just drop them? To call him Severus? It was absurd.

“Is there something you would prefer us - me - to call you?” Snape continued smoothly, as if Harry weren’t sitting there with his mouth hanging open.

Harry shook his head. “Uh - Harry’s fine,” he managed to say.

Before the moment could get any more awkward, Malfoy came through the door. “Here’s the cake!” he announced. “I didn’t know what kind you like, Harry, but I got chocolate. Is that all right?”

Harry stared at the three identical plates of luscious-looking chocolate cake Malfoy was placing on the little table. Was he really supposed to eat that with them? Or was Malfoy going to pull a Dudley and knock it out of his hands and laugh at him?

He was saved from having to answer by three champagne glasses popping into existence near the plates. Snape and Malfoy both picked theirs up delicately; he tried to mimic them, wondering what was going on.

Snape lifted his glass slightly higher. “To finding our third.”

Malfoy smiled at Harry as he did the same. “To Harry.”

Harry’s mind went blank. What was he supposed to say? Scrambling, he came up with, “To - to us.”

It sounded unbelievably stupid in his ears, but the other two didn’t react at all, just taking sips of their drink. Harry did the same. He had to fight not to make a face at the taste. Everyone talked about champagne like it was this great, celebratory thing; no one mentioned that it tasted ruddy awful!

He glanced at the other two and nervously put the glass down to pick up the plate of cake that was nearest to him instead. They didn’t comment; Malfoy picked up his own cake, in fact, deftly balancing plate, fork, and glass in a way Harry knew he could never match. Snape just sat farther back in his chair and sipped his champagne.

Harry tried to balance eating his cake with good manners, savoring the flavor (it was much better than the desserts that got served in the Great Hall), and eating quickly before someone could take it from him. He wasn’t sure he succeeded, but no one smacked the plate out of his hands or berated him, so he thought he was doing all right.

It was silent as they ate. Harry wondered if they were always so quiet, or if it was his presence that put a damper on things. He hoped they just liked the silence. If he was already causing trouble between the mates, he was going to be in a world of pain very soon.

When they all set their dishes aside, Snape drew his wand again and they vanished. Malfoy stood up and stretched. “What will we do this evening?” he asked casually.

“Harry and I will be staying in this room tonight and tomorrow,” Snape said flatly. He raised an eyebrow at Harry. “Unless you wish to go visit with friends and explain why I must accompany you?” Harry shook his head vigorously, and Snape smirked. “Very well. It is just as well that tomorrow is Sunday.”

Malfoy pouted, but when Snape gave him a pointed look, he threw up his hands. “Oh, you’re right, of course. What are we going to do, though?” He threw a meaningful look at Snape. “Shall we play a game?”

Harry tensed. Here it came. He supposed he should be grateful that he’d gone as long as he had without any pain, but now that it was about to start again, he’d have given anything to stop it for just another hour. Hell, another few minutes. What were they going to do to him?

He felt his muscles clamp so tight that it was hard to breathe. He tried to swallow, but the lump in his throat wouldn’t move. He couldn’t hear what they were saying anymore, couldn’t even see them, there were spots in front of his eyes. Was he really dying this time? Merlin, he hoped so.

“Mr. Potter!” a harsh voice snarled in his ear. “You will cease this display immediately! Breathe, Potter. Breathe in, now.”

He had to obey that voice. He sucked in air and choked on it, coughing.

“Breathe again.”

This time, he successfully got some air in.

He didn’t know how long he worked on breathing. Eventually, he realized that he was curled up in the armchair, trembling violently, tears drying on his cheeks. He didn’t want to open his eyes, but eventually the pressure of the silence got to be too much. He looked up.

Malfoy and Snape were standing over him. Malfoy looked panicked. Snape’s face was as unreadable as ever, but his posture was tense.

Harry closed his eyes again as a wave of heat rose in his cheeks. What an embarrassment. He was a mess. There went any chance of them not thinking he was as defective as Blaise and Theo had said - not that he’d really had any hope of that.

“Are you all right, Harry?” Malfoy asked tentatively. There was a rustle of movement; Harry’s eyes snapped open to see Snape blocking Malfoy’s arm as he tried to raise it toward Harry. Harry was too numb to question the gesture.

Malfoy glared briefly at Snape, then turned back. “Can I touch you, Harry?” he asked. “I want to - can I just put my hand on your shoulder? Just to make sure you’re all right?”

Harry stared at him for a moment, unable to process the words. He was their submissive, his body was theirs to do what they wanted to with - far more than putting a hand on his shoulder. What was Malfoy playing at?

But Malfoy was staring at him, obviously expecting a response. He managed a nod.

Malfoy moved very slowly, barely brushing his shoulder at first. He carefully sat down on the other arm of the chair. “Is this okay?”

Harry shrugged, still bemused by all the questions.

For a moment, there was silence.

Malfoy broke it. “Harry, you know we’d never hurt you, right?”

Harry stopped himself from giving Malfoy an incredulous stare by looking down at his hands instead.

“I mean…” For the first time Harry could remember, Malfoy sounded flustered. “I know I’ve been a real git to you the past few years. I said some pretty awful things. I guess Sev did, too. But - but that doesn’t mean that we would ever hurt you like - well. Really hurt you. You know that, right?”

Harry couldn’t even begin to answer that. Why was Malfoy making such an absurd claim? Was he trying to lull him into a false sense of security? If so, the joke would be on him; there was no way Harry would trust him, not after everything that had happened between them.

“Harry?”

Malfoy apparently wasn’t going to take no answer as an answer. “You’ll change your mind eventually,” he said evenly, pretending that he believed Malfoy meant it at all. “Everyone does.”

Crap, he hadn’t meant to let that last part slip out. He stared back down at his hands, biting his lip hard. He had to get himself back under control.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Malfoy’s voice rose into the shrill territory. Harry winced.

“Nothing.”

Snape spoke before Malfoy could get any more agitated. “It was certainly not nothing, but if you wish to change the subject, then we will respect that.”

Harry heard the unspoken for now, but this was better than he’d thought he’d get. ‘Yeah. Let’s do that.”

“Dragon, go get something to read aloud,” Snape ordered, pulling him away from Harry.

“Why am I always the one to read?” Malfoy whined, though he was already moving to the nearest bookshelf.

“Because you’re the only one who’s had years of elocution lessons,” Snape replied. “Put them to good use.”

Malfoy grumbled, but it was clearly only for form’s sake; he was already skimming the titles rapidly.

“Something light, I think,” Snape said, and Harry realized that his dark eyes were still resting on him. Harry looked down again.

“Here’s Farmer Giles of Ham. Is that light enough for you?”

“It’s a humorous story of a man who is believed to be able to fight monsters, though his success is purely due to chance,” Snape said to Harry in a low voice. “What do you think?”

They were really serious about this… whatever this was. Harry decided that he’d better play along. Staying still and silent like Blaise and Theo had wanted didn’t seem to be working; they kept asking him questions. Maybe he’d better act more like he did at the table in the Great Hall.

“Sure! Sounds interesting!” he said, forcing himself to look up and meet Snape’s eyes with a smile.The man’s expression changed slightly, but Harry still couldn’t read it at all.

Malfoy, on the other hand, was practically bouncing back over, smiling at both of them. Instead of returning to his seat, he took up a pose against the mantel over the fireplace. “Aegidius de Hammo was a man who lived in the midmost parts of the Island of Britain. In full his name was Ngidius Ahenobarbus Julius Agricola de Hammo....”

Snape had been right; Malfoy had an excellent reading voice. Harry found himself smiling a bit at the absurdity of the narration, to his own surprise.

It didn’t take long, though, before his pleasure fled. His stomach was rebelling against the chocolate cake. He bit his lips tightly together and shut his eyes, trying to concentrate on calming his digestive system. He’d gotten fairly good at it when locked in his cupboard, but more often that was an empty stomach rebelling and he was just trying to prevent dry heaves. This felt different.

He didn’t want to have to ask Snape to take him to the loo like a two-year-old. He really didn’t want his professor standing over him as he sicked up.

Suddenly, he realized that it was too late to ask for anything. If he opened his mouth, it was all coming up. He thrust himself out of his chair and tried to run to the loo.

He didn’t make it. He found himself standing in a puddle of sick, dripping.

Oh, Merlin. They were going to murder him.

He grabbed a handful of his soiled robe and dropped to his knees, intending to use it to wipe up the mess as quickly as he could. Maybe they wouldn’t lay into him while he was cleaning.

“Harry, stop!”

Or maybe they would. He froze obediently, and in the next instant, the sick vanished from the ground and his robe alike.

Oh. Right. Magic. He still forgot about that sometimes.

He got shakily to his feet as they converged on him. Malfoy was babbling questions: was he all right, what had happened, and so on. Snape was looking him over assessingly.

“Did you eat anything solid in the hospital wing?” he asked. When Harry shook his head, he scowled. “Cake and champagne on an empty stomach. Fool.”

When Harry stiffened - it wasn’t like it had been his idea! - Snape waved a hand at him. “Go rinse your mouth out. Dragon, I’ll unward the floo; ask the house elves for some broth and toast.”

Rinsing his mouth did feel good, although having Snape hover in the doorway of the loo made it uncomfortable. Harry ignored his desire to use the toilet; he wasn’t doing that until he absolutely had to.

Of course, that attitude had worked out so well with the vomit incident…

By the time he made it back to his chair, the tray of broth and toast was sitting on the low table in front of it. Harry looked at it dubiously.

“Eat only as much as you like,” Snape said as he returned to his own seat. “Or none, if you prefer. But you might need something in your stomach to settle it.”

It seemed reasonable, and the broth did smell good. Harry took a cautious spoonful. It tasted good but he only managed a few bites before his stomach began to roil again. He tried a bit of the toast next, but managed less than half a slice. Finally, he just sat back with a sigh.

Snape vanished the tray. “I think it might be wise of you to retire early tonight,” he said calmly.

Harry’s eyes flashed to the bed; he just barely fought back a shudder. He tried to convince himself not to be afraid. They had just seen him sick up, after all. They might go easy on him for fear of him doing it again.

Snape’s too-penetrating eyes were fixed on him. “A moment,” he said, and stood, raising his wand. First he used it to direct the furniture around: the bed retreated to a corner, the desks moved across the room, cramped in behind the door. Then, in the newly-empty space, there appeared one of the red-and-gold four poster beds from the Gryffindor dorms. Another flick of the wand brought his trunk, at the foot of the bed, and the nightstand beside it. The privacy curtains disappeared, and Snape turned fully to face Harry. “I will replace them after tomorrow.”

Harry wasn’t worried about the curtains. He was too busy trying to keep from falling over in sheer shock. They were giving him a bed? Not just any bed, but his own bed from the Tower? It seemed unbelievable, but there it was.

He looked up, meeting Snape’s eyes on purpose for the first time that day. “Thank you, sir,” he said softly, feeling like the words were inadequate. Snape had no idea how grateful he was. Even if it was just for one night, it was a wonderful gift.

“You are of course free to join us whenever you wish to,” Snape said, ignoring his thanks as if he hadn’t spoken. “But you are also free to sleep on your own. It is your choice.”

“Sev sometimes transfigures the bed into two when he’s going to get up and check on a potion a dozen times a night,” Malfoy added. “Sometimes it’s nice to have your own space.”

Well, Harry couldn’t argue with that. A little of the fear he’d been carrying all day relaxed. He still didn’t understand why they were doing all this, but he would enjoy it while it lasted.

* * *

When the monitoring ward finally informed him that Harry was asleep, Severus lifted his hand from the chess piece he’d been about to move and sat back. Draco stiffened and looked from him to the bed. Severus nodded.

He’d expected Draco to immediately erupt in complaints and frustration, and he wasn’t disappointed. Draco kept his voice down, but his agitation was clear. “What the hell was that, Severus?”

Severus deliberately kept his voice calm and even. “That was about what I expected. I did warn you,” he added, but that did nothing to placate Draco.

“What you expected? You expected that he’d be afraid even to look at us? That Harry Bloody Potter - who I’ve fought with constantly for years - wouldn’t dare speak a word to me the entire evening? That he’d, what, I don’t know, stop breathing in the middle of a conversation? That he’d sick up and try to clean it up WITH HIS OWN CLOTHES?” Draco’s voice was rising, and Severus sent a quick silencing spell at Harry’s bed. The last thing they needed was him waking up to this. “What the hell do you mean, what you expected?”

Severus sighed and stood to pull his mate into his arms. He held him in silence for a long moment, feeling Draco shake with suppressed energy.

“We were going to rescue him,” Draco finally whispered, his voice breaking. “I thought - of course he’d be happy! He’s not in pain anymore, we have him safe… Why is he still so … messed up?”

Severus reflected again on how sheltered his young mate was. “Don’t be naive, Dragon,” he said. “He doesn’t know he’s safe with us.”

“What, he thinks we’re going to treat him like they did?” Draco scoffed, incredulous.

At Severus’ nod, his mockery turned to horror. “How can he think that?”

“What reason does he have to believe otherwise?”

“I told him…” Draco broke off, finally realizing what was going on. “Oh. He - he doesn’t believe me?”

Severus hugged his mate tighter and started leading him toward their bed. “Of course he doesn’t. How could he? What evidence does he have that such a thing is even possible?”

“So that’s why…” Draco trailed off as they sat against the headboard. “The cake, the bed?”

“Yes,” Severus confirmed. “I am attempting to reassure him. The cake was not effective, but the bed…”

“The bed meant a lot to him,” Draco confirmed. “So in order to do more things like that, we need to figure out why…”

Severus let him work it out himself. He knew he had when Draco jerked in his arms, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“He didn’t,” he whispered. “He thought we were going to- to-”

“To force him into bed with us and brutally rape him?” Severus said, deliberately blunt, though he continued combing the long blond hair with his fingers to mitigate the harshness of his words. “Yes, that’s exactly what he thought. I’m not certain why the bed assured him otherwise, but it’s just as well that it did.”

Draco was clinging to him, burying his head in his shoulder. “I just want to touch him,” he said in a broken voice. “He’s our mate, Sev; I just want to hold him and let him know everything will be OK. He’s - I tried to hug him, in the hospital wing, and he asked me what I was doing. I don’t think he’s ever been hugged, Sev. I just want…”

“Do not,” Severus admonished sharply. “Remember what I told you before he awoke. Do not touch him without his express permission, not if you hope to ever have him let you touch him freely. Try not to give him direct orders. Invite him to do anything we do, don’t leave him out, but don’t force him either.”

Draco nodded against his chest. “I remember. I just - I didn’t think it would be this bad. You said he might be angry, as much as scared.”

“He still might,” Severus replied, remembering his own childhood. There had been times when he would creep about and try to avoid Tobias at all costs, and other times when he’d decide to hell with it and attack the old man with words, trying to get some control. “It might be easier if he is.”

Draco sniffled, an inelegant sound that would have had Narcissa looking reprovingly at him. Severus just smiled and stroked his hair. “It might.”

“Speaking of which, how are you handling having ‘Harry Bloody Potter, who you’ve fought with constantly for years,’ as our mate?”

Draco shifted uncomfortably, drawing away from him to lean back against the headboard. “I haven’t thought about it, really.”

Severus waited silently, knowing that his Dragon needed to talk through things to deal with them. It was the opposite for him, but he could be the listener his mate needed.

“These past few weeks, all I’ve wanted was to find him, right? Whoever our third was. I just wanted the pain to stop, I wanted him to be safe and us to take care of him and it all to go away. And now, it’s him, and … I just don’t know what to think. I’ve hated him for so long, but he’s mine now, just like you are, and nobody’s going to hurt him again.” He said the last fiercely, then sighed and relaxed. “But then I remember all the times I did my best to hurt him. I got him to cry a couple of times, and I was so bloody proud of myself! And now…” He sighed again. “I just don’t know how to reconcile it.”

Suddenly he sat bolt upright. “Bloody hell!”

Severus sat up beside him, a hand on his back. “Dragon?”

Draco’s face was pale, and sweaty. “Anti-nausea draught,” he gasped, and Severus summoned one, popped it open, and passed it to him without a word.

Draco swallowed and slowly relaxed. “Bloody hell,” he murmured again.

“There is a reason such language is unacceptable in cultured society,” Severus snapped. “Use words that convey actual information if you wish to be taken seriously.”

Draco pressed a hand to his forehead. “I just realized - you know they said that they sent Harry back to his Muggle family for the holidays?” Severus nodded; the fact had come out in the boys’ statements to the Aurors, trying to deny some of the injuries Harry had taken. “Well, every year on the train back to school, I’d go find Potter and his pals and try to start something. It was a tradition.” He swallowed hard. “And now I’m thinking - he was just coming from a whole summer of that, and I went and…”

Severus wrapped his mate in his arms and pulled him back down to lie on his chest. He knew the struggle Draco was engaged in. He’d gone through it himself, many times. To a certain kind of mind, one common in Slytherin, those outside one’s immediate network weren’t exactly people. If they hurt, it was only a weakness to be exploited. But those close to them were a different matter. If anyone hurt them, it was a slight to oneself, to be avenged with all the savagery available.

This was the first time Draco had had someone cross the line from enemy to family member, and the cognitive dissonance was acutely painful. Severus knew that from experience. He’d gone from not thinking much about anyone but himself, Lily, and sometimes his mother, to actually caring about the pain of others, even unknown others, just because they were human. The process had taken almost two decades to date, and he still wasn’t done. And for some reason, his new mate was the one person who could reliably set him back to his starting point.

Every time he looked at Potter, he was back to being fifteen again. Only this time, he was the self he’d wanted to be at fifteen: smoothly spoken instead of stuttering, in a position of power instead of poor and weak, able not only to defend himself but to attack and bring others low. And every time, he did. It took all his effort not to fire hexes at the boy - he was somewhat impressed with himself that he never had, actually. But he couldn’t stop himself from ripping Potter to shreds with his words - all the things he’d wanted to say when he was young but never could.

When he was alone, he could remind himself that Potter was just a boy, and even if he was a troublemaker and a pest, he didn’t deserve to hurt that much for it. But when he passed him in the halls, he still had to fight the urge to get his back to the wall and draw his wand against an attack. And when he saw him in class or spoke to him, the same things always came out.

And now they were mates. He could have laughed at the irony. The broken ones, trying to repair each other, or at least not cut each other to bits on the shards. What were the chances they’d succeed?

Chapter Text

Harry woke in a bed, which was enough to make him tense at once. Was there any chance he could get up without disturbing his mates and making them come after him again? He opened his eyes a crack to see where they were, and saw a Gryffindor-red coverlet.

That brought everything back to him. He tried not to groan aloud; Snape and Malfoy were certainly nearby. And sure, they’d left him alone the night before - he still had no idea what the hell that had been about - but they were definitely going to show him what they expected of him now. He wished he hadn’t woken up.

“Good morning, Harry,” said a smooth voice beside his bed, and he startled violently.

Right. Damn monitoring charm. He was about to have Snape follow him to the loo, again. Well, no point in putting it off. He swung himself out of bed and headed across the room. Outwardly, he ignored Snape completely; inwardly, he was as tense as he could be, waiting for the command to drop to all fours or the blow to his back.

But nothing came, and he entered the loo and took care of business without another word being spoken. It wasn’t until he came out and hesitated, unsure what to do next, that Snape spoke again.

“What would you like for breakfast?”

“What?” Harry actually looked at the man, certain he hadn’t heard right, but his expression was as perfectly neutral as his voice.

“Since we are confined to this room for medical reasons, we have access to the house elves through the Floo. You can order whatever you’d like.”

Harry just stood there, unsure of how to respond. He’d gotten used to not eating on weekends. And he’d never in his life chosen what he was going to eat. His mind was a blank for far too long.

But the expected scathing comment never came. Harry darted another look at Snape. Were his lips pressed a bit tighter? It was impossible to say with such a quick glance, and Harry certainly wasn’t going to risk staring at the man. He wasn’t that stupid.

Instead, he nodded and went over to the fireplace. He managed to place an order without feeling like too much of an idiot and turned around to find that the low table had been transfigured into a tall one, and his chair was less squashy and more appropriate for dining. It was still red, though, which surprised him. Snape was back in the chair he’d occupied the night before, apparently engrossed in a book. Harry doubted it; Snape had said Harry wasn’t to go out of his sight, and he was certain he was being watched intently.

“Thanks,” he said awkwardly as he sat down.

Snape nodded without looking up. “Have you any plans to kill yourself today?” he asked, turning a page in his book.

Harry’s food appeared before him with a pop, but he couldn’t even move to pick up his fork. What kind of a question was that? He opened his mouth to demand just that, but closed it again. Surely he wasn’t stupid enough to piss Snape off right now. Hopefully he wasn’t that stupid.

He clenched his hands into fists, feeling his nails dig into his palms. The pain grounded him. He wasn’t going to go looking for trouble. There was enough of that coming anyway.

“No. No plans.”

Snape just nodded, still not looking up. Harry closed his eyes to keep from rolling them. Polite. He was going to be polite. He grabbed his fork and started eating. At least it was something to do.

Snape didn’t speak again, or look up from his book. When Harry couldn’t eat any more, he sat back, and his dishes vanished. He hesitated, looking around the room. It looked like Malfoy was still asleep, from the shape of the lump in the green bed. Nothing else had changed in the room since the night before. He braced himself and turned back to Snape.

“What do you want me to do now?” His voice came out very quiet, but at least it didn’t break. He might have been terrified, but he didn’t have to show it. Never show fear - that had been his mantra around Snape and Malfoy for years. It was a lot harder now that he was totally at their mercy, though.

Snape looked up from his book and raised an eyebrow. “You’re not in detention, Po- Harry. Do what you like. I would ask that you speak with me before leaving the room, since I must accompany you.”

Harry blinked at him. What he liked? What did that even mean?

Snape started to speak, but cut himself off abruptly. After a moment, he resumed. “This is your room, after all. What would you normally do in your room on a weekend?”

Harry grimaced, holding back the automatic response: try to manage the pain. Maybe catch a bit of sleep, if he were lucky. Mostly, just endure, counting the hours until breakfast on Monday.

Snape didn’t need to know that.

But it was almost as if he knew; he shook his head slightly and said, “Perhaps that was an ill thought. In the Gryffindor dorms, then?”

Harry tried to think back to what he’d done in Gryffindor on weekends in past years. Play chess with Ron, watch the twins’ pranks, join a conversation about Quidditch… None of those were an option here.

“Homework?” he finally suggested, the only thing he could think of that seemed reasonable. After all, Snape was a professor; he had a vested interest in students doing their homework. Maybe, he thought in sudden excitement, Snape would even leave him alone if he was studying.

Snape sneered at him. “A worthy pursuit, if you think it will do you any good,” he said in the tone Harry was used to hearing from him. Harry was surprised when he cut himself off abruptly, normally Snape had plenty more to say about Harry’s inadequate brain.

Snape raised his wand, and Harry braced himself, but the spell wasn’t directed at him. A third desk suddenly appeared next to the door to the loo, with quills and ink and parchment on it and his bookbag beside it. Harry swallowed hard. His own bed, and now his own desk? What was going on?

Snape was watching him closely. “We can experiment with other arrangements for the room when Dragon awakens,” he said, as if Harry had complained.

Harry shrugged. “It’s fine.” He moved over to the desk and began to get out the things he needed to study for Arithmancy. “Thanks.”

Well-rested and not in pain, Harry got a lot more done that morning than he’d expected. He managed to study through Malfoy waking up and eating his breakfast, then whining about having nothing to do until Snape sent him out with stern orders not to talk to anyone about the past week. The tension in Harry’s back, which had begun to build the first time Malfoy mentioned boredom, relaxed again.

Snape sat at his own desk, working on something. Harry was very careful to keep his eyes away; he didn’t want to be lectured on privacy or punished for snooping. He managed to get so focused that when Snape spoke again, he jerked in surprise.

“What would you like for lunch?”

Food again? Harry was starting to think this was the best day he’d had since he turned sixteen, and wasn’t that ironic. He stretched and rose from his desk. Snape was standing by the fireplace, Floo powder in hand, obviously waiting for him to make a decision. “Uh, whatever they’re having in the Great Hall is fine.”

He expected Snape to sneer at him, but the man just tossed in the powder and requested “two of the daily” of the house elf. The food appeared on the table before Harry made it there.

They ate in silence again. Harry was starting to relax into it a bit; maybe this was just how they liked it. Maybe he hadn’t messed this up, at least. It might be one less thing for them to blame him for.

He moved back to the desk as soon as he was done eating. He was sick of doing homework and struggling to concentrate, but considering all the other things Snape could find for him to do, he was going to keep studying until he was ordered to stop. Hell, he was going to read ahead and make up his own essay topics, if it would make his mates leave him alone.

He’d just gotten settled into the process when the door banged open; he twisted in this chair to see Draco, eyes wild, pushing the door shut behind himself. “Problem,” he said, his voice no longer steady and smooth.

Snape had risen from his desk. “Tell me.”

“The rumors are starting already. No names, but everyone’s talking about soulmates and suggesting various impossibilities.”

Harry’s eyes bugged out when Snape swore like a dockworker. His voice had completely changed, from the low, smooth one Harry had always heard to something rough, with a distinctly lower-class accent. He huddled in his seat; there was no way this could be good.

The conversation that followed was so cryptic that Harry wondered if they were actually speaking in code. It didn’t sound like a code - no strange words - but he didn’t understand how they knew what the other one was getting at when they said things like:

“Parkinson?”

“That one burned at the start of the year. You?” Snape snorted. Draco smirked. “Right. My mother might.”

“If we had a good enough…”

“Right, I still can’t.”

Harry gave up trying to understand and just watched for dangerous body language. His spine was starting to ache from being twisted around, but there was no way he was moving. If he turned back to his desk, they would be able to come up behind him; if he turned to face them, they might notice him. He concentrated on breathing into the tight muscles and enduring. As far as he could tell, they had completely forgotten about him, which was the way he wanted to keep it.

The discussion seemed to come to some sort of conclusion (“Dumbledore first?” “The old fool would insist.”) and they turned toward the fireplace. Of course, Snape’s eyes fell on Harry. He cringed back from the fury in them.

“Get over by the fireplace where I can see you while I make a Floo call,” Snape snapped in the voice he used when giving Harry detention.

Before Harry could move, Draco grabbed Snape’s arm. “Sev!”

Snape looked at him. Something passed unspoken between them before Snape sneered and turned his full attention back to Harry. When he spoke again, the sarcasm was thick enough to cut. “Would you do me the favor of moving…”

He was cut off when Draco actually struck him on the shoulder. “Severus, stop it!”

Harry scrambled out of his chair and ran across the room the way he’d learned to move at the Dursleys’, hunched over and ready to dodge out of the way of a blow at any moment. Now he was causing them to fight! He hadn’t done that even to Blaise and Theo, or Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. Everyone had always been united in hurting him. If he caused them arguments, he could only imagine that they would take it out on him even worse.

He flung himself up against the rough stones of the fireplace, as close to the fire as he could get. The heat was intense, but it barely registered over the panicked beating of his heart.

He glanced back across the room. Snape and Malfoy were walking toward him very slowly. Harry closed his eyes and tried to brace himself. When their footsteps stopped, his eyes popped open despite himself.

Draco was sitting down in his regular armchair. Snape had paused beside him, but now he continued toward Harry.

Harry didn’t think he could get any more tense, but somehow he managed it. Snape didn’t stop at all, though, merely sweeping by him with a billow of robes and a snapped, “I am not angry with you.”

Harry was so busy trying to figure out why that mattered that he barely heard Snape talking through the Floo, asking Dumbledore to come to their room. He counted himself lucky that his eyes jerked back to focus when Snape turned around, because it meant that he didn’t miss the gesture directing him back to his chair. He huddled into it while Snape transfigured the table into a settee with its back to the fire. The flames roared green and Dumbledore stepped through just as he finished.

* * *

Severus didn’t have any patience with the Headmaster’s twinkly old grandfather act at the best of times, and this was certainly not the best of times. He interrupted the old man before he could start offering anyone lemon drops. “Albus, the rumors have already begun. We need to gain control of this now.”

Albus sat on the settee as if it were his throne. “Now, now, my boy, no need to be hasty,” he said mildly, eyes still twinkling.

Severus growled. “There were a dozen people in that room! There’s no way you can keep this quiet, Albus; we need to make actual plans.”

“My dear boy, nothing is known yet but some wild rumors, such as are always flying about this school. Like the one about having a vampire on staff, that comes up every year or so, but does it cause any problems? Of course not.”

“Albus…”

“Besides, I am putting everyone involved under oath not to discuss the matter.”

“An oath?” What was the barmy old coot thinking?

“Well, somewhere between an oath and a charm - a variant on the Fidelius, in fact, I’m rather proud of it.”

Severus could read between the lines easily enough; he’d been following through on the man’s mad plans for long enough. “You’re trusting our lives to an untested charm? If the Dark Lord discovers that Potter is my mate…”

Well, there was no scenario he could think of that would not end in all their deaths - any one of them dying would kill the other two instantly. Dumbledore might not give a damn if Draco died - Severus knew that his own role as spy was important, but not so important that the old man wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice him if he thought it necessary - but Potter was supposed to be absolutely vital, the only one with power to vanquish the Dark Lord. Not to mention the way Dumbledore had spoiled the boy. Surely he would take action to protect him, at least?

“I’m quite confident, Severus.”

And that was it. Either the old man had some complex plan that he wasn’t telling, or he was going to wait and see what happened and then pretend it had all been part of some master plan. Even Severus couldn’t tell which, and it had driven him crazy on past occasions.

This was far beyond mere annoyance, though. If he couldn’t trust Dumbledore to keep his mates safe, he would have to do it himself. The idea of trying to protect Potter on his own was terrifying. Even with Dumbledore’s help, the brat had nearly died every year at school so far. And now? With two other people who could be used to kill him from a distance, both of whom had ties to his greatest enemy?

Severus occluded hard, thrusting away all thought and emotion until he was merely present, a puppet not taking anything in. The state wasn’t sustainable for long, but it had gotten him through moments with both the Dark Lord and Dumbledore that would have otherwise gotten him killed. He watched dispassionately as Dumbledore discussed Harry wearing the invisibility cloak when entering and leaving their rooms and the necessity of Blaise and Theo returning to cement the imposture - he trembled and almost broke occlusion at that - and finally performed his charm on all three of them, offered some merry words of congratulations, as if this were a celebration, and - of course - passed out lemon drops, before disappearing through the Floo.

As soon as he was gone, Severus’ mind burst free from the constraints he’d put on it. Once again, he dropped back into the earliest form of himself, the one he hardly ever released because of the way it reminded him of his father. He felt his body shift, taking on the stance that meant no one in the pub, no matter how drunk and belligerent, would mess with him. His voice reverted back to the accent of his childhood, with curses he’d picked up from the foul-mouthed laborers of Spinner’s End.

He pulled his wand to start conjuring things to destroy, and froze. His stalking had brought him face-to-face with Po- with Harry, and his mate was pressed as far back into his chair as he could go, face a mask of terror. Severus had completely forgotten about him for the second time in less than an hour; Poppy would have his head if she ever found out. And he was angry enough to get wrapped up in destruction and forget again; it was why he had warded quarters where it was safe for him to lose himself.

Severus growled deep in his throat and stepped back, trying to think what to do. Suddenly Draco was plastered against him, arms wrapped around him, leaning in for a kiss. Severus only allowed him a brief one before pulling away and bending his head to bite down savagely on Draco’s neck. His Dragon moaned and melted against him, and Severus stopped worrying for a moment. He could channel the rage here, and not hurt anyone - but no. He could see Harry out of the corner of his eye, and the teen was clearly still terrified. He and Draco had agreed to hold off on sex when Harry was around for a while; he couldn’t exactly order their third to sit where he could see him while fucking Draco and expect things to turn out well.

He wanted to curse again, but restrained himself. Instead, he pulled back a step. “A reasonable offer, Dragon,” he murmured in a low voice, “but now is not the time.”

Draco sighed but nodded. “Will you be all right?”

Severus closed his eyes and pulled yet another persona over himself. The process would involve taking his attention off Potter for several minutes, but it was the best alternative he could come up with. This persona was the one he used in the presence of the Dark Lord: completely competent, completely controlled, dangerous enough to kill on a whim but obedient enough to refrain from it unless commanded. It was the Dark Lord’s perfect servant, and it had taken years to perfect, but now there was nothing that could get through it. In this state, all emotion would wait as long as it had to.

Of course, he was killingly sarcastic to anyone except the Dark Lord himself, but it was the best he could do. He’d just have to keep his mouth shut and trust that Dragon would handle the situation.

He started a mental count. Ten more hours. Then the suicide watch would be done and he didn’t have to worry about being distracted by his emotions. Until then, he was the perfect servant.

* * *

Draco hadn’t seen Severus’ Death Eater mask often, and it gave him shivers every time he did. He understood why he’d chosen it now; it was possibly the only thing that could keep him from expressing how very angry he was, and he didn’t want to do that around their third. Draco rather thought the Death Eater might frighten Harry more than an explosion of anger would have, but that was Severus for you.

Either way, it was left to Draco to pick up the slack. Severus reseated himself where he could keep watching Harry, and Draco looked over as well. Their third looked absolutely petrified; This was going to be harder than he’d thought.

Well, he was not his mother’s son for nothing. With a wave of his wand, he transfigured the settee back into a table and stepped around it to the Floo, where he ordered a full, formal high tea. That would take up good hour, maybe more longer if he played it right.

The service popped into existence before he made it back to his chair. He seated himself and set about to channel Narcissa, a charming smile on his face. He fixed Severus’ tea with lemon and passed it to him with an inane comment that got nothing more than a nod in return. Then he turned to Harry.

“And how do you like your tea?” he asked. From Harry’s wide-eyed look, it wasn’t a question he was comfortable with. Had he never been forced into a formal tea? Draco was almost jealous - then he remembered what he’d learned about the Muggles and could have hit himself.

Just as he was about to suggest something, Harry managed to speak up. “Two sugars, please.”

Draco was quite frankly astonished that he’d managed such a competent response. “Of course.” He prepared and served the cup with proper care, then quickly made his own before offering around the sandwiches and cakes.

Severus refused everything, which didn’t surprise Draco in the least. He had raised the cup to his lips a few times, but Draco imagined that he hadn’t actually ingested any. He probably didn’t, in Death Eater mode, unless the Dark Lord’s presence required it. Harry accepted sandwiches with clear trepidation; Draco pressed him to take a scone as well - after the day before, he wasn’t about to insist on cakes.

Well, serving had eaten up some time, but there were a lot of hours left for him to fill. Draco turned to Harry, perfect smile still on his lips, trying frantically to find an appropriate topic of conversation. Everything had the potential to become an argument or be taken as an insult. But his mother was the expert at getting hostile parties talking cordially at her teas; surely he could manage this.

Perhaps Quidditch? Not the school game - though he was dying to know why Harry had quit the team - but professional. “The Holyhead Harpies are having an amazing season, aren’t they? What do you think are their odds of making it to the finals this year?”

Harry stared at him as if he were as mad as Dumbledore. Draco just kept his expression pleasant and prayed that he would respond somehow. He didn’t know how his mother did it; this was nerve wracking!

“Their new Seeker is supposed to be pretty good,” Harry managed, and Draco just barely restrained a sigh of relief.

They managed a conversation about Quidditch tactics (Was high team turnover a problem? It depended which position; churning Seekers was far less detrimental than changing one Chaser at a time) that never even got close to a debate, let alone an argument, with both of them carefully on their best behavior. Severus remained completely silent the entire time, and Harry never did stop stealing anxious looks at him, but at least he’d managed to uncurl from his chair and even eat. He’d apparently quite liked the scones, either not noticing or pretending not to notice when Draco continued to slip new ones on his plate and eating every one. Draco was pleased with that; he didn’t like seeing his mate skin and bones from the treatment he’d endured.

When the tea finally ended, Draco immediately retrieved the book he’d begun the night before and began reading. Severus still didn’t respond, even when Harry actually made a sound that might have been a stifled laugh, but when Draco stopped to sip some water as his throat began to dry out, he found a potion mixing with it; a sip of the lemon-flavored, effervescent result left his throat as good as new. He threw his mate a grateful smile, knowing it meant Severus approved of his efforts, and continued.

He managed to make the book last until dinnertime, and went back to discussing Quidditch over the meal. He was flagging by the end, though, and he was afraid the others could see it, because Harry spoke unprompted for the first time since they’d come to their room.

“I - I think I’d like to have an early night again, if it’s all right with you?” His uncertain gaze darted between Draco and Severus.

The night before, Draco might’ve been frustrated by the fact that he thought he had to ask permission, but right now, he was just relieved that he was almost done. “That sounds like a good idea,” he said with a smile. “Sev still owes me another game of chess, and it would probably be boring to sit and watch.”

Harry seemed to be trying his best to ignore Severus as he followed him to the loo and then put the monitoring charm on him again; well, that was better than squeaking in fear at the sight of him like Longbottom. Draco set out the chessboard while they were gone; he and Severus played an extremely poor game due to their distraction until Severus finally leaned back, his face un-freezing from its mask. “He’s asleep.”

“Thank Merlin,” Draco moaned, rolling his head on his neck to try and relieve hours of tension.

“You were superb, Dragon,” Severus said, coming to rest a hand on his shoulder, and Draco glowed with pride.

“I was trying to be Mother,” he confessed. “She knows how to handle situations like these.”

“A good choice.” Severus’ voice was clipped, and Draco grinned up at him; the mood he was in, it must be killing him to try and be polite. It made him appreciate the compliment all the more.

“Go explode things in the loo,” he suggested. “I saved a plateful of cakes for you on your desk; you can take them with you if you want.” Severus had broken into his North Country accent twice today, which was more than he usually did in a month. He had truly been incensed at what Dumbledore was doing. But Draco had noticed that whenever Sev did drop back into that accent, he ate sweets as if he’d never get another. Draco couldn’t begin to fathom how his mate’s mind worked; when he channeled his mother, he didn’t start craving foie gras! But he was determined to do his best for him - for both of his mates, if Harry would ever let him.

Severus squeezed his shoulder. “You know me too well,” he said, and Draco heard the danger in that, hidden though it was.

He rose and wrapped himself around Severus again. “Then it’s a good thing you know I can’t hurt you,” he murmured against the pulse in Sev’s neck. “You know I couldn’t handle being hurt myself. Self-preservation is my strongest Slytherin trait, after all.”

He felt his mate relax minutely. “There is that,” Sev agreed, and leaned down to kiss him.

Draco grinned when they broke apart. “Go destroy things. I’ll be here when you get done.”

* * *

This time, when Harry woke up, he knew exactly where he was and why, which he counted as progress. And when Snape spoke from beside his bed, he didn’t jump nearly as much.

He did immediately glance over, because he had NEVER seen Snape as angry as he had been the night before - not when Harry and Ron flew the car into the Whomping Willow, not when he learned that Sirius was innocent and he wasn’t getting an Order of Merlin, NEVER. He was beyond grateful that Draco had kept prattling away the entire evening, or he might have died of sheer terror.

But today Snape looked back to his baseline level of angry - slightly annoyed about life in general and Harry’s existence in particular, but not about to kill anyone at the moment. Harry stifled a sigh of relief.

The man didn’t leave him worrying about why he was sitting next to his bedside, either. “Good morning, Harry. Have you any plans to kill or injure yourself today?”

What, that again? Harry gave him a big, insincere smile. “Nope, no plans at all for today, thanks.”

Snape was eyeing him like he was a potions ingredient again. “And are you able to honestly promise that if you do form such a plan, you will inform myself or Madam Pomfrey before carrying it out?”

Harry couldn’t stop a look of complete disbelief. “What? Why?”

Snape raised an eyebrow at him. “I would like you to have some interest in preserving your own life, but I expect that would be quite unreasonably optimistic at the moment. So consider the fact that if you cannot promise, we will have to consider measures to keep you - and all of us - safe. Nothing so arduous as you’ve gone through the past three days, but still extreme.”

“Fine. I promise.” Harry glowered and folded his arms across his chest.

But Snape shook his head. “An honest promise, if you recall.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about it,” Harry snapped back. “I did the research and if a mate in a triad kills himself, the other mates survive. You’ll be just fine.”

“Since I find it highly unlikely that you involved Miss Granger in your illicit and morally dubious research, you’ll forgive me for doubting the accuracy of your conclusions.” Harry almost flinched. Well, Snape was back to normal, that was certain. “Be that as it may, I have an interest in your life, not just because it may affect mine, but because I prefer you to be alive.”

He couldn’t help scoffing at that. “Right. Because you like me so very much. You’d dance on my grave if you could, and you know it.”

Snape suddenly rose from the chair beside his bed to loom over him. “After the number of times I’ve saved your life, you insolent brat, you dare to claim I want you dead?”

Harry refused to cower. He’d done enough of that lately. Snape was going to hate him anyway, he’d proven that long ago, and there was no point to hiding away from whatever he was going to do to him now that he was his. “All right, fine, you want me alive so that you can make me miserable. You can’t deny that that’s what you’ve always done!”

He was expecting Snape to hit him, or scream at him, or something. Oddly enough, the man calmed down, reseating himself and looking suddenly bored. “Would you say that I have been making you miserable for the past two days?”

Reluctantly, Harry shook his head. He still didn’t know what was going on, but he knew his new mates could have made life infinitely more painful for him than they had. Why they hadn’t was still unclear, but the fact remained.

“Then I propose a deal. I will promise that Draco and I will continue to treat you as we have - that is, not forcing you to do anything that is unnecessary for your health and welfare, and not raising hand or wand to cause you pain - for one week. You will promise, in return, to refrain from killing or injuring yourself for the same time frame, and if the desire to do so grows strong enough that you begin to make plans, that you will tell myself or Madam Pomfrey. Is that acceptable?”

Harry found himself gaping again. He couldn’t help it; Snape (and Malfoy) kept behaving in such completely unprecedented ways that he couldn’t keep up. He had no idea why they hadn’t hurt him in the last day and a half, and now Snape was offering to extend that … whatever-it-was for another week? What was Snape getting out of this? What was his goal?

But whatever the goal behind it, the offer was too good to refuse. After all, Harry hadn’t actually had any plans for another attempt. The last one had hurt so damn badly, and had even worse results; he wasn’t going to try again until he had a better plan, and that wasn’t likely to happen in the next week. He’d been arguing because he didn’t want to let his one bit of control in this situation slip away - but Snape was offering him a lot more control in return: a promise to not force him to do anything, as well as no pain. And if he was lying, well, Harry could always go back on his word as well. He wasn’t losing anything by trying.

“All right,” he said, raising his gaze to meet Snape’s eyes. “It’s a deal.”

Snape stared straight back at him, and he couldn’t look away. “I give you my word, Harry Potter, that for the next week neither Draco nor I will raise hand nor wand with intent to cause you harm, nor force you to do anything against your will, unless it is necessary for your health or survival.”

Harry did his best to imitate the oddly formal way Snape had spoken. “I give you my word that for the next week I will not try to kill or harm myself, and I will speak to Madam Pomfrey or your if I make plans to do so.”

Snape nodded and rose, sending his chair back to the fireplace grouping with a wave of his wand. “You have an hour until breakfast begins in the Great Hall.” He set Harry’s wand down on the nightstand with a soft click before he turned and strode out of the room.

Chapter Text

As Harry gathered up his things to leave the library Friday evening, Hermione grabbed his hand unexpectedly. “You’re looking so much better, Harry!” she said. “I’m sorry about last week, but I was so worried about you!. I’m glad that something changed for you.”

Harry ducked his head awkwardly. “We agreed not to talk about last week anymore,” he reminded her. “You were right, I wasn’t sleeping well, and I overreacted. But it’s fine now.”

“I’m so glad,” Hermione repeated, giving his hand a squeeze before releasing it. She gave him a big smile before she turned to walk away.

Harry followed her out of the library, bemused. He almost wished he could tell Hermione what had changed, so that she could help him make sense of it. The only thing he understood was that his strange thought on Sunday had been right: this week with Snape and Malfoy had been the best week he’d spent since he turned sixteen. And that didn’t make any sense at all!

He still had no idea what they were getting out of the situation. He continued his habits from when he’d lived with Blaise and Theo: leaving as soon as he got up and dressed, and not returning until curfew. Then he immediately got ready for bed and pulled the curtains closed around him, reading in private until he was ready to sleep. They usually tried to address a few questions to him on his way to the loo, but even when he’d tested them by completely ignoring them, they hadn’t done anything to him.

Other than monosyllabic exchanges of the “How was your day? Fine” variety, he’d only interacted with them twice in the whole week. Monday morning, Malfoy caught him on his way out of the loo and told him that since they couldn’t appear to be on any closer terms than the casual friendship they’d had a week ago, Malfoy had decided to stick close to Blaise and Theo so that they had no chance to approach Harry. Harry had naturally been waiting for the three of them to ambush him, but Malfoy honestly seemed to be distracting the other boys whenever they so much as looked at Harry.

And Friday morning, Snape had reminded him that they would have to “continue their inimical relations during Potions classes to keep up Dumbledore’s little charade.” Not that Harry had expected anything different. But it had turned out to be one of those days in Potions when Snape just put the directions on the board and glowered silently at everyone while they worked, so even that was counted on the good side of this week.

He was so distracted by thinking about how his life had turned completely upside down that he didn’t notice footsteps coming up behind him. Rough hands grabbed him and flung him up against the wall before he could react. He started to struggle, but froze when he recognized the pair who had him pinned between them: Blaise and Theo.

He only stopped for one crucial second, but Blaise hit him with a Full-Body Bind and he felt himself teetering, unable to move a muscle to balance. They shoved him back against the wall before he could fall.

“Look at our little pet,” Theo sneered, face too close to Harry’s. “Running so happily off to his new masters. Are you any better for them than you were for us?”

“I doubt it,” Blaise drawled, turning his wand idly in his hands. “It’s defective, we know that. No one could want it.”

Theo’s breath was hot on Harry’s face. “We didn’t want you,” he hissed. “But we put up with you. And how did you repay us? We were humiliated and interrogated! And now we have to lie to cover up for you.” His voice was filled with loathing. Harry would have shivered if he could have. “And one of these days, we’re going to get payment from you. They won’t care; why would they care what happens to you? We’ll get our chance, and when we do, I’ll go first, and I”ll tear you wide open, and then…”

Harry wished desperately that he could stop listening. He threw all his energy in trying to fight the body-bind; it did no good. All the attempt at distracting himself did was make Theo’s grab for his face a surprise.

Blaise pulled Theo back before he could do any damage, though. “Easy, love,” he said soothingly. “You know they’ll notice if we send it back with any marks on it.”

“We could come up with some sort of story…”

“Not yet. It’s too soon. Wait a while, love. Revenge is a dish…”

“... best served cold. You’re right, of course, pet.” Theo kissed his mate, turned back to Harry. “Just you wait. We’ll come for you when they’ve had time to find out what a waste of space you are. They won’t care about marks then. Maybe we’ll even help you out with that little plan you had. After all, it won’t affect us, will it? And they might even thank us for taking you off their hands.”

With a final sneer, he turned away. Blaise paused only to cancel the body-bind before following his mate.

* * *

“This has been a horrible week,” Draco fumed, pacing their room.

“I quite agree,” Severus said evenly, not even looking up from his desk.

“Harry is completely ignoring us! He can’t do that!” Draco raged on, knowing he was acting like a child but not caring. “He’s ours, and the sooner he comes to accept that, the better. It’s been a whole week; he still won’t talk to me! We were having more conversations last term before we realized we were mated!”

Severus made a noncommittal noise in his throat, and Draco rounded on him. “And you! You don’t even care!”

He knew, the instant the words left his mouth, that they were a mistake. He was already flushing guiltily before Severus slowly turned toward him, a black expression on his face.

“I am attempting to manipulate a highly complex and volatile situation to ensure that all three of us survive. You may not know all the details, Dragon, but you know enough to understand that this is no sinecure. Forgive me for not worrying about whether we’re all ‘getting along’ or any such rot. I am preoccupied with keeping us alive, which I consider slightly more important!”

Sev’s voice was rising by the end, and Draco’s half-formed intention to escalate the argument dwindled away. He knew that Sev was exhausted; he didn’t know what was keeping him up at night, but he’d hardly slept in the last week. He also knew that it had something to do with keeping Harry - and all of them - safe.

He sighed gustily. “Fine,” he groused. “But I want to do something with Harry! Do you think he’d go flying with me tomorrow?”

Severus turned back to his papers. “Ask him.”

“Not if he’s not going to say yes.”

“Then convince him.”

Draco leaned back and let his head thud against the wall. “I don’t know how.”

“How very unSlytherin of you.”

Severus’ voice was detached, as if he wasn’t really listening to what he was saying, but Draco straightened up as if stung. Well, if that was what Sev thought, he would figure this out!

The trouble was, he really didn’t know anything about Harry. He had no levers on him, and it was a distinctly uncomfortable feeling. Apparently, both the boy he’d fought with for five years and the young man he’d been casually friends with for a term were completely different from his mate. He had no ground to stand on.

Actually, he realized as he thought about it, that was what had been bothering him this week, not the lack of ‘getting along’ Sev had mocked him for caring about. He needed to talk to Harry and get to know him so he knew what made him tick. Then he could deal with him confidently, instead of feeling off balance all the time.

Well, flying was his best shot. Harry really seemed to love to fly, and he hadn’t all year. Draco wasn’t sure why, but he was going to bet it had something to do with his former mates. In that case, giving him “permission” to be on a broom might be enough of a draw for Harry to agree to socialize with him.

He didn’t have any more time to plan, because Harry burst into their room. As soon as he dropped the invisibility cloak, Draco saw that he looked disheveled and wild-eyed. Draco glanced at the clock on the mantle; it was curfew on the dot, as always. Other nights, Draco had suspected Harry of lurking in the hallway invisible until the exact last moment he could enter the rooms on time. Today, it looked like he had run all the way there. What had kept him?

Draco opened his mouth to ask just that, then thought better of it. He didn’t want Harry feeling defensive, or the conversation might get shut down before it even got started. “Hey, Harry. Got any plans for tomorrow?”

Harry was clearly trying to slow his breathing without being obvious about it. It was painfully obvious. He’d never gotten any training in etiquette and deportment, and it showed. “Uh, not really,” he said, looking past Draco as if he wanted to get away. He didn’t just walk off, though, like he’d done the other night, so Draco kept going.

“I was wondering if you’d like to go out to the pitch with me tomorrow, fly around a bit. Maybe play a Seeker’s game?”

Harry’s gaze jerked back to his face, eyes wide in surprise. It was the same look he’d given them on any number of occasions that week, like when Severus had summoned his bed. That look always made Draco want to go kill whoever had taught him to have such low expectations, and then kiss Harry until the expression went away forever. Since neither of those actions was appropriate right now, he concentrated on looking calm.

“You-” Harry swallowed hard. “You want … to do that?”

Draco wished he could have heard what Harry had been about to say before he censored himself. “Yes, if you’d like. I think it could be fun.”

Harry licked his lips, and Draco forced himself not to stare at them. “All right,” he said in a small voice. “If that’s what you want.”

Draco wouldn’t let himself frown, but he wanted to. He really hoped he could learn legilimency someday, because this kind of thing drove him crazy. Harry’s reactions weren’t what Draco had predicted, and he wanted to know why.

But pushing wasn’t going to do him any good. He smiled instead. “Wonderful. Do you think your friends will believe that we just decided to have a game for fun?”

He couldn’t imagine that they would, and he thought the idea might push Harry into a stronger reaction. But Harry just shook his head, refusing to meet his eyes.

“All right, then, I’ll come over to the Gryffindor table during breakfast and claim that you resigned from the Quidditch team because you knew you couldn’t match my skill as a Seeker.” He watched Harry closely for a reaction - he really wanted to know what had made Harry resign - but he didn’t get anything he could use; Harry was too closed-off. “We’ll exchange some taunts and agree to play a Seeker’s game to see who’s best.”

All he got in response was a bob of the head and a quiet “That makes sense.”

Draco kept his sigh purely internal and deliberately stepped out of Harry’s way. “Will you come watch us, Sev?” he asked, mostly to give Harry an easy way out of the conversation.

“I doubt it,” Severus answered, shuffling papers around. “I have better things to do than watch idiots on broomsticks.”

Draco relaxed into bantering with him, but part of his attention remained on Harry as he finished in the loo and hid himself behind the curtains of his bed. Someday, he vowed to himself, their mate was going to join them for a decent conversation, without looking scared out of his wits.

Draco would make it happen.

* * *

“I still can’t believe he beat you, Harry!” Ron complained for the twelfth time. “What happened out there?”

Harry fought back a sigh. He really wished Draco had come up with a different idea to explain away their match. It had been wonderful to be on a broom again, but half of Gryffindor had followed them out to the pitch, and he’d hated to have them all see him lose.

“Not playing for months threw my game off, imagine that,” he said lightly and looked around for a distraction. “I bet Ginny could’ve beaten him.”

His replacement as Seeker blushed a brilliant red. “I don’t know…” she said uncertainly.

To Harry’s relief, Ron accepted the bait. “Of course you could, Gin,” he encouraged. “You did really well in the first match against Slytherin, and I’m sure you’ll beat him in the next one.”

Harry felt his shoulders relax slightly as Ron’s attention turned away from him. He could lie to everyone else, but it was still hard with Ron and Hermione. And he certainly didn’t want his best friend to know he’d thrown the game deliberately.

He’d realized he would have to, during the long hours the night before when he’d lain awake, staring at the curtains around his bed, reliving those moments with Blaise and Theo over and over again.

It was strange how fast everything had changed. Two weeks ago, what they’d said to him wouldn’t have mattered. It was just life. One week ago, he’d tried to die to get away from them. Today, after just a few days of being ignored instead of attacked, he was horrified by the idea of going back to that, and he was willing to fight to keep away from them.

The problem was, he didn’t have anything to fight with. They could come up on him from behind and ambush him - there were two of them, and he couldn’t use the cloak and the Map all of the time to keep track of them. Being quick with a spell hadn’t done any good last night.

No, in all the time he’d spent thinking about it, he could only come up with one thing that might help.

“We’ll wait until they get sick of you,” they’d said.

Well, if his new mates never got sick of him, they wouldn’t have a chance to attack. Obviously, Blaise and Theo were worried about what his mates might say and do if they hurt him right now. He just had to keep it that way.

The only problem with that scheme was that there was no reason to believe things wouldn’t play out just how Theo had predicted. It wasn’t like there was anything attractive about him that would make any mate want to protect him.

And that was when he’d realized that Draco currently was trying to protect him from Blaise and Theo. He’d said so himself, and it was obviously working, because they’d been worried. So, he’d reasoned, if he could get Draco to keep protecting him, he’d be safe.

“Harry!” Ron’s shout in his ear made him wince away.

“What?” Seeing the look on Ron’s face, he grimaced. “Sorry. I guess I was distracted. What did you say?”

“I said you should come up to the Tower. We’ll grab some snacks from the kitchen, have a little commiseration session.”

Harry should have jumped at the chance. It wasn’t like his mates would object - they hadn’t objected to anything he’d done so far this week, and they hadn’t asked him to be back in their room at any specific time. He could go and relax with his Housemates, try to recapture some of the innocent happiness he’d thought lost forever once he moved into the Soul Dorms.

But he couldn’t. The thought of it made him antsy and nervous. He needed to get back and see what Draco had thought of the match, see if there was something else Draco wanted from him. He had to keep Draco happy with him, and going to Gryffindor wouldn’t do that.

“Sorry, Ron.” Harry attempted to look contrite. “I don’t have time this afternoon. I’ve got to get back.”

“What? It’s Saturday, mate, you can take a few hours off. You’re studying all the bloody time anyway, turning into another Hermione…”

“It’s not that, Ron, I just - uh -” Harry remembered too late why he avoided lying to Ron directly. It never worked well.

Luckily for him, Seamus cut in with his own excuses. “He’s got two gorgeous snakes who can ‘commiserate’ with him much better than we could.” He waggled his eyebrows at Harry. “He’d rather have them comfort him for his loss, and can you blame him?”

This set off a series of crude remarks and lewd jokes, until Ginny made quite a funny one and Ron turned on everyone for corrupting his baby sister. Harry tried to hide his snort. Ginny was exactly as corrupt as she wanted to be and had no interest in being anyone’s coddled baby sister. He wondered if Ron would ever realize that.

The ensuing argument gave him an easy opportunity to slip away in the Entrance Hall and head for the Soul Dorms. His agitation grew as he got closer, and he barely remembered to stop in the alcove, check that no one was around, and then slip on the invisibility cloak. One of these days he was going to forget, and then Snape would murder him - no, he couldn’t do that, could he? Well, then, he would just almost kill him, bring him back with the nastiest potions known to man, and then spend the next week berating him for his stupidity that got people killed.

Even the thought made him wince as he slipped through the door and pulled off the cloak. To his surprise, the room was deserted. Of course, he realized belatedly that Draco was probably celebrating with the Slytherins. Maybe he should have gone with his friends - but he wanted to be here when Draco got back.

Harry started to pace back and forth, running over everything he’d decided the night before. There were only a few things he could think of that might get on Draco’s good side, and he didn’t want to miss any of them.

First, call him Draco - even in his thoughts - instead of Malfoy. Draco had invited him to do that months ago, soon after it’d become common knowledge that he had a soulbond with two Slytherins. He’d deliberately gone back to thinking of him as Malfoy when the whole mess with the altered marks had come up, as a way to remind himself of how much they’d hated each other for years and what kind of treatment he could expect.

But that hadn’t worked out like he’d expected - at least not so far - and he didn’t want to keep thinking of him as Malfoy and risk slipping and calling him by the wrong name. Snape had made a big deal of names that first night, he recalled. So Draco it was.

Second, go flying with him, and let him win. That seemed to have gone well. Draco had looked elated when they’d been carried off by their respective Houses. Harry would find out when he got back whether it had worked as well as he thought, but he was tentatively planning to suggest they do it again sometime. He just needed to come up with new and creative ways to lose, so Draco didn’t suspect anything.

Third, talk to him. Draco tried to start conversations every time they were in the rooms together, and Harry had mostly been as unresponsive as possible. That had to stop. Uncomfortable as he felt, he would figure out how to have decent conversations with his mate.

Fourth, touch him. This was the one Harry was most uncertain about. It was clear that Draco wanted to touch him - he’d asked permission a couple of times, and he’d started to reach out and then stopped himself much more often. But Harry had no idea how to make it happen. Would Harry have to reach out to Draco first? Just walk up to him and say, “By the way, you can touch me if you want to”?

And what if Draco wanted more than casual touch? Harry knew very well that he was defective and didn’t bring anyone much pleasure. His entire plan could be destroyed if Draco was hoping he’d be good in bed and then found out he wasn’t. But if he refused outright, it would have the same effect.

Harry groaned and threw himself on his bed, scrunching his eyes shut. He was going to stop going over this list. He’d done it enough last night; he didn’t need to think it over again. Maybe he could even fall asleep, make up for some of the sleep he’d missed....

Or maybe not. He couldn’t lay still long enough to settle; he had too much nervous energy. Impatiently, he thrust himself up and started to look around the room for something to distract himself with.

He’d never been in here alone, he realized suddenly. And when his mates were here, most of his attention was on them, so he’d never really looked around.

He wandered around the room, noticing how many details had gone into making absolutely everything look ornate. There was matching carving on the posts of the bed and the two wardrobes, and the picture frames had similar details.

Harry pulled open the wardrobe door curiously. It was obviously Draco’s, and there were more clothes inside than he’d ever seen in one place. There was obviously an expansion charm on the thing; inside it was more like a small room. Maybe a large room; Harry couldn’t see the back.

The variety of clothes surprised him; he’d never really paid attention to what Draco was wearing, but surely he’d have noticed if he were wearing something that shimmered through so many shades of green? He reached out to stroke the sleeve, wondering if it was magic or just fancy weaving that made it look so shiny.

Abruptly, he realized what he was doing and jerked his hand back. There was no way the tentative peace he’d been enjoying would hold if his mates got home and found him poking through their stuff. He slammed the door shut and hurried across the room, heart pounding until he was safely in his own chair.

Idiot! he scolded himself. You’re supposed to be keeping Draco happy. How the hell do you expect to do that by snooping around?

He waited for his heartrate to slow, but it never did. Draco was going to find out, he was going to be in so much trouble, Draco would punish him and then Blaise and Theo would get him and then…

He might have been OK with dying, but he was not going to let them hurt him so much that when they handed him a vial of poison, he took it gratefully. He was not going to get himself in that situation again.

He couldn’t just be sitting there shaking when Draco got back. That would be sure to let him know that something was up. Harry pushed himself to his feet and stumbled into the bathroom. He’d hide in the shower until he got a hold of himself.

He ended up sitting on the floor of the shower for longer than he’d expected before he finally calmed down. His legs were stiff when he pushed himself to his feet, and it took a minute before he could step out and dry off.

It was then that he realized that he hadn’t brought any clean clothes in with him.

Cursing himself, he wrapped the towel around his hips and reached for the door. As it opened, he saw his wand on the counter and remembered that he could use a Summoning Charm. He picked up the wand just as the door swung open far enough to display Draco in the middle of the room, staring at him.

* * *

If it weren’t impossibly uncouth for a Malfoy, Draco would’ve been whistling as he headed back to his room. Finally, something had gone right! Harry had actually smiled when they were flying. A real, spontaneous smile - he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen that, even when he and Harry had been on friendly terms.

Celebrating his win with his friends had been fun - especially since Blaise and Theo had been smart enough to stay away from the whole event - but he was looking forward to trying to talk to Harry again. Maybe this time they could actually have a whole conversation. For the first time all week, Draco felt hopeful.

He dropped his proper Malfoy expression as soon as he stepped into their room and let himself grin. This day was turning out great.

And then it got even better, when the door to the bath swung open and there stood Harry wearing only a towel.

Draco felt his breath hitch. He’d been noticing all week how attractive Harry was, but he hadn’t expected to get an eyeful this soon.

He was halfway across the room before the small part of his brain not derailed by lust managed to get control and remind him to BE CAREFUL! He stopped dead and looked at Harry’s face for the first time. It was white, and his eyes were huge.

Draco very carefully did not grimace. He kept his smile and said casually, “Hey, Harry. Good game, huh?”

The glazed look did not change, but Harry did give a jerky nod.

Draco turned toward the bookshelves. “I was thinking of sitting by the fire and reading for a bit before starting my homework,” he lied, moving away from Harry as quickly as he thought would seem reasonable. “You’re welcome to join me when you’re done, if you’d like.”

He turned away to peruse the books, listening with all his might. Had that been blunt enough for a Gryffindor? Or was Harry still worried that he was going to come attack him?

He heard the door opening and turned around with relief to greet Sev. Surely he’d know what to do.

At the same moment, he saw Harry raising his wand in a hand that shook and heard him say in a strangled voice, “Accio clothes!”

Draco shrieked as his wardrobe - along with Sev’s wardrobe and Harry’s trunk - opened and began disgorging the contents. His clothes flew over to land in a heap on the floor in front of Harry, delicate and expensive fabrics being crushed under more and more layers. “My clothes!”

Harry twisted around to face him, and if Draco had thought his face was white before, he now realized his mistake. Harry looked like all the blood had left his head; he trembled like he was on the verge of collapse, his wand dropping from nerveless fingers onto the pile of clothes.

When he spoke, his voice was shaking. “I’m sorry - I’m so sorry. I -”

An inarticulate noise made them both turn to face Severus. He was stalking toward Harry, face so furious that Draco blinked. Sev didn’t care that much about his clothes; he mocked them, in fact.

“Pick. Up. Your. Wand.” The words came out as a snarl, and Harry flinched back so strongly that Draco could see it from across the room.

“Sorry!” he gasped, flailing around frantically until he got hold of his wand again. “Sorry, sorry, sorry…”

He swayed on his feet and put out a hand to clumsily brace himself against the doorframe, words choking off in a sobbing sound. Draco finally broke out of his paralysis and surged forward, intending to send Sev off to calm down and to convince Harry that he was going to be all right.

Before he could make it there, the pile of clothes exploded. “Hey! Cut it out!” he shouted as he wrestled a robe off his head.

By the time he could see again, Severus was looming over a shrinking Harry. “What were you thinking, you absolute imbecile?” he seethed. “Do you think? Is there a brain in that head of yours? Or-”

Draco had the odd experience of feeling two reactions at once. He’d watched scenes like this in potions class for five years, and habit brought a laugh bubbling up in his chest at the reaming the golden boy was getting. He had to bite his lip to restrain it. Honestly, who dropped their wand over something like that?

At the same time, he was seeing Harry crumble before his eyes, and he couldn’t stand it. In Potions, Harry was always defiant: sometimes outright arguing or talking back, and sometimes just looking bored and uncaring, but always defiant. Now, he was flinching as if each word were a blow, and Draco had the horrible feeling that he couldn’t take much more of this. Something told him that whatever happened when Harry reached the end of his strength, it would be devastating.

Without stopping to think, Draco drew his wand. “Silencio!”

The abrupt loss of Severus’ voice made Harry’s ragged breathing sound abnormally loud.

Severus turned slowly, giving Draco time to holster his wands and hold up his empty hands. His smile faltered, though, when he saw the expression on his mate’s face.

Draco had seen Severus furious many times. Sev was unbelievably attractive when he was angry, in fact; particularly when he was angry with other people, of course, but when Sev did turn his fury on his mate, well… The make-up sex was always totally worth it.

But he had never seen this look before.

Draco knew perfectly well that Severus could wordlessly dispel a Silencing Charm. How could a teacher survive who couldn’t? But his mate remained utterly silent as he stalked toward Draco. Draco scrambled for the right thing to say to defuse the situation.

“Expelliarmus!”

A jet of red light hit Severus from the side, knocking him off his feet and sending him slamming head-first into the bedpost. He crumpled to the floor.

Draco felt as if the blood in his veins had turned to ice water. He ached with the chill of it, but he couldn’t seem to move at all. He stood frozen, staring at the place where Sev had been standing. Surely he would be back in just a moment, and they could have their fight, and everything would be fine.

But there was utter silence. No one moved. Draco’s eyes began to flicker around the room. Harry was standing there, wand out, sweat pouring down his face as he glared at nothing at all. Draco couldn’t stop to figure out what he was doing, though. His eyes swept the room again and again. Where was Sev? He had been here just a minute ago…

The pile of dark clothes on the floor gave a groan, and the paralysis on Draco’s thoughts and body broke. He found himself on his knees beside his mate with no memory of having traversed the distance between them.

“Severus!” He tried frantically to remember how to cast a diagnostic charm. Or feel for a pulse. Or something. “Severus, how the hell did you let that hit you? I know you’re better than that! Damn it all, what am I supposed to do now?”

He really, really wanted Sev to yell back at him, to tell him that he was the idiot and this whole situation was his fault. Then he would know that Sev was really all right.

But he didn’t get an answer, and his panic only increased. “I mean it, what do I do? What am I supposed to do about all this?”

He twisted around to look at Harry again. He was still standing frozen in the doorway, wand raised like he was in a duel. His eyes weren’t focused on anything Draco could see.

Just looking at him gave Draco the shivers. He had even less idea about what to do for him than what to do for Sev. At least he wasn’t throwing spells around anymore, Draco thought with a kind of unhinged hysteria.

He looked back and forth between his mates, kneading his hands together as he tried to come up with something - anything - that might make a difference in this situation. His fingers pinched around the heavy silver band on his little finger, and he almost sobbed with relief. Of course!

He turned the band one full turn with shaking fingers and felt it begin to heat against his skin. It abruptly cooled, heated, cooled again, and then stayed at a steady temperature. He sighed in relief, stroking the ring with a finger. His parents had felt his signal. He was sure they’d be here in minutes. He just had to keep everything under control until then.

Severus shifted, and Draco panicked. People who’d hit their heads weren’t supposed to move, right? He threw himself across Sev’s chest. “No! Stay still!”

Draco had woken up beside Severus enough to recognize the way he did it: the tensing of muscles in sequence, the drowsy blink, the deep intake of breath. “Dragon,” he said in a flat voice. “You are unharmed?”

Draco drew in a shuddering breath. Severus was all right! “I’m fine,” he said, trying to control his voice. “But you hit your head. My parents are coming; don’t move until they get here.”

“I’m perfectly all right,” Severus said, and started to push himself up.

“No!” Draco tried to knock his hands aside. “You can’t!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Dragon.”

“You can’t!” Draco felt tears prickling at his eyes and tried to blink them away. “You’re hurt.”

“Oh, for-” Severus took a deep breath. “Run a diagnostic charm, then, if it will allay your fears.”

Draco sniffled. “I don’t know how.”

Severus rolled his eyes and proceeded to teach him the charm. Draco had rarely been the brunt of Severus’ “teach-by-insult” method, but he was just as glad to be called an “imbecilic simpleton who can’t remember the difference between widdershins and deosil.” At least it meant Sev was acting like himself.

Finally he mastered the charm, and Severus’ body lit up with colored glows. Sev sneered at him. “Well? Have I your permission to move?”

“I don’t know what the colors mean,” Draco admitted. “How should I know if it’s safe for you to move?”

“This is why we don’t teach you medical charms in class,” Sev said in exasperation. “Mediwizardry is a complex field that requires a broad background of knowledge, not something easily grasped by any pinhead with the dexterity to grasp a wand. You are making sure there is no red or orange around my neck or back. If not, you can be assured that moving me will make no difference in my healing, and I will be free of your appalling sentimental restrictions.”

Daco blinked at the hazy colors. “There’s a sort of pinky-red all over,” he said after a minute. “Not just in your back, though.”

“That is nothing to worry about,” Sev said, and Draco might have believed him even a few months ago. But he’d been studying Sev’s expressions diligently for a year now, and there had been a moment of… displeasure, maybe… when Draco had mentioned the pink glow.

Draco did not remove the pressure of his hand on his mate’s chest.

Severus sneered up at him. “Would you be so good as to release me, then?”

Luckily, before Draco had to wade into yet another argument, the door burst open. He turned to his parents with a sigh of relief.

“Draco! Are you injured?”

“No,” he reassured them quickly. “I’m fine. But we had… a slight altercation, and Sev was knocked out and I don’t know what’s going on with Harry!”

His voice rose in pitch as he looked around and couldn’t see Harry anymore. Then he noticed the angle of the door to the bath and the hair sticking out from beside it. Why on earth was Harry hiding behind the door?

His parents exchanged a quick look, and his father came over to him while his mother moved much more slowly toward the bath. “Is he conscious?” Father asked.

“Conscious and perfectly well,” Severus spat. “If you would kindly insist that your brat let me up, I will…”

“Move one muscle, and I’ll put you in a body-bind myself,” Father interrupted in a cold voice.

“Draco,” his mother called, and he left the promising fight (which had a foregone conclusion, since Severus was still lying still while Father performed his own charms) to join her. She was inside the bath now, murmuring in a low voice to Harry. Harry was talking, too, but it didn’t seem to be to her, exactly. Draco heard something about Death Eaters and froze, not wanting to get any farther into whatever was going on.

“Draco, try and speak to him. Maybe he will hear you.”

Draco didn’t think that at all likely, but obediently he tried. “Harry? It’s all right, you’re safe. I’m here…”

Harry didn’t stop muttering to himself.

“Narcissa!” Both Draco and Mother swung around at Lucius’ harsh call. Draco saw with horror that Severus seemed to be unconscious again. Father’s expression was terrifyingly distraught, but all he said was, “Again.”

Heart in his throat, Draco started to rush back across the room, but was stopped dead in his tracks when Mother said, “Fuck.”

Afraid for his mate as he was, Draco couldn’t help staring at her. He’d never in his life heard his elegant, perfectly poised mother swear. He felt as if the world were spinning upside down.

“Cissa-” His father’s voice sounded desperate, but his mother’s cut like a whip.

“Lucius, pull yourself together! We cannot possibly trade tasks right now. We’ll take him to the safe house and work it out when we get there. We can handle this, Lucius. Just get moving.”

Still frozen, Draco watched his father turn back to Sev and start casting more spells. His mother went back into the bath.

“Harry, there is someone injured, and we have to get him to safety, immediately. I need your help.”

Harry blinked and seemed to focus on her for the first time. “Who-”

“That’s not important right now. We must move. Come.”

“Right.” Harry scrambled out from behind the door. Draco’s mother thrust a robe at him.

“Put that on and let’s go. Quickly.”

Harry obediently pulled the robe over his head, and Draco’s mother led him toward the door. Draco followed, hoping desperately that he would have a moment to ask his parents all the questions burning on his tongue soon.

They headed up to the Hospital Wing, but even though Madam Pomfrey tried to lead them toward the beds, Father headed straight past her to the fireplace.

“I really must insist-” Madam Pomfrey started.

Mother nudged Draco toward Harry. “Take him through,” she murmured, then turned to face the matron. “Surely you must understand,” she said pleasantly, but with ice underlying her tone, “that after seeing my son and his mates in here so often recently, we have become a bit over-cautious. I’m sure you’ll think it foolish, but we’d prefer to see to them at our home first. But do come by tomorrow and discuss it.”

As Draco maneuvered himself and Harry close enough to hear the Floo destination, he wondered how long it would take Mother to convince Pomfrey that the whole thing was her own idea.

Chapter Text

Severus stood perfectly still outside Dumbledore's office, waiting the one minute and twenty six seconds required for the wards to cycle fully to make sure he hadn't missed anything.

The old man was a fool, he thought bitterly. He didn't know anything about how Severus brought back the information he did from the Dark Lord's meetings. He was happy to think it was just a matter of standing there and listening, and that all the things Dumbledore wanted to know just fell into his spy's lap.

He'd never wanted to know the details: not what Severus did, not what was done to him, in pursuit of the “greater good.” Perhaps it let him sleep better at night, his delusions that Snape was not so much a victim here, that his Occlumency protected him from any danger.

Severus' lip curled. No, he'd never told the old man about the many ways the Dark Lord had to tear one apart, physically, mentally, and emotionally, to pick through the tattered remnants for any hint of disloyalty. He kept his potions available and patched himself up before going to Dumbledore to report. Even when he knew his persona flickered and the wounds showed through, though, the old man never questioned his assertions that everything was fine.

And now the Headmaster was reaping the rewards of his comfortable folly. He had no idea what spells Severus had invented, what skills he'd developed, to get the information the Order needed. And now that they were being turned against him, he had no defense.

The final checks all came back negative; there were no spells blocking, hindering, or alerting anyone to his entrance. Severus stepped silently through the door and eased it shut.

He spent enough time in here that he knew Dumbledore's organizational system, haphazard as it seemed to put off the onlooker. He knew where to look and what he was looking for; this shouldn't take long. It was easy enough to make copies of papers likely to be pertinent without taking the time to read them. The more important prize lay in a cupboard across from the desk: the Pensieve where the old man stored things essential to his plans and reviewed them to make sure he wasn't missing anything. He, overconfident fool, had allowed Severus to see certain memories, certain plans, making him feel important, valued...

Severus hesitated for the first time since entering this room. His mask faltered as the enormity of what he was doing came home to him. With all that Dumbledore had done to him, he could not neglect what he'd done for him: taken him in, kept him alive, taught him and given him purpose. Though Severus tried his best never to admit it, even to himself, the Headmaster had become a father figure to him, and with all his flaws, he was by far the best of the three candidates for that title Severus had ever had.

And now he was turning on him. Traitor, again. As he had turned before, as surely he always would, because there was no one who would ever be loyal to him, so why would they command his loyalty forever?

He took a deep breath, silently, and thought of his anchor to pull himself back into his persona as spy: the moment that he realized that not just his life, but the lives of both of his mates, were regarded by this man as expendable. Dumbledore was willing to throw them away, and Severus was not.

And why the sudden change? It was incongruous, Dumbledore's indifference to the risk that Voldemort would successfully kill Harry this time. It would be so easy, now, and all Dumbledore could suggest to protect him was to pretend it wasn’t true. He'd cared enough to insist that Severus take a vow to protect the boy, and now he was delivering him up to the Dark Lord on a silver platter?

The spy knew that incongruities meant that he was missing key information, and he picked and picked until he found what he was missing.

And so he did now. He entered the Pensieve and watched the story of Dumbledore's thoughts and plans unfold.

He had no memory of leaving the Pensieve, or the room for that matter. He trusted that his instincts had not let him leave any trace of his presence, but at this point he couldn't bring himself to care. He barely remembered stumbling down the stairs to the dungeons, to his private quarters there. The first thing he saw clearly was the open door of his liquor cabinet.

Severus tapped the glass with his wand and murmured a complex spell. He never touched alcohol, uninterested in the filthy Muggle habit, but it was convenient to have available to serve to others. And, of course, when people saw his array of liquor, they didn’t look deeper for any other vices.

The shelves shimmered and rearranged themselves, replacing tall bottles of alcohol with small vials of potions. His own inventions, they promised a far more potent oblivion than mere alcohol could ever offer.

He grabbed the nearest one and downed it as quickly as possible - he’d never bothered trying to make them taste good. It had never seemed important; it certainly didn’t matter anymore. Death waits at the door. We are call’d - we must go. So who cared?

Dumbledore obviously didn’t. We will forget him, forget the warmth he gave, forget his light. Any affection or caring he might have imagined he’d received hadn’t been for him, in any case. It wasn’t real, no more than it had been the first time he’d heard a mentor tell him he could make something of himself. Make a tool of him, that was all, and discard it when it was used up. He ought to be used to losing that regard, that artificial caring. The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

He summoned a chair over as the muscle relaxant began to work, relieving the tension he never really thought about. The pain relievers went to work on the constant headache he normally lived with. His whole body felt limp, and he might as well collapse right here next to the cabinet. He’d be wanting more potions, after all, and there was no need to keep getting up and down. He’d just kill himself in comfort. Why not? It was better than they had planned for him. He grabbed another vial, swallowed the contents without a grimace. His thoughts continued to slip away from their tethers, no control, no plan: the ultimate luxury for an Occlumens spy. It didn’t matter anymore what secrets he let slip. Death is coming.

Die here, and take them with him, harmless in their sleep. Ah, but no sleep for him. For I have promises to keep. Promises, promises, so many fucking promises. No one ever kept their promises to him. She was dead. She was dead, and his Vow, his life after her death, meant nothing, was a lie, it was all one of the old man’s damned tricks, and there was no escape from his promises.

Promises to keep, that was all he knew, all that kept him going. And now he knew too much, knew things he should have known, didn’t want to know, couldn’t know, had to know.

He hated the old man. Loved him, needed him, clung to him, hated him. But never enough to spy on him. Never before. Now, it mattered. Tricked, deceived, set up to fail. Now set up to die. “Protect her son.” Promises, promises, miles to go and never any sleep. And all for what? Lies, death, sacrifice. The greater good. That made it all right, did it? He knew better. Always had. No good, never any good in it. Right, yes, it was always the right side, but not good. Nothing he touched could be good, after all.

He fumbled as he reached for another vial, knocking several to the floor. He growled at them, stupid things. They were supposed to make him feel better, but they weren’t. Failure, another failure, all his experiments failed. What was the point? Take another, it’ll do no good, drink it anyway.

He drank, and nothing was better.

* * *

He lifted the glass of water to rinse away the taste of the sobriety potion and watched the trembling in his hands clinically. The sobriety cure didn’t work nearly as well on the after-effects of his potions as it did on things it’d been designed for. First the Dark Lord, then Dumbledore had forbidden him from making one that worked better. Not that it mattered anymore.

But he had to at least show up in their rooms, or Dragon would worry. He’d been gone all night and most of the day, and he hadn’t warned them. He didn’t want Dragon to worry.

The trembling had died down now. Severus decided that this was as good as he was going to get and headed upstairs.

* * *

Severus awoke and recognized darkness on his eyelids. His muscles tensed - he was in a bed, but not his bed, and though no one was touching him, he could hear breathing. He shifted slightly; he wasn’t being restrained, but where was his wand? Not near enough to sense. He masked his reaction to that and blinked his eyes as if barely waking up.

Lucius Malfoy sat beside his bed, a dim lamp illuminating him but screened from falling directly on Severus’ face. Severus did not relax. For all that he counted Lucius a friend, there were any number of reasons he could be in this situation, and many of them were very, very bad.

“It’s all right, Severus. After Draco called us in, we brought you back here to have a Healer look over all three of you, just in case.”

He was missing something, then. Something important, if Draco had used his ring. He took a deep breath, relaxing into the persona he used around the Malfoys. It was the first he’d ever developed - Lucius had helped him with it, in fact - so it came easily.

“If everything’s so fine, why don’t I have my wand?” he grumbled, pushing himself up slightly.

“I’ll return it when you’re ready for it,” Lucius said, and that set off any number of alarms in his brain. So did the distressed look on Lucius’s face. “We had an agreement, Severus! You were supposed to come to us!”

He pushed himself all the way to sitting. “Damn it all, Lucius, I only had the one!” he snarled, immediately defensive. He didn’t want Lucius to know how badly he’d lapsed.

“Severus, darling.” Narcissa floated in and leaned over to press a kiss on his forehead. Perfectly manicured nails dug into his shoulder as she forced him to lay back down. “You do realize that this display only encourages him? Not that it makes any difference; we had the Healer check your blood for residue.”

She released him but sat on the side of the bed, her presence keeping him down. “Now, I know it would’ve come out if this had started before Yule, so it hasn’t been long. Was it when you went back? Did the pain get to be too much?”

“No!” he interrupted defensively, and then closed his eyes in self-disgust. Narcissa would get the answers from him eventually, but there was no reason to fall into traps any self-respecting first year should avoid. He was more impaired than he’d thought. He forced himself back into the correct frame of mind for interacting with the Malfoys. Might as well give them what he was willing to right now, so that he could keep some control over the conversation.

“It’s only been a week.” Lucius and Narcissa exchanged looks, clearly remembering what had happened a week ago. “No, it wasn’t discovering who our third was!” He was more on edge than he’d thought.

“You and Harry are getting along well, then?” Lucius drawled with polite incredulity.

Severus glared at him. “I haven’t had the time to worry about ‘getting along.’ I’m a bit more worried about keeping us all alive! Dumbledore obviously isn’t going to do it.” He pulled the conversation back on track. “I’ve been using Pepper-Ups and such to find the time.”

Lucius frowned. “That doesn’t explain-”

Severus cut him off. “I went on a binge last night.”

The looks they exchanged this time were much less sympathetic.

“It won’t happen again.” He grimaced as all the memories of what had happened when he returned to their rooms finally slotted into place. “Certainly not before I have something to remove the after-effects of overindulgence, so that events don’t repeat themselves. It shouldn’t be that difficult to brew…”

“No!” Lucius and Narcissa exclaimed in unison, both glaring at him.

He waved a hand in airy acknowledgement. “But really, I think if I used-”

But Narcissa’s eyes had narrowed. “Darling, if you think that your absurdities are going to prevent me from asking what prompted you to ‘go on a binge,’ as you put it, you are sadly mistaken.”

And now he was firmly in a corner. He gazed at them assessingly. What had they decided to do in the dangerous balancing game they were all suddenly caught in? How would his news affect their plans? Did he dare share it, if they intended to walk the line of loyalty to the Dark Lord?

Narcissa abruptly drew her wand and set a privacy ward that excluded her husband from the conversation. Startled, Severus stared at her. She met his gaze with the most unguarded expression he’d ever seen on her face.

“Severus, you are my son’s mate. We both want him alive. Count me an ally in this.”

He gave the tiniest of nods. There was no choice, not really. He couldn’t do this alone. His throat ached as he forced the words out. “I discovered some of Dumbledore’s plans. Potter is marked for death by both sides.”

Raw emotion twisted her face; he looked away politely to give her time to collect herself.

It didn’t take long. “Would the three of you like to go to… what was that island on the other side of the world you recommended once?”

“Mauritius,” he answered, almost considering it for a moment. “I don’t believe so.”

“Pity.” She tapped her fingers thoughtfully on her wand. “I assume he has a powerful reason, one we’ll have to take into account?”

He inclined his head, unwilling to say more, still unsure whether she would consider the Dark Lord’s downfall necessary or not.

“We’ll discuss it later,” she said, and dismissed the silencing charm with a wave of her wand. “Now, are you safe to return tomorrow, or will you take a few days to recover?”

He sighed. “I’ll give you anything I have left.” He couldn’t remember how much - if any - was still in the cabinet, but he knew he had to get the temptation away from himself. “I can handle it.” The Dark Lord and the Headmaster had had to pull him out of the abyss the times he’d lost control before, but this was only once; he could do it on his own.

“And Pepper Up and the others?”

“I still need those!” Hating the feeling of arguing flat on his back, he pushed himself up. This time Narcissa didn’t stop him. “I need time to create a plan-”

“You and I will formulate a basic plan before you leave,” Narcissa said calmly. “We’ll discuss at that point if your role will acquire any … additional assistance.”

He wanted to argue, but he was about to have to convince her to include destroying the Dark Lord in their list of priorities. Now was not the time to waste his credit on something as banal as potions he could replace easily enough. He nodded.

“Then all we have to discuss is how you plan to make amends to your mate,” Lucius drawled, as matter-of-factly as if it were any of his business. “What set you off, Severus? I know you can be touchy when you’ve overindulged, but…”

The memory still caused raw fear to squeeze him. “He dropped his wand!”

He took a breath and told himself to explain reasonably. “I walked in on an argument.” He’d been impressed that Harry had thought to attack Draco’s clothes; it was a clever tactic, and one he hadn’t expected. “Draco shouted at Harry, and he dropped his wand.”

The realization that had hit him, of the extent of all he had to fix - having it shoved in his face that his mate had been raised to die, like a pig for the slaughter, and that those instincts were going to get all three of them killed - had been overwhelming. He looked at Narciss to understand. “He needs training, duelling practice, as soon as possible. But clearly I can’t give it to him.”

“I’ll give him the basics,” Narcissa said calmly.

Severus hesitated, looking for a polite way to frame his response.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, Severus. You didn’t think the Dark Lord taught Bellatrix to fight, did you? We all learned, and I’ve kept up my practice well enough.”

He was glad that Lucius was also staring at her in surprise. “Wha- When?” he demanded in a slightly strangled voice.

Narcissa’s smile was dark and deadly. “What, you believed that I was doing that ‘yoga’ thing in the studio?” She rose and leaned over him. “You flatter so well.”

After they’d been kissing for a few minutes, Severus cleared his throat. “I realize that this is your house, but since I am confined to this bed, perhaps the two of you could move and get a room?” He dropped back into his childhood accent for the last three words, just for the pleasure of seeing them flinch.

Narcissa sat back beside him with a flourish and continued speaking as if she’d never stopped. “You two will do better as sparring partners, anyway. It will add verisimilitude.”

Lucius’ eyes danced. “Shall we come in costume?”

Narcissa returned his black smile. “Not until we begin work on ambushes, over the summer. We’ll see how long it takes for him to stop dropping his wand.”

* * *

Harry couldn’t take his eyes off Narcissa Malfoy. He tried to focus on his plate and the delicious breakfast he’d been served after Draco had dragged him down here, but his gaze kept creeping back to her.

If it hadn’t been for Draco greeting her as “Mother!” Harry would’ve been sure she was… well, someone else. Certainly not a mother. She looked nothing like any mother he’d ever seen.

Of course, his experience with motherly figures wasn’t broad. It was mostly Mrs. Weasley and Aunt Petunia, but still. He didn’t think Narcissa Malfoy looked like anyone’s idea of a mother.

She was smiling all the time, for one thing. And it was just a gentle, calm smile, nothing like Mrs. Weasley’s overbearing enthusiasm. Aunt Petunia hardly ever smiled when Harry was around, and Mrs. Weasley either smothered him or ignored him. Mrs. Malfoy just looked - happy to see him, if that were possible. And she didn’t seem at all stressed or annoyed about anything, not even having them appear in her house unexpectedly.

At least, Harry thought it had been unexpected. He wasn’t quite sure what had happened the day before. He’d had a fight with Draco, and he thought Death Eaters had attacked, but obviously they hadn’t because he wasn’t in chains or fighting Voldemort. If Lucius had been there, he’d have worried, but Mrs. Malfoy’s sleeves left her forearms bare, and she didn’t have a Dark Mark.

“How is Severus?” Draco asked finally, after finishing his food with careful grace. Harry had been trying to copy his table manners before Mrs. Malfoy had come in; he’d certainly never learned to eat the way Draco did, and he didn’t want Draco to be disgusted by his bad manners. Now he realized that he hadn’t taken a bite in several minutes. He hurried to cut a piece of sausage.

“He’ll be all right,” Narcissa Malfoy said in a musical voice. She looked at Harry, and he almost dropped his fork in sudden self-consciousness. “He asked me to convey his apologies to you, Harry. His illness led to him saying things he did not intend, and he is sorry for the pain it caused you.”

Harry shoved the sausage into his mouth in an attempt to hide his shock. Then he realized that he had to chew and swallow before he could make any reply to her. The awkward silence while he did so almost took his mind off the utter implausibility of an apology from Snape. He couldn’t make any sense of it.

Abruptly, he realized that perhaps Mrs. Malfoy had told Snape he had to apologize. That was the kind of thing mothers did; it happened all the time at the Weasleys’. Harry relaxed as the world resolved itself into something that made sense - it was just a token apology, nothing to think twice about - and said, “Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy.”

“Oh, please,” she said with a dazzling smile just for him. “Call me Narcissa. Or Mother, if and when that feels appropriate.” She leaned across the table toward him. “After all, you’re part of our family now.”

Harry ducked his head, knowing that there was no way he could keep his expression neutral after that. He felt as if she’d punched him in the stomach. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, fighting the burning behind his eyelids.

What was he reacting like this for? He didn’t want to be part of the Malfoy family! They were evil! Lucius Malfoy was a Death Eater who had set a basilisk loose in the school and almost got Ginny killed.

But Lucius wasn’t there, and Narcissa was smiling kindly at him and welcoming her to the family. He’d never been accepted as part of any family before; he’d come to the conclusion that he never would be, since he was obviously defective.

And of course Narcissa didn’t love him, not like she loved Draco. But she had given him his own bedroom in her home, had allowed him to eat breakfast with the family, and was being polite, even kind. That was more than he’d ever thought he would get.

“Thank you, Narcissa,” he managed to say without sounding completely like he was in tears. He blindly stabbed more food into his mouth so that he had an excuse not to talk. He hoped they would visit here often. If Narcissa was acting motherly to him - even making Snape apologize - perhaps she would insist his mates continue treating him halfway decently, even after his week’s grace ran out.

Or perhaps he would disgust her and she would turn on him too. He didn’t know how long it had taken Aunt Petunia to hate him, after all. He’d always assumed it was right from the start - Blaise and Theo had had it in for him since the first night - but maybe this forbearance would only last until he screwed up.

He had to figure out how to please Narcissa as well as Draco. Luckily, the only thing he knew that Narcissa cared about was her son, so by making Draco happy, hopefully he would make her happy as well.

“Draco, why don’t you and Harry explore this morning? I know you’ve never visited this house before. You’ll be heading back to school tonight, but you might as well have some fun today.”

“Can’t I see Sev first?” Draco asked, and Harry’s food turned to dust in his mouth. He didn’t want to see Snape; he didn’t particularly care if he never saw Snape again. What kind of horrible person did that make him? No wonder he was a failure as a mate.

“No, dear, he’s sleeping. Perhaps after lunch.” Draco pouted, but she only smiled at him. “I think you’ll enjoy the grounds anyway. If you need anything, call for Tippy.” She turned her dazzling smile on Harry. “Harry, dear, I have a number of commitments today, but I’ll see you after tea. It’s so good to have you, dear.”

And before he could gather the breath to respond to another gut-punch of a statement, she’d left the room in a swirl of robes and perfume.

Draco looked at him. “Are you done?”

Harry couldn’t handle anything more in his stomach, with the way it was flip-flopping with his emotions today. “Yeah.” He set his silverware down the way Draco had.

“Great!” Draco jumped to his feet. “Let’s see what we can find!”

Within a short time, Harry was completely confused by Narcissa’s statement that Draco had never been here before. Draco was dragging him around at top speed, not looking at all uncertain about where he was going. He kept identifying things with a wave - “Oh, that must be the dairy, no point in going in there, they’ll just chase us out for disturbing the cream” - as if he knew exactly what everything was. The way everything passed in a whirl made it difficult for Harry to remember to keep talking to Draco.

Then they rounded a corner and Draco stopped dead. Harry looked from him to the barn at the bottom of the slope they were on. It was just a bunch of grey horses in a yard… Then one of them spread wide, wide wings, and he jumped.

“Granians,” Draco breathed in awe. “This must be one of the breeding herds.”

“They’re beautiful,” Harry pushed himself to say. It helped that it was true. The winged horses were tall, with gracefully arched necks, and the wings were huge and powerful-looking.

Draco grinned at him. “Fancy a flight?”

Harry swallowed hard. He did, in fact. It sounded amazing. And it would please Draco, which was vitally important. But… “Will your mother be mad?”

“Nah.” Draco waved away the possibility. “Come on, let’s go!”

He started to run down the hill, and Harry followed obediently. He was still a bit uncertain about this - but the idea of flying won out. He hurried to catch up with Draco.

By the time they reached the barn, a man had come out and was waiting for them.

“Master Draco,” he said, nodding respectfully.

“Saddle up two of the Granians,” Draco said imperiously. “We’re going for a ride.” He glanced over at Harry. “This is Master Harry. He’s -” he paused briefly. “He’s staying with me.”

“Of course, sir,” the man said, and turned back into the barn. Draco threw himself onto the grass to the side of the road and stared at the winged horses. Harry stood awkwardly beside him.

“Have a seat,” Draco invited without looking at him. “It’ll be a bit before he’s got them ready for us, since we didn’t send word we were coming.”

Harry sat gingerly down, trying to balance being close enough for Draco to touch him if he wanted to and not being so close that it looked like he was crowding his mate. When Draco didn’t react at all, he breathed out and let some of the tension bleed from his posture.

Draco didn’t take his eyes off the Granians as he talked, telling Harry all about how fast they were and how many races the Malfoy winged horses had won and how much they cost and so on. Last year, Harry would have been annoyed by his bragging. Now, it was familiar and made things easy; all he had to do was to sound admiring, and Draco seemed perfectly happy.

Draco’s stream of prattle lasted until two of the winged horses were led out to them. Draco sprang up, but he approached the animals cautiously. Harry trailed behind him, wondering if there was some kind of etiquette like there was with hippogriffs.

The man who’d greeted them seemed to recognize his uncertainty. “Have you ridden before, Master Harry?” he asked.

Harry shook his head, not taking his eyes off his mount. Draco was already stroking and cooing to his.

“Ah, then, I’ll give you a few pointers before you go up.” And true to his word, the man gave him a whirlwind tour of the various pieces of leather attached to the animal and how he was supposed to use them to hold him on and to steer. Harry did his best to absorb it all, watching out of the corner of his eye in case Draco became impatient.

Draco was in the saddle before they were done, but he was still stroking his mount and looking calm, so Harry tried not to worry. He allowed the stable man to help him up and took a deep breath.

“Ready?” Draco called. Without waiting for a response, he urged his Granian into the sky. Harry followed.

The rush of wind in his face was everything and nothing like being on a broom. It was flying - but flying with a warm, living body under him, a partner, he quickly realized, far more so than even the best broom.

But his instincts were the same, and shifting his weight and hands the way he would have on his broom seemed to convey his meaning to the Granian as well. With a cry of delight he leaned forward, and the winged horse sped up to a reasonable fraction of his Firebolt’s speed. Draco was suddenly next to him, and Harry leaned into the impromptu race, not even caring that he had to stay a bit back so Draco would win. He was flying on a winged horse! Nothing else mattered compared to that!

He laughed as the horse’s mane whipped his face, and surrendered to the joy of flight.

Chapter Text

Harry was halfway through his Monday morning History of Magic class when he remembered that the agreement he’d made with Snape had ended that morning.

Shit.

He spent the rest of class trying to stop himself from dwelling on it. He failed miserably. It wasn’t like History of Magic was interesting enough to distract anyone on the best of days, and no matter what he tried, it was never longer than a minute before his mind returned to his problem.

What was he going to do? He had to go back to that room tonight. Maybe they would be so distracted by everything that had happened over the weekend that they would forget that the time was up.

But even if that bought him another day or two, it was only delaying the inevitable. He was no longer at immediate risk of killing himself, and they had rights as his mates that he couldn’t ignore. He had to face the facts. He couldn't continue living in this impossible world he'd managed to inhabit for the last week; he had to return to the pain of real life. Even if the thought made him want to run and hide and never come out.

Maybe he could try to negotiate for some things? If he claimed he might still consider killing himself if he didn’t get them, maybe they would give him a few considerations.

He shifted the parchment he’d been doodling on in lieu of taking notes and started a list. “1. Keep my bed.” That wasn’t such a big deal, was it? They could change the color if they wanted to. Then they couldn’t object.

He ran the plume of the quill through his fingers, trying to decide if he dared write his next thought. He didn’t want to seem greedy; they’d probably refuse everything if he did. But he kept remembering Hermione explaining to them about the lists of demands the house elves should be making for their rights. Whenever someone told her that she couldn’t expect that much change that quickly, she argued, “But in a negotiation, you have to start by asking for more than you can get! Then the other side counter-offers until you’re left with something reasonable!”

So maybe he should put some things on the list that were unreasonable. Gritting his teeth, he dipped his quill again and quickly scrawled, “2. No bothering me when my curtains are closed.” He wouldn’t get it, of course, but it would give him something to bargain with.

Feeling on a roll, he quickly added “3. No collar.” Then he paused. That was kind of a big item to bargain with, but he really hated that thing. Maybe if he separated out the collar and the spells on it. He added some points below: “No disappearing my clothes.” “No silencing spell.” There. He could offer to let them put the spells on him if he didn’t have to wear a collar; maybe they would go for that.

Feeling daring, he wrote “4. 2 nights a week where I can say no to sex.” As soon as it was on the parchment, he recoiled. That was certainly not going to pass muster. He crossed out the 2 and replaced it with a 1. But then it left him nothing to bargain with. He tried to change the 1 to a 3, but that was definitely too much, and by this point it was getting illegible. With a growl, he scribbled out the number entirely. He’d figure out how many nights to ask for while they were talking. It wasn’t likely he’d get any, after all, so it didn’t really matter what he put.

He tore off the section of parchment and stuffed it into his bag before anyone could see it. He’d hoped having a plan would make him feel slightly better, but his mind kept repeating his four points over and over again. At one moment he thought he was ridiculous for thinking he could ask for anything at all; the next time through, he’d think he hadn’t been demanding enough. He’d gotten a whole week of peace, after all; who knew what more he could get if he pushed? But the thought of the consequences of pushing too hard made him break out in a cold sweat, and he went back to thinking that he was a fool for making the list at all. He’d never ask for any of it.

He barely managed to eat any lunch, preoccupied with trying to make conversation so no one knew anything was wrong while his thoughts went on circling madly. Then, as he picked up his bag to head to Charms, he saw a note on top of his books.

Harry-
Apparently we need to talk, and S has detention tonight. Can you stop by the room after dinner?
D.

Harry’s stomach clenched, and he was suddenly worried that the little he’d managed to eat was going to come back up. He decided to stop in the loo before class.

* * *

Harry was late for Charms, and the lesson only got worse from there. The new enlargement charm they were learning was tricky and took a lot of concentration, something Harry didn’t have available at the moment. After an entire class period of flubbing the spell, Flitwick told him, in a voice that made it clear that he thought Harry just wasn’t trying, that if he didn’t have it by next class, he’d have to come practice it in detention. Harry trudged out of the room.

He tried to study in the library, but he was distracted by the pain in his stomach. Every time he managed to forget what lay ahead of him that night, it seized up again. He finally decided to just go and spend some time in the bathroom for a while, in hopes that it might fix the issue.

Sitting on the toilet, he buried his head in his hands. Now that the moment had come, he didn’t want to face it. One week of not being attacked was enough to remind him that life didn’t have to be an utter misery. He didn’t want to die, not anymore, but he also didn’t want to go back to the way he’d been living for the last few months. And there wasn’t any other choice. They were his mates, and he couldn’t expect them to just deny their desires and needs forever. As wonderful as this last week had been, he knew it couldn’t last. But no matter how often he told himself not to be selfish, he couldn’t stop the fear.

Around and around his thoughts went, and he couldn’t stop. He didn’t know how long he sat there, but eventually he realized that his legs were going numb. He managed to get up and fix his clothes, but as he stood staring at the stall door, he realized that he couldn’t walk out of there. Not yet. He’d wait till dinner was over - he couldn’t eat anyway.

He cast a Disillusionment Charm over himself and sat down on the floor of the bathroom, leaning back against the wall. What was wrong with him? He’d lived through months of bad treatment, not to mention years at the Dursleys’. Why was he suddenly unable to walk at the thought of more of the same?

He was tired. Maybe that was all it was. He laid down on his side, curled up in a ball. He’d just rest here for a few minutes, and then he’d get up and go to the room and get it over with. He’d find out exactly what was going to happen, instead of sitting around dreading it.

He’d get up any minute now.

Any minute at all.

Dinner was surely over; he needed to get up and go before they got impatient. That could only make things worse for him.

He would take three more breaths and then get up.

Wait, had he counted right? Maybe he should take three more, just to be sure.

He could do this! He’d done it before. All he had to do was stand up and walk out of the stall.

He had to do it, before they came looking for him. He absolutely had to.

He didn’t.

The bathroom door banged open, and quick footsteps echoed across the room. “He’s here!” he heard Draco’s voice say - the Disillusionment must have worn off.

He recognized the locking and silencing charms that Snape cast then.

Oh. So they were going to get started right here. His chest ached, but he grabbed the toilet and used it to pull himself up to his knees, awkwardly twisting around to face his mates. As he did, an kind of helpless, impotent anger filled him, the kind that led him to mouth off at Uncle Vernon right before a beating.

He glared at his mates. “What do you want, then?”

Draco’s eyes were wide. “Are you all right, Harry?”

Snape raised his wand, and Harry braced himself to be dragged out, for his clothes to disappear - but all he felt was a mild warmth brushing over his body.

“The diagnostic charm does not show any illness or injury,” Snape said flatly. “Harry. Have you been trying to harm yourself?”

“I don’t have to tell you anymore, do I?” Harry snapped. It came out as more of a yell than he’d intended, and he covered his face with his hands, digging his nails into his scalp. “But the answer’s no anyway, OK? I was too much of a fucking coward, or an optimist, or something. Maybe it won’t be so bad, I thought. Dying was certainly worse than I thought it could be. Maybe living is better.” He looked up. “So go ahead, prove me wrong. Time’s up on our agreement, so now’s your chance.”

“What agreement?” Draco demanded.

Harry ignored him, watching in confusion as Snape sat down as gracefully as if he sat on dirty bathroom floors all the time. He set his wand down to his side and slightly behind him, at an awkward angle to pick back up, and folded his hands in his lap. “I asked you to come to renegotiate our agreement, Harry. Clearly, I overestimated your comprehension of the situation.”

“Wait, there really was an agreement? What was it?”

“Oh, come off it,” Harry grumbled at him. “I know that you know about it, because you haven’t touched me all week, so your pathetic little act isn’t going to work, whatever it is you’re trying to pull.”

Draco was glowering at both of them, now. “One of you had better explain this agreement to me right now, or so help me-”

“THE AGREEMENT TO STOP ME FROM KILLING MYSELF!” Harry screamed at him, completely done with this. “Snape thinks I’m going to kill you both too - which I won’t, I looked it up, and my research skills are JUST FINE, thank you! - and insisted on promising me a week to heal if I’d promise not to do anything during that time. The week’s up! The agreement’s over! Just tell me where you want me, and who’s going first.”

But Draco had turned his attention fully to Snape, and the intensity of the anger in his expression overwhelmed even Harry’s outburst. “You made an agreement with him about my behavior and didn’t even tell me?”

Harry was slightly impressed that Snape didn’t appear at all phased by Draco’s anger. He answered in a light tone of voice, as if the whole topic were of no importance. “I knew you wouldn’t have tried to hurt him, and that was all I promised…”

“Wait, he really didn’t know?” Harry’s head spun. “But then - why-”

Draco didn’t even look at him. “I’m not a child, Severus,” he said, and Harry had to stop himself from backing away at the cold fury in his voice. “I’m certainly not your child.”

Snape’s eyes actually widened a bit at that. “That … is not what I intended, Dragon.”

“We’ll discuss it later,” Draco promised in a tone that made the words a threat. Then he turned to Harry and put on his most charming smile, the one he used when he was about to lie to a teacher and pretend to be innocent. “You two said it was time to renegotiate this agreement? Let me help you. We’ll make him bleed for whatever it is he wants from you.”

The ache started up in Harry’s belly again. This was not going right. What was happening? He bit his lip, hard. “Um…”

“Come on, Harry,” Draco said at his most coaxing and innocent. “I’m angry at him right now, and so are you. I just found out he lied to me, and you know it. Of course I’ll take your side in this.”

Harry ducked his head, feeling the coldness spreading through him. “I’m fine,” he tried to say, but he’d lost the anger that was propelling him through the conversation, and it came out weak.

“He wants you to promise not to kill yourself, right?” Draco continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “That’s preserving his own life and his family. People will do just about anything for that.”

“‘Snot,” Harry muttered, ducking his head. “Won’t kill you two. I looked it up.”

Draco sighed. “Harry. You don’t say that in a negotiation. If he thinks there are bigger stakes than you do, you let him keep thinking it. You’ll get more that way. What do you want?”

Harry chewed his lip and remained silent.

“You do know what you want, don’t you?” There was exasperation in Draco’s voice, a tone Harry had heard before. It could very easily turn to disgust, and he had to keep Draco happy, he had to. Maybe this bizarre insistence on helping was evidence that his scheme to keep him happy was working, and he should keep going.

Reluctantly, he dug out the scrap of parchment he’d written his ideas down on and passed it to Draco. Drawing his knees up, he rested his forehead on them and wrapped his arms tightly around.

“Harry-” Draco’s voice sounded odd with his arms partially covering his ears. “Harry, what is this?”

He pushed his head down harder and didn’t answer.

“These aren’t demands… Harry, what the fuck-”

His fingers were digging into his arms, all his muscles were drawn as tight as they could be, and he felt freezing inside, aching with cold. He’d known it was stupid to ask, but Draco had insisted, had said he wanted Harry to demand a lot…

Well, now he’d find out the punishment for his presumption. He squeezed his eyes more tightly shut against the tears that wanted to fall.

Draco said a long string of what sounded like curses in a foreign language. Finally, he ended, in a slightly desperate voice, “Sev, help!”

Snape’s voice was as cold as ever. “Your faith in me is touching, Dragon, but even you should realize that it is entirely misplaced.” Harry heard him sigh. “Harry. Draco is not trying to inform you that you asked too much, as you seem to believe, but too little.”

Harry swallowed hard, trying to figure out what that could possibly mean. There was complete silence in the room for a long moment; apparently, they were waiting for him to talk. He swallowed again and said, without raising his head or opening his eyes, “What do you mean, too little?”

“Harry, these are… Hell, I don’t know!” Draco’s voice was still desperate and rough. “You want your bed, and clothes, and at least one night a week when you know you won’t be raped? Those aren’t demands, Harry, those are, like, basic things! You shouldn’t even question that we’ll give you that. Of course we will!”

“One night a week?” Snape said in a snide tone.

Harry had peeked gingerly out from behind his arms at Draco’s surprising speech, and he saw him wince and shake his head.

“I mean, we’re not going to rape you at all,” he clarified, face slightly red. “You don’t have to have sex with us unless you want to - I mean, you never have to have sex. If you want something, I’ll do whatever you want, but you never have to. You can always say no.”

Harry’s body had started to shake. He dug his fingers in tighter, trying to control it enough that no one saw, but he couldn’t stop the trembling. This… this couldn’t be real. They were just setting him up to be more miserable later when he found out that they were lying. That had to be it. Otherwise, it made no sense at all.

“I should point out,” Snape said, “that our agreement was nothing less than a perfect bargain on my part. I gained something I wanted very much - your life - in return for something I valued not at all - the right to harm you. As I knew that neither Dragon nor I would deliberately cause you pain, the promise cost me nothing.”

Why was he lying about this? “Then why didn’t you just say that?” Harry demanded in a choked voice.

“I had no idea you would have believed me.” Snape’s voice was very dry. “I’m sorry I misjudged you.”

Harry burrowed more deeply into his arms, knowing that Snape was absolutely right.There was no way he would’ve believed Snape if he’d said he didn’t want to hurt him. Hell, he still didn’t believe it! They hadn’t hurt him for a whole week - Draco apparently hadn’t even known Snape had made a promise, and he still hadn’t hurt him - and Harry couldn’t believe that they weren’t just waiting for the right opportunity. Because obviously, there was some plan behind this.

The problem was, he couldn’t figure out what their plan was. Why were they trying so hard to make him think they didn’t mean him any harm? There was something wrong with him that made people who were supposed to care about him hurt him. Why were they fighting it?

“Can I hug you, Harry?” Draco asked suddenly. “If you say no or push me away or move, I’ll stop, I promise, but I think you need a hug right now. I know I do.”

Harry sat very still, wondering what he felt about that. When Draco’s arm touched his shoulder, he twitched, and Draco froze.

“I’m just putting my arms around you,” he said in a low voice. “I’m not holding you tightly, you can move away whenever you want, but I’m here with you. You can lean against me if you want. It’s OK, Harry. I promise I’m not going to hurt you. I promise.”

Harry remembered abruptly that he was trying to keep Draco happy with him. And Draco certainly seemed set on this hug. Gingerly, he raised his head and shifted it to rest against Draco’s shoulder. It wasn’t a full lean, but it seemed to be enough for Draco.

Draco was talking again, but Harry couldn’t hear the words over the pounding in his ears. Suddenly everything was too much. He knew he was defective. He knew that the only way anyone showed him love was by causing him pain. And yet, it was also true that Snape and Draco, as his mates, weren’t causing him pain.

It didn’t make sense, and it hurt. He wasn’t even exactly sure what about this realization was hurting, but he knew it was painful - real pain, as agonizing as he’d ever felt nursing his wounds in his cupboard, even if he couldn’t figure out where exactly the pain was located.

Well, he knew how to handle pain. He deliberately calmed his breathing into the relaxing patterns he’d practiced through years of trying to keep himself quiet. It hurts, and that’s OK, he told himself over and over. The pain is here, and I’m here. It hurts, and I can let it hurt. I can be here with the pain. Eventually the pain will go away and I will still be here, but for now, it hurts, and it’s OK that it hurts.

He didn’t know how long he was deep in his thoughts and breathing, but when he finally felt the pain relax and could pay attention to other things, Draco still had his arms around him. One of his hands was gently stroking Harry’s hair; Harry stiffened as he realized that. But the touch didn’t hurt at all, and after a moment, he slowly relaxed again. If Draco was going to insist on touching him, this wasn’t so bad.

It was only after he’d placed all these sensations that he registered that Draco was still talking. “You’re so amazing, Harry,” he said softly. “You’ve been through hell and you’re still standing. I’m glad that I get to be here with you. You are incredible. I really like being around you, do you know that?”

In the hollow state left after the pain, Harry didn’t have it in him to reject these statements automatically like he normally would have. He still didn’t believe them, of course. But something in him said, Even if they’re not true, it’s kind of nice that Draco cares enough to say them anyway, isn’t it? It felt kind of nice to sit there with Draco touching him gently and murmuring pleasant lies. It was an experience he’d decided he would never have, and, relaxed and hollow as he was, he just wanted to rest and enjoy it. The pain would come again soon enough. He would take its absence while he could.

Chapter Text

Finally, the Hufflepuffs figured out that if they were in detention for talking, they should probably stop talking, and he could dismiss them.

Severus dropped the essay he’d been trying to mark on the pile of ungraded assignments and glowered at them. He ought to stay up late and finish them, but between his pounding headache and his lack of any potions to help him stay awake, it wasn’t going to happen tonight.

He opened a warded drawer and dropped the essays in, keeping his desktop clean - a habit he’d learned the hard way his first year teaching. The essays almost hid the dark magic book he’d ordered in the hope that it would tell him something about Horcruxes. He was tempted to bring it back to his room... but no. He had an argument with Draco to come, and the one time he’d gotten distracted during an argument with his mate, Draco had thrown a tantrum of massive proportions. Besides, he had no intention of telling Draco or Harry about the Horcruxes yet. Not until he had some idea of what they were going to do about them.

He rubbed his forehead as he walked the halls. If only he still had access to a pain reliever. Or a sleeping potion - the headaches were usually correlated with a lack of sleep. He wished he’d had time to brew some more since Narcissa had warded his cabinet. Unfortunately, he’d barely had time to breathe in the past day, and it wasn’t about to get better anytime soon.

With any luck, his mates would at least be in their room when he got back. The last thing he needed was another frantic search of the castle, worrying that Harry was caught in another battle dream, harming himself, or worse.

At least Harry had accepted Draco’s overtures. If Severus could leave Harry’s current survival in Draco’s hands and focus on his future survival, it would be one less thing on his plate. The fact that it would let him avoid the situations where he still had to bite his tongue to keep back acidic comments was merely a fringe benefit. Or so he told himself.

He pushed open the door. To his relief, Draco was sitting on their bed reading, and Harry’s curtains were drawn. He raised an enquiring eyebrow at them.

“I told him to ward them, that this might get loud,” Draco said, marking his place and setting his book on the bedside table.

“Very well, then,” Severus responded, gesturing to Draco in invitation. “Shall we?”

Draco didn’t hesitate. “How dare you agree to something in my name?” he hissed, standing up to glare as Severus. He was trying to sound like Lucius, it was clear, but he wasn’t very good at it yet. “I am your mate, Severus, not your chattel! If you think to control me, you will soon realize your mistake.”

“Surprisingly enough, at times I make decisions without considering the impact on you, your highness,” Severus drawled back, doing a much better Lucius impression than Draco was yet capable of. “I do have thoughts of my own, unrelated to your will and pleasure. I have been a Malfoy’s lapdog once, Dragon, and I have no intention of reprising the role, so do not think that you are going to control me.”

“You, a lapdog? Ha!” Draco’s laugh was harsh and brittle. “Hardly. Anyone can see that you’re nothing more than a bantam cock, crowing on his dungheap. ‘Oh, look at my Potions skills! My duelling! I’ve done so much!’ And yet, the stink of where you came from still clings to you, soiling everything.”

“As you are soiled by association with me?” Severus replied, and smiled at Draco’s angry flush. “At least I do have accomplishments. You will never do anything more than trade on daddy’s money and daddy’s reputation. You will always be nothing more than a spoiled child, because no Malfoy ever really grows up.”

He saw the quick flash of hurt in Draco’s eyes at his words, and knew that he’d struck a nerve. Draco had mentioned feeling like a child when the subject of the agreement had first come up, hadn’t he? Now Severus knew where to direct his comments to cause the most pain, and a sharp smile grew on his face.

And then, even as he started planning his next attack, he felt a sudden wave of dizziness. Draco was clearly feeling uncertain about their relationship and how their age difference affected it. Suddenly, he had an urge to refrain from attacking that uncertainty, and instead reassure his mate. He frowned. Where had that come from?

“Severus?”

He’d missed Draco’s entire next statement and his cue to pick up his own invective again. But something was off. He felt entirely off-balance, unable to continue.

Draco was speaking again, still angry, but with worry growing beneath the anger. He was becoming more fragile, and instead of lunging in for the kill, Severus was uncomfortable. Something was wrong.

Abruptly, without another word, he turned and stalked out of the room. The heavy door closed off Draco’s call behind him.

As he headed for his study, he flushed a couple of youngsters sneaking down the hall. He started to scold them, but after only his first sentence, the distress on their faces - well-deserved distress! - caused him to break off abruptly and order them back to their common rooms with nothing more than a minor point deduction.

A master Occlumens had to recognize and understand his own responses. This was foreign to him.

He made it back to his study without any more interruptions and immediately went to grab a headache potion. The tingle of the warding spell made him swear and jerk his arm away. Damn Narcissa! All he needed was to clear his head so he could think!

He whirled toward the fireplace and cast in the Floo powder. “Malfoy Manor!” he spat, then knelt and put his head into the flames.

It didn’t take long for Narcissa to be summoned and to glide into the receiving room. She gave him her most charming smile. “Severus! Is everything well?”

“Narcissa, would you be so kind as to provide me with a headache potion, please?” It was not nearly as smooth or charming as her statement; he barely got it out without gritting his teeth the whole time.

“Step through, darling, we can’t talk like this,” she ordered him, and though he glowered at her, he obeyed.

“Come, have some tea with me,” she invited as soon as he stepped through. “Isn’t there a tea that’s good for headaches?”

He remained standing by the fireplace. “No tea, thank you. Just a headache reliever.”

“Is it peppermint?” she continued, as if she hadn’t heard him. “No, that’s for stomach upsets, isn’t it? What is good for headaches?”

“Narcissa!” he said sharply, unwilling to let this go on.

“Perhaps the house elves will know, if I ask them for a recommendation,” she mused, as if she spoke casually to her house elves every day.

Severus was done with her empty-headed babble. “Will you stop being absurd, woman!” he roared at her.

She dropped the act and speared him with her gaze. “Well, Severus, of course I assumed that we were being absurd, since you waltzed in here demanding potions, which anyone in their right mind would know I wouldn’t be giving you.”

He scowled and flung himself into the chair across from her, slouching like she’d never taught him any etiquette at all. He saw her twitch but refrain from correcting him, which made him feel slightly better about the situation.

“It’s just a headache,” he grumbled at her. “Your insufferable brat has been screaming at me, and my head aches.”

She gave him a look of polite disbelief. “I’ve heard more than one argument between you and my son, and they’ve never reduced you to this state before.”

No, because normally their arguments went as planned and he didn’t have the feeling of losing control of his own reactions.

He shrugged, ordinarily another gesture that made her twitch, but she seemed to have given up on his manners for the evening. “He’s being more than usually insufferable. You spoiled him rotten, you know. Sometimes I wonder if there’s anything salvageable left.”

She drew in a breath to blister him, and he relaxed, comfortable at last. Nothing he said would cause Narcissa distress; she could tear him apart easily enough, and he would stop feeling like the world was spinning backwards.

But his change in posture must have been too extreme, because those damnably deep-seeing eyes narrowed.

“Show me your arms,” she snapped abruptly, rising to stalk toward him.

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, really, I’m fine.”

“Now, darling.”

Her voice was still soft and mild, but he pushed up his sleeves immediately and sneered as he displayed the pale skin. “See? No new damage. I’m fine.”

She ignored him, pressing the tip of her wand to one of his wrists and murmuring a series of spells.

At last she dropped his wrist. “Is that why you came to me?” she asked, disdain dripping from her voice. “You are not going to make my tongue into your new blade for self-harm, so don’t think it.”

He flinched back as if she’d slapped him physically. “No!” His voice emerged rougher than he’d intended.

“Then what is this about?” She continued looming over him, trapping him in his chair.

Severus closed his eyes to shut out her threatening posture and steepled his fingers before his face. It was a tell he didn’t mind indulging around the Malfoys, since they knew it meant he was thinking and respected it. What was going on with him?

He allowed his mind to take in and analyze the data of the evening like it was a Potions experiment. In this calm state of analysis, it didn’t take long to come to the obvious conclusion. He almost groaned, regretting the urge that had brought him here. This was the last subject he wanted to discuss with Narcissa, but he knew she would never let him leave unless he gave her at least some of the truth.

He sighed and opened his eyes, but didn’t look at her. “I believe that I have discovered the soulmate gift Harry brings to our bond.”

If she were as polite as she pretended to be, he reflected bitterly, Narcissa would immediately drop the topic and smooth over the situation with a quick subject change. Unfortunately, he knew perfectly well that she used manners as a weapon and had no qualms about abandoning them when it suited her.

“First you’re upset over a fight, and now the gift that Magic itself gave you to meet your deepest needs is causing you distress? Perhaps I should call the Healer back. If you can’t even lie adequately, something must be wrong.”

He snapped his head around to glare at her. “If I were lying, it would be something far more believable.” Not that he lied to her much. A reputation for truth-telling made it easier to slip something by her when he had to, and he needed every advantage he could get with someone who’d watched him far too closely his first years at Hogwarts.

She placed her hands on her hips and raised an eyebrow at him, not even needing words to express her disbelief.

He rolled his eyes. “Narcissa, I am perfectly well-aware of the kind of person I am. Magic obviously thinks I am capable of becoming-” his mouth twisted “better. It is not a pleasant realization. And that is all I will say on the subject.”

The Malfoys were always a bit put off when he mentioned his disadvantages - poor, halfblood, unattractive, bitter - probably because it reflected badly on them to interact with him as much as they did. He wasn’t above using that to deflect her questioning... and he had no intention of telling her that he wasn’t wallowing quite as deeply in self-hatred as he once had. One awkward conversation about soulmate bond gifts was more than enough.

He shoved himself to his feet; he’d given up enough personal information for one night. “Good evening.”

“Severus!”

He halted at her call, but didn’t turn to face her. “You needn’t worry. I give you my word that I am no threat to your son. I am merely uncomfortable; it will pass.”

She rested a hand on his shoulder. “If you still want a headache potion-”

He stepped away from her touch. “I’m fine.” It wasn’t exactly true, but he wasn’t taking her pity.

As he stepped into the fireplace, he thought he heard her say, “I am not only concerned for Draco, Severus.”

But the whooshing of the Floo filled his ears, and it was easy enough to convince himself that he’d imagined it.

* * *

Draco turned the pages of his book idly, knowing that he wouldn’t retain anything he read in this state. But it wasn’t like he was going to sleep, either.

He looked over toward Harry’s bed, wishing that he’d stick his head out. Draco needed someone to talk to! Almost he was tempted to go over there and bother him - but no. The memory of that pitiful list of requests - and even worse, the moment when Sev had pointed out that Harry thought they were too much - still haunted him.

He’d thought things were going so well over the weekend! They’d spent time together, done fun things, had decent conversations. Harry had smiled a few times. He’d thought that maybe they were getting to be friends again.

And then to learn that Harry expected them to demean and rape him, even after all of that. It didn’t make any sense! Draco was starting to think that the weeks he’d spent feeling Harry’s pain hadn’t begun to help him understand what his mate had really gone through. Harry was… different. Damaged, maybe. Draco had said that maybe he and Sev were supposed to help their unknown third heal, but he hadn’t had any idea then what an impossible task it would be.

He and Sev. That brought his thoughts back to the problem of the moment. Where was Sev?

They had a pattern to their fights, almost from the very first. They both said the worst, most hurtful things they could dredge up. Severus always used very formal language when they were fighting, so Draco tried to mimic him. But as the argument went on, Sev got colder and more cutting, while Draco always eventually lost his cool and started shouting incoherent insults. At that point, Sev walked away. They spent the next day or so ignoring each other with magnificent unconcern, until Draco got sick of it and grabbed his mate for a good snog. Then whatever-it-was was forgotten and they moved on.

But that hadn’t happened today, and it made him uncomfortable. Sev had walked out far too soon, looking oddly upset. Draco didn’t understand it. And not understanding what was going on with either of his mates was quickly becoming annoying.

Putting the useless book aside, he slipped his feet into his slippers and padded over to his armchair. He poked the fire, wishing that they could still have the house elves deliver food. He could’ve used a cup of cocoa right then.

Instead, he let the flickering flames lead him into a half-doze, trying not to think about either of his mates.

The sound of the door opening pulled him to full awareness, and he was up and charging toward Severus before he had a chance to think. He grabbed his mate’s wrists and pinned them against the wall, glaring at him. “You walked out on me!”

There was the tiniest hint of a smirk on Sev’s face as he replied, “I’ve walked out on every argument we’ve ever had, Dragon.”

Draco growled. “You know what I mean! You left too soon.”

“What I said distressed you.”

Frowning, Draco looked more closely at him. He didn’t look like anything was wrong, but why else would he make such a stupid statement? “Yes,” he said slowly, in the voice he used to explain things to Crabbe and Goyle, “because we were fighting. Trying to hurt the other person is part of it.”

Severus gave the soft huff of breath that served him as a chuckle. “Yes. You’re right, of course.”

Draco’s anger drained away abruptly. Severus almost never admitted that he was right in so many words. He rarely laughed, either. To have gotten him to do both in one sentence was enough to kill any lingering resentment.

So he leaned in for a kiss.

When they broke apart, Sev raised an eyebrow at him. “Should I assume that we’re skipping the not-speaking-to-each-other phase of the argument and moving directly to fucking?”

Draco grinned. “Well, you’re the one who broke the pattern in the first place. I might as well make the best of it.”

Chapter Text

Harry slumped against the wall as Ron and Hermione’s latest argument grew heated enough to stop them in the middle of the hallway. They were arguing about nothing, really, and he felt like he should intercede and smooth things over, but if he opened his mouth, he might just tell them off for being idiots. They weren’t idiots, they were his friends, and he had to remind himself of that before he was the one doing something stupid.

“I’m right, aren’t I, Harry? Oi, Harry!”

Harry rolled his head over to look at Ron but didn’t say anything.

“You agree with me, don’t you?”

He didn’t have to answer; Hermione did it for him.

“He wasn’t even listening. Honestly, Ron! And Harry, you really need to pay attention. You almost got your fingers singed in Herbology today.”

Luckily, before she could get any farther into her scold, they were interrupted by Neville, who had gotten worse than singed in Herbology and been sent to the Hospital Wing.

“Neville! How are you?” Hermione turned to him with a sudden smile.

“Oh, I’m fine. The Venomous Tentacula barely touched me.”

“You cast that Diffindo very quickly. Who do you think threw that Bouncing Bulb at you and made you trip?”

Neville shrugged. “Accidents happen. Anyway, I have a note for Harry that Madam Pomfrey asked me to drop off.”

Harry grabbed the note and stuffed it into his bag without looking. He really didn’t need Hermione reading it over his shoulder. “Thanks, Nev. Hey, Hermione, what were we supposed to have read for Transfiguration today?”

The rest of the time until class was easily filled by Hermione first scolding him, then summarizing the chapter, which left him plenty of time to worry about Madam Pomfrey’s note.

In class, he managed to open it under his desk and read it.

Mr. Potter-

Narcissa Malfoy has arranged for you to begin seeing a counsellor weekly. She will collect you for your first appointment this afternoon. Please come to the Hospital Wing directly after your final class to meet her and Floo to your appointment.

Madam Pomfrey

He balled up the note, wishing he could Incendio it. Or swear at it. Or possibly scream. But then someone would notice and want to know what was going on. He had no intention of telling anyone that he was supposed to visit a counsellor.

He debated being late for the appointment, in hopes that Mrs. Malfoy would get annoyed and leave him, but he decided that she was just as likely to march through the school looking for him, and that would be even worse. He almost smiled, picturing Ron’s response if he were dragged off by one of the Malfoys, particularly one who insisted Harry was crazy and it was for his own good.

So he went directly to the Hospital Wing after class, to find Narcissa Malfoy chatting with Madam Pomfrey. As soon as he walked through the door, though, she broke off her conversation and turned to him with her dazzling smile. “Hello, Harry. It’s good to see you again.”

Harry was not at all happy about her high-handed decision to make him see a counsellor and had expected to continue feeling grumpy and put-upon the entire time. But when she smiled at him, he couldn’t help smiling back. “Hello, Mrs. Malfoy.”

“Narcissa, please, Harry,” she said, before turning back to Madam Pomfrey. “Thank you, Madam. We’ll be on our way.”

She gestured Harry over to the fireplace and took a pinch of Floo powder from the pot Madam Pomfrey held out for her. “We’re going to Malfoy Manor first, dear,” she told Harry before throwing in the powder and vanishing in the green flames.

Harry took a deep breath, controlled his desire to run away, and followed.

Somewhat to his surprise, Narcissa was not waiting by the fireplace to whisk him off to the locked ward at St. Mungo’s. Instead, she was sitting at a small table loaded with tea things. “Would you like some tea, Harry?”

He approached slowly, wondering what was going on. “Is the counsellor meeting us here, then?” he asked at last.

Her smile faltered. “We will discuss that in a moment. Tea?”

Confused, Harry settled into the offered seat with a cup of tea and waited for Narcissa to say something. She took a few sips of her own tea before meeting his eyes again.

“I interviewed the counsellors on the list Madam Pomfrey offered, and quite frankly, I don’t believe any of them will do you much good. I’ll tell you about them, and of course you can decide for yourself. But…” she sighed. “Well, the least problematic would be the ones who think they can help you by merely talking. They each mentioned the importance of examining your dreams and your earliest memories in detail.”

Harry shuddered at the thought and shook his head emphatically.

“Then another group believes that the best help would be a spell that gives the brain a shock rather like a controlled burst of lightning. They claim that you will feel much better afterward, but they warned that during the spell, patients convulse and often break bones. To be perfectly honest, their descriptions sound rather like being under the Cruciatus.”

“No!” Harry exclaimed.

“Hmm, yes. The last one, I would dismiss out of hand. He advocates severing part of the brain in order to remove the source of unpleasant memories and feelings and leave you much happier.”

Harry had thought he hated the idea of seeing a counsellor before. Now he was feeling physically sick at the thought. “What if I don’t want to see any of them?”

Narcissa immediately regained her smile. “Of course. I quite understand.”

Well, that was a relief. Only that left the question: now what? He shifted awkwardly. “Um, should I be heading back to Hogwarts then?”

“If you’d like, but Madam Pomfrey is expecting you to be away for at least an hour. I had another suggestion, if you don’t mind hearing it.”

“All right.” He braced himself for whatever new nightmare was in store for him.

“As I said, Madam Pomfrey is expecting you to make regular visits to a counsellor. It will make matters much simpler if you are gone for an appointment every week. And Severus happened to mention the fact that you have had woefully inadequate defense professors and have never had an opportunity for private tuition to make up for their defects.”

Harry wasn’t sure how they’d gotten from counsellors to defense professors, but he couldn’t argue, even if he hated to agree with Snape about anything. “Woefully inadequate” was a kind way to describe Quirrell, Lockheart, and Umbridge.

“So I thought we could do some defense practice every week. Let Madam Pomfrey think you’re at the counsellor’s, and instead gain practice in a vital skill.”

Harry did have a moment of thinking “But she’s practically a Death Eater!” … but it was only a moment. The lure of defense practice was too strong. He’d refused to continue Dumbledore’s Army because he couldn’t have explained it to Blaise and Theo, and he’d missed it as much as Quidditch.

“That would be great!”

Narcissa put aside her cup and rose. “Wonderful! We haven’t much time, so let’s get started.”

As they walked down the hall together, she added in an almost shy voice, “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you not to share what I teach you with anyone. I’m not precisely supposed to be teaching it to you at all, you see.”

Harry paused mid-step and frowned. “Are you going to get in trouble for teaching me? Because we don’t have to-”

Narcissa laughed. “Oh, no, it’s nothing like that. It’s merely an old custom - quite outdated, but some people still care. And besides, not knowing what form of duelling you’ve been trained in puts your enemies at a disadvantage.”

Harry continued walking, but at a slower pace. “Why? Is it some secret trick?”

“Not a trick, no. It’s just that the form of duelling I learned was traditionally handed down from mother to daughter and not taught to men. I will, of course, teach it to your daughters, but really, you shouldn’t know about it at all.”

“A women-only duelling form?” Harry frowned. “Why?”

Narcissa pushed open the door to a large, empty room with a wooden floor and mirrors on the walls. “It’s an old tradition. A hundred and fifty years ago, more or less, there was a bit of a fad for duelling. It died out after a few decades, but during that time, certain spells became very popular. One was the Withering Curse, and somehow it became a habit to use it to strike a woman’s womb. This was before the spells for male pregnancy were invented - in fact, those spells were a byproduct of the search for a counter to the Womb Witherer - so the spell threatened to end family lines. Some families decided that the correct response was to forbid women from duelling, or even learning how to duel.”

Harry tried to imagine anyone telling the witches he knew that they weren’t allowed to learn duelling anymore and winced. “I bet that didn’t go over well.”

Narcissa laughed. “True enough, and of course it didn’t last long, even in the most conservative families. But in the meantime, some witches decided to work on their duelling in secret. They created a form that they could practice while pretending it was not actually duelling. Of course, it wasn’t needed for very long, but as I said, it became a tradition, and our families do not abandon tradition lightly.”

“So this is a duelling practice that doesn’t look like duelling practice.” Harry looked around the room. “What does it look like, then?”

Narcissa conjured a wooden stand and draped her outer robe over it, revealing trousers and a blouse that still looked too fancy for exercise. “Dance.”

* * *

“I thought that dancing would be less exhausting,” Harry groused under his breath, wiping sweat from his forehead.

“Footwork is essential to duelling success,” Narcissa said serenely. Her hair had not escaped its careful arrangement on the top of her head, and her fancy outfit looked as flawless as it had almost an hour ago. “Again, and watch that left foot. Try not to let it turn out at all this time.”

“Except on the seventh and the - thirteenth step,” Harry argued automatically.

Narcissa favored him with another smile. “Exactly. Well done.”

Harry shook his head and took his starting position once again.

He’d never had an instructor like Narcissa in any of his subjects. Usually - practically always - his professors lectured about a spell or skill, then told them to do it, and had them practice over and over on their own until they mastered it.

Narcissa, by contrast, was constantly watching and correcting him. At virtually every step, she was repositioning some part of his body, giving him tips on how to balance his weight, or reminding him to remember any one of what felt like a thousand rules she’d thrown at him. And yet, she managed to do all that without making him feel stupid. In fact, she was constantly praising him for the smallest bits of improvement.

As he finished the sequence of steps she’d taught him for the upteenth time, she clapped. “That was excellent, Harry! You’ve learned all the steps and the basics of posture faster than anyone I’ve ever heard of. You truly are gifted.”

He was panting hard by then, but he managed to smile back at her.

“You have the first routine memorized, so-”

“First?” Harry interrupted in dismay. “How many of these are there?”

“Twenty-one, and they increase in length and difficulty.” Narcissa moved back across the room to the stand where they’d left their robes. “But don’t worry. You need only master the first seven to be proficient.”

Harry groaned at the thought of another twenty of these things, or even six.

“As I was saying, you’ve learned enough to practice on your own for the next week,” Narcissa continued as if he hadn’t made a sound. “An hour a day would be ideal, but thirty minutes will suffice. Please remember not to let anyone see you. We want to avoid awkward questions.”

“All right,” Harry promised, trying to think how he would get half an hour in privacy with enough room to practice.

Narcissa passed him a damp towel she’d conjured from somewhere. “Make yourself presentable, dear. We still have to pass Madam Pomfrey.”

Harry buried his face in the towel. He’d managed to forget his everyday life for a little while; the routine he was learning took so much concentration that everything else had fallen away. Now he remembered their lie. He had to make her think he was spending an hour a week with a counsellor.

“It seems to me that, had you met with any of those people, you would be quite worn out,” Narcissa said. “She won’t wonder at you being exhausted, and it makes an easy excuse to avoid her.” She picked up his robe but held on to it before passing it to him as she said casually, “I don’t imagine you enjoy shopping.”

“Uh, no,” he answered, wondering where that had come from.

“None of the men in my family do,” she sighed. “Would you mind if I bought a few things for you? Lucius says I’ve more clothes than I could wear in three lifetimes, but I do miss shopping. He can’t object if I’m buying things for our new son-in-law.”

Harry swallowed at the title and the easy way she assumed he was a full member of the family. It couldn’t last, of course, and if Mr. Malfoy got mad at her for shopping for him, it might end fast. Harry could certainly imagine him objecting, but he couldn’t see Narcissa letting that stop her. Nor could he imagine that telling her he didn’t want any clothes would make a difference. “I guess so.”

“Wonderful!” She waved her wand, and a magical tape measure appeared. Harry obediently held still, reminded irresistibly of Ollivander’s and getting his wand.

“What colors and styles do you prefer?”

Harry hesitated. No one had ever asked him that before, and he wasn’t sure how to answer. “I, well, I don’t care much. Whatever you like?”

She stared intently at him for a few seconds, making him wish he could move away from her gaze. But the enchanted tape measure was still flying around his body. Then she abruptly relaxed. “I’ll just choose colors that will flatter your complexion, then. I’ll have a few next week, and you can tell me which you prefer.”

The tape measure flew back to her, and she caught it deftly. “Now, put on your robe and come along. Madam Pomfrey is expecting us.”

Harry followed her out into the hall before remembering to say, “Thank you, Narcissa.”

She smiled. “It was my pleasure, dear. It won’t be long before you’re ready for live practice. I’m looking forward to having a duelling partner again.”

Harry found that, despite his exhaustion, he was looking forward to it, too.

* * *

Harry slid into his seat in the Great Hall for dinner with his hair still wet and breathing a little fast from his run through the halls. He’d decided that he didn’t want the current Dumbledore’s Army to find him heading to or from the Room of Requirement - he was still afraid of Slytherins finding out if he joined, and he didn’t want to have to explain that to a sad Hufflepuff ever again - so that left only the bedroom for practicing in. After lurking in the hallway under the invisibility cloak for a few days, he’d determined that neither Draco nor Snape ever went there between their final class and dinner, so that was when he did his practice. But when he decided to do just one more run-through, like today, it made getting to dinner a race.

“Oi, Ron, leave some for me,” he insisted, grabbing the potato spoon from Ron’s hand and serving himself a large plateful.

“You’re eating as much as Ron lately,” Hermione observed. Harry couldn’t tell what she was thinking about that fact; her tone wasn’t overtly disapproving, but…

He shoved the spoon back toward Ron. “I guess I’ve been hungry,” he said hesitantly, taking only one piece of meat instead of the three he wanted.

Another piece landed on his plate. “Honestly, Harry, I’m not telling you off. It’s just odd. You’ve eaten so little this year.”

Relieved, Harry took some vegetables, knowing that would please her. “Well, maybe I’m making up for it now. Hey, I’m still lost on that assignment for Runes. Would you take a look?”

“Of course,” Hermione said, while on Harry’s other side, Ron made gagging noises.

“Why’d you drop Magical Creatures and take Runes?” he demanded.

Harry shrugged. Because Blaise and Theo insisted didn’t seem like a good answer. Actually, Draco and Snape didn’t seem to care. Maybe he could get out of it - but probably not midway through the term.

“Harry’s actually quite good at Ancient Runes,” Hermione said. Harry turned and stared at her in disbelief. “No, really, Harry. I know it’s hard, but you’re doing just fine. Runes are complex, and it’s good to challenge yourself and learn things that will actually be useful in the long run. I love Hagrid, but Care of Magical Creatures seems a rather useless class, really.”

“Not for a dragon tamer like Charlie!” Ron protested hotly. “He uses things he learned in Magical Creatures all the time!”

Harry broke in before the argument could get out of hand, though he had to suppress a laugh. Ron and Hermione were fun. “Runes is interesting, but I miss Care of Magical Creatures a lot. I don’t get to work with you as much lately, Ron. Maybe after Hermione finishes helping me with my essay, we could go out to the pitch for a bit?”

Ron brightened instantly. “Really? Yeah, that’d be brilliant! You have no idea what the team’s been doing lately - we’ve got some new maneuvers that you’ll love. Uh…” he looked at Harry uncertainly. “I mean, as long as you can keep them a secret from your mates - or Malfoy, since he’s the only one you fly with lately…”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I don’t tell them everything, Ron.”

“Right, great.” Ron sighed with relief. “Well, there’s this drill where…” He started pulling silverware over to stand in for the different players. Hermione nudged Harry.

“Pass me your assignment, and I’ll look it over while you talk.”

“Thanks.” Harry dug it out of his bag and handed it over, then returned his attention to Ron, grinning. It was great to feel like part of Gryffindor again.

“So if the Chasers are in this formation…”

* * *

When they entered the studio the next week, Harry immediately noticed the large blackboard covered with lists on one wall. “What’s that for?”

“You have some things to memorize,” Narcissa replied, maddeningly vague. “But first tell me what you think of these.”

She gestured toward a large table piled with clothes. “I just got exercise things and casual clothing for now,” she said, as if this were a normal amount of clothes to give someone. “Once you tell me which cuts and colors you prefer, I’ll get some formal wear commissioned.

Harry looked over the dizzying stacks and wondered why he would ever need anything else. This might have been more clothes than he’d owned over the course of his entire life.

“Just slip into one of the exercise outfits, dear, and let me check the fit,” she said, conjuring up a screen for him to change behind. “Then you can take the rest back with you and tell me next week which ones you particularly liked and disliked. Don’t worry, I won’t make you model them all for me.”

She smiled as if that had been a joke, so he smiled back weakly as he gathered up the outfit. He was glad she’d gestured toward the kind of clothes she meant, since he didn’t think he’d have known which ones were “exercise clothes” if she hadn’t made it clear. They were very lightweight, and they fit like a second skin. He’d never had anything that actually fit him before, except the Hogwarts robes, which were so baggy that about the only “fitting” was in the length. This was entirely different. He smoothed a hand across the soft fabric before wadding up his old clothes in one hand and stepping out self-consciously.

Narcissa circled him with the air of a master painter critically inspecting her work. Harry tried not to fidget. When she came back to face him again, she was smiling.

“They seem to fit well. Are they comfortable?”

“Very comfortable.” Harry hesitated, wondering how to ask what he was thinking. “How much - Should I, uh, pay you back?”

There was a brief look of surprise. “Oh, of course not, dear!” She smiled at him. “You gave me an opportunity to shop, and I gave you some clothes. There’s no debt owing. And after all, it’s all in the family.”

When would statements like that stop blindsiding him? Harry grabbed his bundle of old Dudley cast-offs and turned to put them on the table to hide the sudden wetness in his eyes.

“You’re not attached to those, are you, dear?”

When he shook his head, she Banished them out of his hand. “Then we’ll pack up the other clothes and send them back with you at the end of our hour together. For now, show me what you’ve been working on this week.”

She was still constantly correcting him, but Harry found that he was less out of breath at the end than he’d been the week before, which he supposed counted for something.

“I was afraid you might pick up bad habits practicing on your own, but your form is still excellent,” Narcissa told him. “That means that we can move along more quickly. Come over here.”

She gestured to the blackboard. Up close, Harry could see that it had lists of spells in different columns. “These-” she tapped a column with her wand, and the spell names began to glow- “all begin with the same wand motion, a downward slash to the right. I want you to memorize them.”

Obediently, Harry stared at the list. He wasn’t very good at this kind of rote memorization, but he repeated the spells over and over under his breath. At least Narcissa wasn’t staring at him; she’d moved off to the other side of the room.

Finally deciding that his knowledge of the list was about as good as it was going to get, he turned around to look for her. He stared in awe. She was doing another duelling dance, and it was obvious what she’d meant about them getting longer and more complex. She was poetry in motion, twirling and stepping and crouching and leaping with much more grace than he imagined he ever showed.

She stopped and smiled at him, not even breathing fast. “Ready?”

He nodded, and she gestured him to the middle of the floor. “Run through the first dance again, then, and pay attention to how your arms move.”

He hesitated. “You’ve never given me any directions on arm motions, I don’t think,” he said doubtfully. He wracked his memory; there were directions on balance, foot placement, which way he leaned, which way his head and even eyes were supposed to move, but nothing on arms. That seemed odd.

“No, I haven’t. I want you to just do what feels natural, and pay attention.”

It was a disaster. Trying to think about what his arms were doing while letting them do it freely WHILE remembering all the things he’d been practicing was far too much. He stumbled through the dance as badly as the first time he’d ever tried it and felt himself turning bright red from embarrassment before he finished.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“You did just fine,” Narcissa assured him. “It will be a little awkward at first, but soon enough you’ll see how it all comes together. Now, memorize this list, if you please.”

Harry held back a sigh as he returned to the board.

They only made it through half the lists, alternating them with practicing the dance, before a gentle chime reminded them that they needed to leave soon. Harry gave the blackboard one last look of disgust. “This is stupid. I don’t need to learn this,” he muttered under his breath.

“Of course you do,” Narcissa said from behind him, and Harry whipped around. He’d forgotten that she’d replied to something he whispered last week, too. He opened his mouth to apologize, but she raised her wand.

“Diffindo!”

Instinctively, Harry dodged the spell, but before he could draw his own wand, Narcissa barked, “Freeze!”

Since they’d done this frequently as he learned the dance, Harry froze automatically, wand just barely out but pointing at the ground.

“If you were to take another step, balanced as you are, where would your foot go?” Narcissa asked calmly, as if she hadn’t just attacked him.

Harry breathed deeply to calm himself down. This was just another lesson. He could do this. He looked down at his feet. They were in the same position as the fifth step of the dance, so he stepped back with his left foot into the sixth.

“Good. And why is that beneficial?”

That was easy. “Now I’m standing side-on to you, so I’m harder to hit, and my wand arm is toward you.”

“And if you want to raise your wand to aim at me, what motion will you use?”

Harry made the gesture. “A slash from the bottom right.”

“Which is the starting motion for…”

“Oh!” Harry twisted around to look at the blackboard and read the list there. “But can that really make such a difference?”

“Oh, yes.” Narcissa moved to the door and reclaimed her outer robe. “Battlefield duelling goes very quickly, and that split second you gain by having your wand in the correct position - not to mention the ability to automatically start one of the few spells that fits, rather than thinking about any number of possibilities - can make a significant difference in the outcome.”

Harry followed her over and got his own robe. “But half of these spells aren’t for fighting at all.”

Narcissa smiled. “Ah, Severus taught me that trick. He almost never uses offensive curses when he duels. It means that his opponents are off-balance, expecting an attack that never comes, and they miss countering even the simplest of spells.”

“But what good does it do to hit with a spell like a Cheering Charm?” He took the bundle of clothes Narcissa had shrunk down for him and put it in his pocket.

She opened the door and they headed into the hall. “Well, it takes creativity, of course, but just about anything can be used offensively. A powerful Cheering Charm can obviously distract your opponent with unrestrained laughter, but a subtler application can lead someone to overconfidence. It helps to know your opponent; my sister was always particularly susceptible to that.”

“Your sis- Oh.” Harry suddenly remembered that Narcissa Malfoy was a Black before she married, and her sister was Bellatrix LeStrange. It was a strange moment of juxtaposition, the kind teacher and the dark witch. But she continued talking before he could think about it.

“This week, I want you to continue practicing the dance - go through it at speed at least once a day, focusing on shifting your weight from your center. But this time, pay attention to your arm movements - what wand stroke will come most naturally at each step? We’ll discuss it next week and start practicing with the spells. In fact…” She stopped in the middle of the hallway and turned to face him. “I’d best teach you a spell to create a target, as you will very likely be ready to cast before our next meeting. You are progressing incredibly quickly, dear.”

Harry smiled back at her before turning his attention to the new spell.

Chapter Text

Draco watched Harry across the Great Hall as he laughed with Granger and Weasley and reminded himself that jealousy was not a good look on a Malfoy.

It wasn’t like he had anything to be jealous of. Harry went flying with him every Saturday and sat around and talked with him several evenings a week. He smiled more now and even laughed occasionally. When they were together, Draco thought everything was fine.

It was only seeing how uninhibitedly happy he was with his friends that made Draco realize that Harry was still inhibited around him.

He dragged his eyes away from Harry and caught Blaise looking at him. Blaise immediately dropped his gaze back down to his plate, but as Draco started to turn his attention to his own food, out of the corner of his eye he saw Blaise shoot a warning look at Theo and shake his head.

He would have to keep a closer eye on them. He’d been making sure they didn’t run into Harry, but other than that, he’d tried to avoid them. They’d never been close friends - Blaise always seemed to be laughing at him, and Theo was too quiet to get to know - but they’d roomed together for five years. How had he missed the fact that they were the kind of sadists who could torture their mate until he was as broken as Harry?

He looked across the Great Hall again and told himself that he should be glad that Harry was doing so much better. It wasn’t like Granger and Weasley had done anything to help Harry while he was with Blaise and Theo. It was being with Draco and Severus that had helped him - and since Severus had been completely taken up with whatever new project he was working on, it was really Draco who had made the difference.

Blaise and Theo abruptly left the table, so Draco gave up on his meal. He could follow them back to the soul dorms, making sure Harry didn’t run into them, and go back to his own room. Maybe tonight was one of the nights when Harry would come and talk.

But after half an hour of restlessly trying to find something to do that didn’t bore him within a few minutes, he admitted that neither of his mates was going to spend the evening with him. He could go and make sure Crabbe and Goyle were still passing their classes, but he wanted intelligent conversation. The girls had been chattering at the table about their “girls night,” so they were out. What was he supposed to do?

Well, there was one way to make sure he wasn’t stuck being bored. He went to his cache and pulled out his hidden Firewhiskey. Severus didn’t drink, but he didn’t care that Draco drank at home. Draco wasn’t sure how he would feel about illicit alcohol at school, though. But if he wasn’t going to show up in their rooms for weeks on end, Draco would do whatever he damn well pleased. It served him right.

A couple of cups later, he was feeling pleasantly relaxed when Harry finally came through the door. Draco twisted around to look at him. He was smiling as he pulled off his invisibility cloak and folded it away in his bag.

“You look happy.” He hadn’t exactly meant to say that in such a snide tone. Oh, well. He was still annoyed with Harry for leaving him. “Did you have a good time with Granger and Weasley?”

That had been a very good sneer, he decided. He practiced it a little more while Harry came over and sat in his own armchair.

“People would talk if I didn’t spend time with them,” Harry said. “I’ve been friends with them an awfully long time - since Halloween of first year, with Hermione, and even longer with Ron.”

“Yeah, because you slighted me for him on the train first year,” Draco retorted, still a little miffed, even if, from the perspective of five years later, he recognized that he had been a bit of a prat.

In fact, that’s about what he expected Harry to say: Well, you know, you were a bit of a prat back then. Not that he intended to admit it; of course he would argue. A fight would be a nice diversion from the uncomfortable way he was feeling.

But Harry didn’t start a fight. He ducked his head and said in a soft voice, “I’m really sorry about that, Draco.“I was totally out of line to treat you that way. I’m an idiot and I didn’t know - still don’t know - anything about wizarding culture. I’m lucky to have you to - to ‘teach me the error of my ways’ now.” He sounded like he was gagging on the last few words.

Draco was somewhat distracted by the nausea he was feeling. He hadn’t drunk enough to make himself sick, had he? He hadn’t done that since his first time experimenting with Firewhiskey back in the Slytherin dorms. But he felt awful and Harry wasn’t making any sense. Abruptly he passed his cup over to Harry. “Here. You have some.”

Harry shuddered but obediently took the cup and drank. His face went surprisingly red, Draco noticed, his interest causing his sickness to recede. He wondered if maybe Harry hadn’t ever had Firewhiskey before.

Harry transferred the cup to his left hand and put his right hand on Draco’s knee. “I really am sorry,” he said. Draco tried to remember what they’d been talking about. “I’ll do whatever you want to make it up to you. Anything.”

Draco pressed two fingers to his forehead. He must have drunk more than he’d thought, because the only way he could interpret this didn’t make sense. “What, are you offering to sleep with me or something?”

He expected Harry to laugh - no, he realized, suddenly remembering what had happened to him, he expected Harry to be horrified. He opened his mouth to take it back, but the words died in his throat when Harry nodded.

“I’ll do whatever you want,” he repeated in a whisper. “I - I’m not very good, but I’ll do anything you say.”

The sick feelings had come back with a vengeance, and they’d brought a headache with them. Draco tried to think, but it was a struggle.

“But you don’t want to sleep with me, right?” he asked, just to be absolutely clear.

“I-” Harry seemed to choke on his words. “I-”

This was ridiculous. Draco felt awful, and now he was caught in a conversation that made no sense and wouldn’t end. He pushed himself out of his chair and stepped over to take Harry’s chin in his hand, forcing him to look up. “It’s not that complicated,” he said, wanting this to be done so he could take a sobriety potion and feel better. “Either you do or you don’t. Yes or no. Just answer the bloody question!”

“I’m not -” Harry’s eyes were wide, and Draco couldn’t tell if it was Harry’s trembling or his own that he felt in his hand. Maybe both. Somehow the tension had become unbearable. “I can’t -”

“Of course you can,” Draco insisted. “No. It’s not difficult to say. I’m drunk, and I can say it. Nnnooo,” he said slowly and clearly.

Harry gulped. “All right,” he whispered, and closed his eyes. “No. No, I don’t want to sleep with you.” He pulled away from Draco’s hand and huddled against the back of his chair.

Draco sighed as the tension drained away, leaving him sicker than before. He noticed the cup laying on the ground and stooped to pick it up. “I’d better get these put away and take a sobriety potion before Sev gets back. You won’t tell him, right?”

Harry’s head popped up like a turtle’s. “I won’t say anything. I swear.”

“Right. You never talk to Sev anyway.” Draco headed for the loo. “And he doesn’t talk to you unless he absolutely has to. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

In the loo, he stashed his Firewhiskey again and chugged the potion, grimacing at the taste. As he brushed his teeth to take the flavor away, he noticed that all the sick feelings were gone, leaving only the slight muzzy-headedness that always hung on for a few minutes after he took a sobriety potion. He decided to get all the way ready for bed in hopes that it would wear off, but he was still feeling slightly fuzzy when he opened the door of the loo.

Which was unfortunate, because Harry was standing there waiting for him.

The twisting feeling in his gut came back full force, though mercifully the headache didn’t. Draco huffed in annoyance, wondering what was wrong with his potion. He’d have to think of some way to get Sev to brew him some better ones.

He stepped out of the doorway, but Harry just stood there, fidgeting. Damn it, did they have to have another conversation when he felt like shit? Did Harry expect him to apologize? His mother had drilled him on apologizing when appropriate, but he still leaned toward his father’s point of view, that apologies were for the weak.

Still, Harry was - well, not in good shape, after everything, and now that Draco thought about it, he’d promised not to force him into anything. That was pretty much what he’d done, he had to admit. So maybe he should apologize.

But Harry spoke first. “I’m ready. What do you want?”

Draco blinked at him. Hadn’t they just had this conversation? “What are you talking about?”

Harry seemed to crumple in on himself. His voice was barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry I made you mad!”

“I’m not mad.” Maybe he hadn’t been as drunk as he thought; Harry still wasn’t making any sense. Or maybe the sobriety potion was really a piece of junk, since he was feeling sicker by the minute.

Harry still wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. Then, in a stronger voice, he added, “What do you want from me?”

“Right now, I just want to go to bed,” Draco muttered, giving in and rubbing his aching head. “Can we discuss this in the morning?”

Harry nodded jerkily, but he still just stood there.

“You want to know what I want? Fine. I want you to go in there and get ready for bed. When you come out, I’ll be in my bed, and you’ll go and get into yours. You’ll ward the curtains so that I can’t get in, so you know I’m not going to do whatever it is you’re thinking. And we’ll talk in the morning, when hopefully I don’t feel like shit. All right?”

Harry’s shoulders slumped. “All right.” Finally, he stepped past Draco into the loo and shut the door.

Draco headed for the shelf of potions, intending to take some for his nausea and headache, but both got surprisingly better as he walked. He decided to avoid the questions he’d get from Sev when he noticed the potions missing and just try to sleep it off. Of course, questions wouldn’t happen until Sev surfaced from whatever it was that he was currently obsessed with. Grumbling to himself about how both his mates were far more trouble than they were worth, he got into bed.

* * *

Harry sat up in bed, running a frayed edge of his blanket through his hands over and over again as his thoughts went in circles. The evening had been an unmitigated disaster, and now he had to wait for morning to know his punishment. It wasn’t often that Uncle Vernon threw him in his cupboard “until I figure out what to do with you, boy!” but those times were deeply imprinted on his memory. And on his body, as a matter of fact. He rubbed the jagged edge on his side where his ribs had healed wrong.

The longer he sat there, the more negative his thoughts became. Soon he was feeling physically sick with stress and uncertainty. He listened carefully; Draco seemed to be asleep, from his slow breathing and the little noises he made every so often. Harry had lain awake often enough to recognize them.

Cautiously he slipped out of bed and headed for the loo. As soon as he got there, he realized that he was sicker than he’d thought. At least I didn’t sick up all over the floor this time, he thought as he tried to catch his breath.

The light suddenly went on, and he winced at the harsh brightness in his eyes.

“Oops,” someone said behind him, and he twisted around to see Draco standing there. “Here.” He held out a potion vial.

Cautiously, Harry took it. Keeping a wary eye on Draco, he sniffed as he opened the vial. The liquid inside wasn’t anything he recognized, but he swallowed it anyway. What else could he do?

“I was feeling sick myself earlier,” Draco commented. “I thought it was the Firewhiskey, but you only had a sip. Maybe it’s something else.”

Harry suddenly felt his stomach drop. No, he realized, reaching out to steady himself against the wall, it was like his stomach had suddenly disappeared, along with the rest of his guts. He couldn’t feel himself breathing and started to panic.

“Harry?” Draco was suddenly steadying him from the other side, and Harry couldn’t even worry about his closeness, or what he’d given him. He was too busy trying to convince his brain that he couldn’t possibly sick up when his stomach seemed to have gone on holiday. “You have had an anti-nausea potion before, haven’t you?”

Harry shook his head, unwilling to open his mouth.

“Oh, shit. Severus is going to be furious.” Well, that was comforting, Harry wanted to say, but didn’t, both because he wasn’t an idiot and because he didn’t want to open his mouth. “Come on. Let’s get you sitting down.”

They managed to stumble out to the fireplace, where Draco sat them down on a couch he must have transfigured out of an armchair. Harry would’ve sighed with relief, if he could have, when Draco slid to the other end of the couch and stopped touching him, but Draco continued watching him intently.

“The numbness should wear off pretty soon,” he said. “Anti-nausea draughts aren’t supposed to last long, after all. But an adverse reaction can hang on a bit longer. You’re breathing okay, right? Can you talk?”

“I’m fine.” Somewhat to his surprise, his voice emerged like normal. It was bizarre.

“Good. That’s good.” Draco let out a puff of air, not quite a sigh.

Harry was getting used to the numbness now. It was kind of nice not to feel sore from sicking up, or twisted up with tension from Draco’s presence. Maybe he could make the most of it. “I know you said to wait until morning, but… Maybe you could just do it now? Since we’re both up? As long as you’re feeling better,” he added hurriedly.

“What? Oh.” Draco raked his fingers through his hair, a gesture Harry hadn’t seen from him before. “Right.” He turned to face Harry fully. “I’m sorry about earlier. I shouldn’t have grabbed you and demanded that you answer me. I apologize.”

Harry just stared at him, wondering if the potion had affected more of him than his stomach. Was he hearing things? He didn’t intend to open his mouth, but somehow a sputtering “W-what?” spilled out.

“Sev and I promised not to force you to do anything, and I broke my word. Twice, actually. I apologize.” Draco actually swallowed visibly, like he was nervous. What did he have to be nervous about? Harry was the one who had no idea what was going on.

“It’s fine,” he said lamely. “It didn’t matter.”

“Yes, it fucking did matter,” Draco growled. “I want you to trust me, and then I did the one bloody thing I promised I wouldn’t do. That fucking matters!”

“What?” Harry said again, and winced. No one liked stupid comments like that. A lifetime of pain was still not enough to keep him from being a moron. He hurriedly tried to make it better by adding, “You want me to what?”

Oh, well done, Harry, he berated himself. That made you sound much more capable of holding a conversation. You’ll be lucky if you don’t end up with Draco silencing you like Blaise and Theo did.

Draco was still staring at him. Harry fought the urge to look away. “You asked what I wanted from you, didn’t you?” Draco said. “Well, that’s it. I want you to trust me.”

What did that even mean? Trust him to do what? Harry decided it didn’t matter. There was only one answer he could give, after all. “Yeah, okay. I can do that.”

Draco gave him a look of disbelief. “Really? All right, then, tell me why you freaked out so bad when I said whatever stupid thing I said about Granger and Weasley.”

Damn it all, he’d backed himself into a corner. Stupid, to think a Slytherin was apologizing out of guilt, instead of realizing it was a ploy. But he had to answer now. It was hard to say the words, though. “I didn’t want you to say I couldn’t be friends with them anymore.”

“Why would I do that?”

Harry hadn’t realized a test of trust would be so incredibly painful. Was it really that important to do what Draco wanted? If Draco took away his friends, would it still be worth it?

But Draco was keeping Blaise and Theo away from him. In a choice between Ron and Hermione’s friendship, and staying out from under his former mates’ power, there was only one possible decision he could make. It wasn’t like Ron and Hermione had helped him when he was so miserable before.

“Blaise and Theo told me it looked bad. I could talk to people casually, but I wasn’t to be on too-friendly terms with anyone, especially Ron. They let me study with Hermione since it would reflect on them if their mate was failing, and neither of them had time to help me.”

He closed his eyes and waited for Draco to agree that they’d been right and forbid him to have anything else to do with his friends. Maybe he’d be swayed by the studying argument and let him spend time with Hermione?

“Those motherfucking bastards.”

Harry’s eyes popped open. It didn’t seem like Draco was talking about Ron and Hermione. But wasn’t he friends with Blaise and Theo?

“They told you you couldn’t have friends. They wouldn’t let you play Quidditch. What else did they take from you?”

Ah. They hadn’t finished the trust questions. Well, Harry was mostly over the rest of it. It didn’t matter. “They burned most of my clothes. The jumpers Mrs. Weasley knitted for me every Christmas - all my Christmas presents, really. They said I had to take Runes and Arithmancy instead of Magical Creatures and Divination. They wouldn’t let me leave the room over the weekend. Um…” He tried to think of what else he could say. “They wouldn’t let me have a bed.” He grimaced. “They gave me a dog bed for Christmas.”

“They wouldn’t let you… Shit. No wonder you were so overwhelmed when Sev brought your bed in.”

What was he supposed to say to that? “That’s about all, really.”

“That’s all...” Draco was clearly angry. It was odd not to feel his heart beating faster and his breath catching, but he was still numb. “And you didn’t even mention the fact that they wouldn’t let you talk, and treated you like shit, and raped you regularly!”

Harry would have shrugged, but he couldn’t. It didn’t matter, he repeated to himself. It didn’t matter. “They’re - They were my mates. I don’t think it can be called rape.”

“I don’t know what else to call it!”

Why did Draco care? He was a Slytherin; he should’ve understood that Blaise and Theo were just being pragmatic. “They were stuck with me. You’ve seen them; they’re perfectly happy together. I was in the way. And I’m probably going to die soon anyway, so it wasn’t like they could get attached to me. They just…” he shrugged again, unable to find the right words. “It’s something about me, I guess. The whole family thing has never really worked out for me.”

“Merlin.” Draco looked away. Maybe he’d figured out that Harry wasn’t worth wasting his attention on. “Weren’t they ever good to you at all?” he asked plaintively.

Crap, how was he supposed to answer that? Harry thought frantically. “They let me have some lube sometimes.” Well, that sounded stupid. “Blaise always went first because I’m so tight and Theo’s so big that it hurt too much.” It had been because they didn’t want to deal with all the blood and mess, but he didn’t have to mention that. He brightened as he remembered something that might count. “When I was all hurt from the Dursleys’, they let me take a bath and go to bed without bothering me.”

Draco held up his hand in a “stop” gesture, which was good, since Harry was seriously out of ideas. With his other hand, he waved his wand over the back of the couch. “Accio anti-nausea draught.”

The vial sailed over and he caught it and downed it quickly. Then he just sat with his eyes closed for a long time. Harry tried to wait patiently, but feeling was coming back to his torso, and he was getting the jitters.

“Did you have any more questions?” he finally asked, in the voice he used to ask Uncle Vernon if he wanted more food: subservient enough to usually keep from being shouted at for speaking out of turn.

Draco opened his eyes. “What?”

“Questions,” Harry prompted, wondering if anti-nausea potions made normal people a little distracted after taking them. “To see if I trust you. You said that’s what you wanted,” he reminded Draco urgently. “Instead of, you know, doing anything else to me. Right?”

“Merlin and Salazar.” Draco suddenly buried his head in his hands. “How the hell do I keep messing this up?”

Harry kept quiet, wondering how he had messed up.

Draco straightened up, sucking in a deep breath. “Okay,” he said on the exhale, voice breathy. “I’m going to try this again. But I really need you to… No. Can you please tell me what you’re thinking? At least a little? Because I’m flying blind here, and I can’t figure this out.”

His voice was rising on the last few words, and Harry nodded immediately, eager to calm Draco back down before things got dangerous. “Sure, I’ll do that.”

Draco bit his lip, looking more uncertain than Harry had ever seen him. Then he put his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, leaning his chin on his hands. He stared into the fire for a long minute before turning his gaze back to Harry.

“First of all, I need to apologize again. I didn’t mean to make you feel like you were forced to answer those questions, and I should have realized that you felt uncomfortable and stopped asking. I thought we were just having a conversation,” he added with sudden bitterness, then hurriedly waved his hands in the air. “No, no, forget I said that. I meant to say, I apologize. I didn’t mean to force you into something. Again.” He sighed. “Is there anything you want to say to that?”

“Um, it’s okay,” Harry offered awkwardly. “It didn’t-”

“If you say it didn’t fucking matter one more time, I-” Draco cut himself off mid-sentance again. “Sorry, sorry. What I want to say is, uh, you can say whatever you want, but I’d... appreciate it if you didn’t use that phrase right now. It’s making me- I mean, I don’t agree, but I don’t want to fight with you right now.” He looked at Harry. “How was that?”

“...Fine?” Harry offered uncertainly.

“Good.” Draco sighed. “All right then. Next thing. When I said I wanted you to trust me, what I meant was that I wanted you to believe me when I said I wouldn’t hit you or rape you or hurt you. Trust me that even if I am annoyed or frustrated, I’m not going to take it out on you like that.”

He was staring at Harry, and Harry felt trapped by his gaze. But how could he respond to that? Draco knew he didn’t believe that; he’d shown it abundantly that night. So lying would be stupid, but he couldn’t just refuse either.

Draco seemed to take his silence as meaning something. “I know, I also promised not to force you to do anything, and I keep fucking that up. But there’s a big difference between asking a question without realizing you don’t feel like you can refuse to answer and somehow accidentally hitting you. I’m not going to just go doing that.”

This time the pause wasn’t nearly as long, which was a relief for Harry.

“Look, if I do somehow go out of control and hurt you, you can…” Draco trailed off and looked from Harry to the fire. Then he suddenly relaxed. “You can tell my mother, all right?”

Harry absolutely could not help it; the image of him tattling to Draco’s mum was too ridiculous. He snorted. “What, so she can pat you on the head and give you a lolly?”

“What? No, so…” Then Draco was looking at him much too intently again. “When did that happen?”

Harry looked away. “My cousin was a bit of a bully. His mum always believed him and not me.”

“The aunt who raised you?” Draco didn’t seem to need an answer. “Salazar, I hope whatever Sev is planning for them involves strangling them with their own entrails, and I want to help.” He focused back on Harry again. “No, if my mother heard I was mistreating you, she’d flay me alive - verbally,” he added hastily, as if Harry would believe that Narcissa would hurt a hair on Draco’s head. “It’s not just that she likes you, but family is everything to her. There’s no way she’d let me get away with hurting my mate.”

Harry was still hung up on the first part of that sentence. “Wait, you think your mother likes me?”

Draco gave him a questioning look. “Of course she does. Why else would she spend so much time teaching you?”

A warm feeling spread through him, but he had to ask, “And you don’t mind?”

“What, that my mother likes you?” Now Draco was really looking at him like he was crazy. “I would hope that my family would like my mates; otherwise, family holidays would be really awkward.”

“Oh.” Harry wanted to just sit there and enjoy that thought. He’d been wary of talking about his lessons with Narcissa to Draco, not just because he wasn’t sure if her prohibition from telling anyone about the dance-duelling included Draco or not, but because he wasn’t sure how Draco would react to, well, how nice Narcissa was to him. He’d never imagined Draco being so calm about it.

But Draco was still talking. “Anyway, the point was, if you’re worried I’ll hurt you, just remember that you can tell her, and she’ll - no, wait, I have a better idea!” he interrupted himself. “We’ll call her right now and let her tell you what she’d do.”

“How are you going to call her? The fireplace is warded,” Harry pointed out, hoping to insert some sanity into this discussion.

Draco scoffed. “It’s Severus’ wards; I’ve known how to open those since third year. Everyone eventually figures it out, and he doesn’t care, since it means he doesn’t have to supervise our calls home anymore.”

“Calls home?”

“Yeah, there’s a schedule for the younger kids, but at some point you figure out how to sneak in and do it yourself - and at some later point you figure out that the prefects are supervising those ‘illicit’ calls. Hopefully you don’t figure it out by transgressing the rules and having them come down on you like a ton of bricks.” He grinned reminiscently before he noticed Harry’s blank look. “Don’t you Gryffindors Floo home from McGonagall’s office?”

Harry tried to remember, but nothing came to mind. “I don’t know.”

Draco grimaced. “Right. Anyway, I can call my mother. Do you want to?” He was already heading for the pot of Floo powder. Then he stopped. “Wait, you should go get in bed. Then she won’t know you’re listening, and you can be sure you’ll get an honest answer.”

Harry was confused but not terrified, which was such a novel experience that he didn’t know what to think. It was very obvious that Draco wasn’t about to punish him. But he was really intent on this Floo call, though Harry couldn’t fathom why. He figured he might as well go along with it, so he went and sat on his bed, pulling the curtains almost closed so that he could just peek out with one eye.

Draco did a quick spell, presumably cancelling the wards, before throwing the Floo powder on the fire. “Malfoy Manor!” he called authoritatively. There was a brief silence for Harry as he talked to someone through the flames, but then he sat back and Narcissa’s head appeared on the hearth.

“Is there a problem, dear?” she asked mildly.

“No, just a question,” Draco said. Harry was surprised to hear him suddenly sounding nervous. “Harry and I were talking earlier and he said something… Well, I was just wondering what would happen if I, er, mistreated him somehow and you found out about it.”

Narcissa’s voice was suddenly ice-cold. “What did you do, darling?”

Harry could see Draco flinch from across the room. “Nothing!” he cried. “It was just a conversation, Mother.”

“Let me talk to Harry and see.” Her voice was still icy.

“I think he’s asleep…”

“Then you’ll have to wake him, darling, and I’ll get to see how he reacts, won’t I?”

“Could you just answer the question first, Mother?” Draco said desperately. “Then I’ll get him.”

There was a moment of silence. When she spoke again, Narcissa’s voice was still chilly, but she appeared to be musing. “Well, to start with, you would certainly be coming home every weekend for a remedial course in family loyalty. We could start by drawing the genealogical tree from memory, and once you got that correct, we could move on to that family history book - what did you call it? Ah, yes, ‘the most boring, useless book ever written,’ I think a three-foot essay on how each person did or did not exemplify the virtues of the head of a family would be appropriate. Let’s see, there are just over three months of school left, yes? That should give me plenty of time to think up something for the summer.” Her voice returned to its full sharpness. “Now fetch your mate, darling.”

Draco hurried over to Harry’s bed. As he pulled back the curtains, Harry saw that he was paler than usual. “See what I mean?” he whispered as Harry passed him.

Harry hadn’t thought Narcissa’s proposed punishment was that bad, but Draco obviously took it seriously. Maybe that meant his offer to let Harry tattle actually meant something.

“Hello, Harry dear,” Narcissa said when he knelt on the hearth. Her voice was all summer warmth now, not a trace of the sharpness she’d used on Draco. “Has my son been treating you badly?”

“No, he’s been fine,” Harry said. He smiled at her, because he couldn’t help it. He was feeling that warm feeling again. “We had a good conversation this evening, that’s all.”

“You’re quite sure?” Narcissa studied him. “If he does ever say or do anything out of line, I want to know about it. Just tell me that he made you feel uncomfortable, and I will see to it that he never does so again.” Her voice sharpened on the last few words, and she shot a dark look over Harry’s shoulder. Behind him, he heard Draco gulp.

The warmth in his chest was almost getting uncomfortable. Harry said quickly, “Thank you, Narcissa, but really, Draco’s been… nice.”

As he said it, he expected the tightness in his throat that he felt when he lied - but it didn’t come. He realized that he couldn’t think of a single instance of Draco actually hurting him, or even trying to hurt him, in the whole time they’d been together. Harry had been afraid of him plenty of times, but Draco had never actually done anything at all.

He was so dazed by this realization that he barely managed to say goodbye as Draco and Narcissa ended the conversation. He stayed kneeling on the hearth long after the fire had gone back to normal.

“Harry?” Draco’s voice was tentative. “Did that help at all? I can tell you that she means it. That genealogy goes back ten generations and I have to list all the relatives within the seventh degree - I haven’t had to review it since I came to school, so that alone would take me weeks. And the book really is the most boring thing on the planet - you’d be amazed how many of my relatives thought ‘I had porridge for breakfast’ was an important thing to record in their diaries - and finding enough details for three feet on each of them would be like pulling teeth… And I’m babbling. I’ll stop. Are you feeling better?”

Harry wasn’t sure exactly what he was feeling, but better might have been a good word for it. He couldn’t speak, though. He thought if he didn’t keep swallowing, he might actually start sobbing. He was having a hard enough time keeping the tears out of his eyes.

He bit his lip hard to try and stop the emotions that were overcoming him and pushed himself to his feet. He didn’t want to look at Draco and let him see how overwrought he was, but he had to respond somehow. Awkwardly, he reached out and wrapped an arm around Draco’s shoulders, the way Draco kept doing to him.

Draco was suddenly pushing close against his side, his own arm around Harry’s waist. Harry stiffened in surprise, but Draco just leaned against him and sighed. Harry could actually feel the tension leaving Draco’s muscles as he melted into him. And oddly enough, Harry’s own muscles relaxed in response. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt relaxed with someone touching him. Carefully he leaned his head against Draco’s shoulder and just stood there.

Maybe this hugging thing wasn’t so crazy, after all.

Chapter Text

Severus flipped through his notebook yet again, occasionally turning it sideways to follow notes leading up the margins or squinting at a particularly convoluted diagram. But he knew it was a useless endeavor. After nearly a month, he had the contents practically memorized, and he knew that all the pertinent information was neatly summarized in its proper places on the three enormous blackboards hovering around him.

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. If that was true, then there was no other possible conclusion: he was going to have to talk to Dumbledore.

He examined the blackboards one last time, wishing he could avoid the inevitable. The first, the destruction of Horcruxes in general, had been simple enough. All he had to do was to acquire the correct (terribly rare and insanely dangerous) ingredients and it would take care of itself. He was Potions Master to a Dark Lord; finding rare and dangerous ingredients was part of the job description, and he was very, very good at his job.

The second held an outline of how to get rid of the Horcrux in Harry without killing him. The ideas were solid, but he needed direct observational data on how the other Horcruxes reacted to destruction to make the final adjustments. Still, he wasn’t worried about that.

But the third… It was still a scrawl as messy as anything in his notebooks, a hopeless attempt to think of all the possible items Voldemort might have made into a Horcrux and where they might be. He understood the Dark Lord well enough to know that he couldn’t in the least follow the way he thought. The only one with a chance of doing that… was Dumbledore.

He sighed again. The thought of approaching his master to say, “By the way, I’ve been spying on you and I don’t believe you’re doing a good enough job, so will you please give me some information so that I can do it better” was not a pleasant one. It was about as appealing, in fact, as when Dumbledore had sent him back to the Dark Lord several hours late to resume his position as spy.

And yet, he had done that, when Dumbledore asked. He’d done everything Dumbledore ever asked of him. He had given up everything to destroy every last remnant of the worst mistake he had ever made and to stop any other innocents from suffering under the madman he’d recklessly pledged himself to, and until lately, the only reward he hoped for was to be certain of the Dark Lord’s defeat before he was finally free to die.

That particular goal no longer seemed attainable. First it had been discovering that Draco was his mate. Suddenly he’d had a reason to live past the end of the war. Since Dumbledore had always disapproved of his death wish, it had seemed reasonable to think that things wouldn’t have to change all that much. He would simply prioritize his own survival a little more.

But with the addition of Harry...

His door opened with the ominous creak he’d carefully nurtured. McGonagall frowned and muttered about pretentiousness every time she came down, but it served the useful purpose of preventing people from sneaking up on him (as well as scaring students out of their wits, but that was just a bonus). Now he hid the contents of the blackboards with a wordless spell and shut his notebook before Draco’s head was even visible.

“Sev?” he said a little tentatively. “I haven’t seen you eat in days. I got dinner in our room; will you come eat with us?”

His time to procrastinate was over. He needed backup in case Dumbledore decided to Obliviate him, and if he told Lucius and Narcissa, he was afraid she’d whisk Draco off to Mauritius and inform him that he and Harry had better get themselves there if they wanted to survive, followed by handing him money for the plane tickets. He hoped that Draco and Harry would accept his assessment of the situation instead. Harry seemed to have bought into Dumbledore’s assertion that he was the Chosen Savior, so he should be willing to go along with a plan to destroy Voldemort, dangerous as it was. “Very well, Dragon. I’ll be right up.”

Draco’s face lit up, and Severus felt a pang of guilt for the way he’d neglected him lately. “Great! I’ll get everything ready. If you’re not there in ten minutes, I’m sending Harry to fetch you.”

And then he was gone, leaving Severus to wonder why Draco had made the last statement sound like a threat, and whether the threat was aimed at himself, Harry, or both.

* * *

Harry was not sure what to make of Draco’s plan that they all eat dinner together. Draco had told him flatly, “This is not some sort of seduction attempt or anything, so don’t freak out on me again,” and at this point, Harry had given up on doubting his word on that sort of thing. Worrying about it just wasn’t worth the aggravation of Draco constantly trying to reassure him.

On the other hand, Draco had followed that up with, “Well, not an attempt at seducing you, anyway,” which was something he didn’t really want to think about. He’d caught on by now to the fact that Draco was rather nauseatingly in love with Severus, and he found it disturbing.

“Look, it’s not that big of a deal,” Draco told him as they waited for Snape to arrive. Apparently his attempts to not think about what Draco and Snape got up to looked like nervousness. “If he bothers you, you can always tell my mother on him, too.”

“Snape is afraid of your mother?” Narcissa was intimidating, sure, but Harry didn’t think Snape was scared of anyone, up to and including Voldemort.

Draco gave a half-shrug. “Not afraid, exactly. But when she gets that tone of voice, the one that says she’s going to make you miserable if you don’t do what she says, he listens to her. I don’t really know - he doesn’t talk about when he was younger - but I kind of think that his family wasn’t so great. I know he doesn’t have anyone now. And Father and Mother were prefects when he started school, and I think they sort of adopted him a little. Sometimes they say things… Anyway, if you tell Mother he’s bothering you, she’ll make him stop.”

Harry smiled a little wistfully. It wasn’t like he’d ever actually turn telltale. But it was nice to imagine that if they did start hurting him, Narcissa might notice during their duelling practice, and maybe… tell them that duelling was more important than their fun and get them to back off a little? He couldn’t really picture it, but it was nice to think about.

Snape opened the door just then, robes billowing as much as they did whenever he entered the Potions classroom. Harry looked down at his plate as Draco leapt up to greet his mate with an enthusiastic kiss. Blaise and Theo had gotten affectionate over hurting him, but Draco had told him that wasn’t the point tonight, and he had duelling practice with Narcissa tomorrow, so probably he was safe. Maybe.

He relaxed a little when they both sat down and Draco started passing dishes and chattering up a storm. Harry was glad to see him so happy; he had had to listen to far too much whining lately on the refrain of “Sev’s ignoring me! I hate it when he gets into these moods!” With any luck, this dinner would cut down on that.

Draco managed to keep a conversation going throughout the entire meal without appearing to notice that Snape and Harry never spoke to one another directly. Harry was starting to think that this whole thing would be painless when Snape put down his dessert fork and looked directly at him.

“About this project I’ve been working on…” he said slowly.

“Is it the revenge plot? What do I get to do?” Draco was practically bouncing in his seat, he was so excited. Snape’s eyes swept over him and returned to Harry.

Harry tried to think of a response. Sure, he wasn’t happy about the way the Dursleys and Blaise and Theo had treated him. But he didn’t think they deserved to be tortured by Death Eaters for it. Did he have any say in what happened to them?

“No,” Snape said, and Harry relaxed a little. “We have more pressing concerns at the moment.”

Draco pouted. “Like what?”

Snape raised an eyebrow. “Like the fact that our Lord has sworn to kill our mate?”

Holy shit. Harry felt his heart start to race. How had he not thought about that? He’d even thought of them as Death Eaters, and he’d failed to make the connection that if they were Voldemort’s servants, and he was bound to them, he would be dead with absolutely no warning as soon as Voldemort found out.

“Therefore,” Snape’s voice was sharp, and Harry did his best to focus on it instead of his thoughts. “Our first priority is to destroy the Dark Lord before he can destroy us.”

Destroy him. Right. That had always been the goal, after all. It was just a little more urgent now.

“Merlin, Harry,” Draco griped. “It’s not like we were going to hand you over to him. ‘Here, let us prove our loyalty by letting you kill us all.’ We’re not Hufflepuffs.”

“That’s not what I was thinking,” he protested, embarrassed. “I just… What if he finds out? How can you know that he won’t?”

Snape looked at him with eyes that glittered strangely. “That’s my job.”

There was the briefest of pauses before Snape went on. “Unfortunately, Lucius does not have my experience, so we don’t have unlimited time.”

Harry wanted to ask, If you could’ve killed him all this time, why didn’t you before now? He forced himself to stay quiet.

Of course, Snape seemed to know what he was thinking anyway. “This presents us with a complex problem. If a Killing Curse to the back were capable of taking down the Dark Lord, believe me, he would have been gone long ago.”

Harry was taken aback by the clear implication that Snape would have killed Voldemort from behind if he’d had the least opportunity. He looked up and winced. He’d thought Snape hated him, but the distaste he’d seen in his eyes during Potions class was nothing to the absolute loathing that filled them now. He got the impression that Snape hated Voldemort even more than he did, and he wondered why. The man had joined the Death Eaters, after all.

But Snape was continuing, his voice brisk now. “The issue is that the Dark Lord has done everything he can to make himself immortal. Have either of you ever heard of Horcruxes?”

Harry shook his head, relieved to see Draco doing the same. At least he wasn’t the only ignorant one.

“They are evil magic.” Draco looked up, interested. “No, Dragon, I do not say that lightly. They are not just dark spells that are classified that way by Ministerial fiat. They are truly evil. A Horcrux is created when a wizard murders someone and uses their death energy to split his own soul and put a piece of it in an object.”

“Who would do something like that?” Harry demanded, revolted.

“What’s the benefit?” Draco asked at the same time.

Snape answered Draco, which Harry had to concede was fair, since the answer to Harry’s question was Voldemort, obviously. “It makes the wizard immune to death. Even if his body is killed, his soul lives on in the Horcrux, and he can regain a physical body.”

Regain a physical body. Harry bit his lip and dug his nails into his hands, trying to drive back memories of the graveyard and Voldemort rising from the cauldron. His eyes had screwed themselves shut, so when hands suddenly gripped his shoulders, he jumped in surprise.

Snape was suddenly close in front of him, black eyes dominating Harry’s field of vision. “He is not here,” he said firmly, but without the sharpness Harry was accustomed to from him. “Where are you?”

Harry’s eyes darted around, trying to see past Snape. “Room,” he managed to get out through a throat gone tight.

“What can you see?”

His eyes had come to rest on the bright Gryffindor-red draperies in the corner. “My bed.” His voice was a little stronger that time.

“Good. Look at your bed, and breathe, and remember where you are. You are safe here. He is not here.”

Harry sucked a breath into lungs that ached. Slowly he let it out. He was not in the graveyard. He was safe with people who promised to kill Voldemort before he could kill Harry. Snape had certainly always given the impression that he would kill anyone who crossed him. If that animosity was aimed at Harry’s greatest enemy instead of Harry himself…

He relaxed, and Snape sat back down; Harry realized that he’d been leaning across the table to reach him. Draco was rubbing his forehead, looking faintly ill, as Snape drew his wand and deftly cleaned up the mess left when he’d knocked over dishes.

Harry looked down, feeling a hot wave of embarrassment rise in his cheeks. What was wrong with him?

There was a beat of silence while Harry fought for control of his emotions. When Snape went on, it was in his lecturing voice.

“As I said, a Horcrux will protect a wizard from death. But Dumbledore has uncovered evidence that the Dark Lord created multiple Horcruxes.”

“Why would he do that?” Draco demanded, wincing as he spoke. “One’s enough to make him immortal, and splitting a bunch of pieces off your soul… I haven’t exactly studied soul magic, but it seems like a really stupid thing to do. Wouldn’t the remaining soul become, I don’t know, ineffective or unstable or something?”

“Indeed.” Snape was staring at Harry again. “The Dark Lord’s soul did become unstable. When he was hit by a rebounding Killing Curse, it split again, inadvertently. His physical body was destroyed, the main soul fled, but the fragment found its way into the nearest available vessel.”

He paused like he was waiting for Harry or Draco to say something, but Harry had no idea what he was talking about.

“You, Harry. It took up residence in you.”

Harry just stared at him. For a long moment, he couldn’t process the words at all.

Then, abruptly, they became all too clear. There was a piece of Voldemort inside him. He was carrying part of the worst monster in the wizarding world. He was the monster.

Voices echoed in his head. The Dursleys shrieked at him: “Freak!” “Horrid beast!” “Unnatural!” Blaise and Theo drawled in utter disdain: “Defective.” “This thing.” “No one could care about it.”

It. That’s all he had ever been, an object, a thing - a defective one, causing disturbance and destruction everywhere he went. It was what he’d always been told, after all. And this time, there was no friendly Hagrid to assure him that he was something special, someone who mattered.

No, there was only Snape, who had always hated him, and now he knew why.

Despair turned to uncontrolled fury as he looked at Snape’s sneer. He wanted to kill him - and his magic, for the first time since he’d come to Hogwarts, broke free, without his direction or control, to do what he most wanted.

* * *

Severus had been cursing Magic and its gifts the entire evening. It wasn’t enough to recognize what someone else was feeling; no, after his attempts to armor himself against outside emotion the way he’d denied his own emotions for so long, it was getting to him by immersing him in memories of the times he had felt the same way as the person he faced.

Damn him, he thought savagely as he fought free of an image of Tobias railing at him for an unnatural son of a bitch. What was Harry feeling to stir up memories like that?

Then Harry looked at him, and his blood ran cold. With no warning, he was not just remembering, but transported back to the terrifying moments in the Shrieking Shack, the muzzle of an enraged werewolf snapping inches from his face as James Potter dragged him backwards. As soon as the heavy door shut, Severus’ fury destroyed any control he’d had. He turned on Potter, who’d apparently gotten cold feet about killing him almost too late, and did his best to tear him apart with his bare hands and teeth.

Not real, he chanted to himself desperately, trying to use the same techniques he’d just used to bring himself and Harry out of flashbacks. Not now. But the memory had a strong enough hold on him that he felt himself putting up shields automatically as he met Potter’s - Harry’s - eyes.

And then a magical blow with killing force impacted those shields, rocking him back in his chair. Rebounding, it struck the table and exploded it, tiny shreds of wood, metal, glass, and porcelain whizzing through the air to embed themselves in walls and objects around the room. Severus extended his shields to include Draco before he could be killed by shrapnel; the pieces avoided Harry on their own.

There was a moment of stillness, a tiny pause before the next emotion struck him. Draco struggled to his feet and ran for the loo; Severus could hear him retching in the silence.

And then the emotions took him once again, despair mixed with a hopeless resolve. He was back on a windy hilltop, waiting for a man who despised him, hoping against hope that he would at least be able to deliver his message - to buy Lily’s safety - before he died.

Not mine, he told himself, and fought back the way he had when a student had triggered him in class those first few years, when he was attempting to teach in a place and with people he’d never wanted to see again: with scorn that hid his wounds. Such melodrama, he thought acerbically, careful to keep the words from escaping aloud. You think you know despair? Fear? Guilt? You know nothing.

* * *

Harry wrapped his arms around himself, trying to still his shivers. Now he knew that Snape was right. He was the monster. Accidental magic was something that happened to children, and that had not been accidental - something inside him had tried to kill Snape. What else could it be but Voldemort’s soul, just like Snape had said?

He had to die, for Voldemort to die. Well, he’d always expected that to be how it ended up. The only question was how. If Snape believed him about suicide, he’d probably be willing to give him some poison and let him finish himself off, foregoing the pleasure of killing him for what he’d just done in the interests of keeping himself and Draco alive. If Harry hadn’t just attacked him, he might’ve even let him have something that would make it painless. Harry could’ve just fallen asleep… But no chance of that now. Besides, it was probably safer if he really was longing for death before taking the poison. Then Magic would certainly recognize that it was his choice and leave his mates alive.

“How are you going to do it?” he asked without looking up, his voice small.

There was a moment of silence. Harry screwed his eyes more tightly shut and waited.

“That remains to be seen. The destruction of a Horcrux in a living being, without killing the host, is not a problem that has been solved before. Observing the destruction of the other Horcruxes will, I hope, give me the information needed to finalize our plans.”

It took Harry a moment to take that in. “Without killing the- the host? You can do that? Without…” He trailed off, unwilling to say the words.

“Do you need Dragon to explain again the fact that we are not Hufflepuffs?” Snape demanded as Draco moved back to his seat, pale and sweating. “We are not going to let the Dark Lord kill you - dooming us all - out of misguided loyalty, and neither are we going to kill you ourselves - equally dooming us all - out of misguided patriotism. Is that quite clear?”

Harry nodded dumbly.

Severus summoned Harry’s chair back from where he’d apparently shoved it over when he exploded with rage. “Sit,” he said, his voice no longer sharp. “And do try not to destroy anything else while I explain the rest of the plan. Though the desire to obliterate Dragon’s decorating is entirely reasonable, giving him excuse to redo it will only make it worse.”

“Sorry,” Harry whispered, head hanging, just as Draco snorted.

“As a matter of fact,” he started haughtily, then looked oddly at Harry. “What are you apologizing for? He ought to apologize for casting aspersions on the taste of the Malfoys, even in jest.”

Jest? What was Draco talking about?

“I believe Harry is more accustomed to… Gryffindor humor. As exemplified by Messrs Weasley,” Snape said in a voice as dry as a bone.

Draco winced. “Ugh. Don’t worry, Harry. I’ll help you figure out when Sev’s joking. It can be hard to tell, since he usually isn’t actually funny.”

Severus raised an eyebrow at him. “My humor is always amusing,” he pointed out. “To me.”

“See what I mean?” Draco said to Harry. He dropped his voice to a stage whisper. “He really does think that sort of thing is funny. It’s easier if you just humor him.”

Harry was having trouble following the conversation. He was more occupied with feeling his heart rate slow down and really becoming aware that he wasn’t about to die, that Snape of all people was promising to - to invent some new magic no one had ever even thought of before in order to keep him alive. And weren’t they going to punish him for losing control?

But they certainly seemed to be ignoring the whole exploded-table-and-attempted-murder situation at this point, and he tried his best to do the same. With the way Draco had been harping on his worrying lately, he’d gotten a lot of practice at forcing himself to think of something else. And the topic of destroying Voldemort was certainly enough to distract him.

Snape had segued out of - apparently - joking mode (Snape? Joking?) and back into lecture mode. “Our priorities are threefold: First, we need to find and destroy the other Horcruxes. With the information we gain from that process, we will finalize a method to destroy the Horcrux in Harry without killing him. Only after that can the Dark Lord be killed.”

“How do you destroy Horcruxes?” Draco asked with interest.

“It depends what ingredients I can find. Basilisk venom is the most attested to, but since it is nearly impossible to obtain, I am considering -”

“Um,” Harry interrupted hesitantly, realizing that he might actually be able to contribute something. “I could probably get you some basilisk venom, if that would help.”

Two blank stares turned toward him.

“Unless - does it congeal or something after the basilisk dies?” he asked, suddenly worried that he was promising things he wouldn’t actually be able to do. Not that that would surprise Snape, he reflected, but after all, the goal here was to save his life, so he’d like to help.

“No,” Snape said slowly. “The venom remains potent, regardless of how it is stored. Which is fortunate, since no basilisks have been seen in Britain in over four hundred years.”

“Except for the one in the Chamber of Secrets.”

“WHAT?”

Harry flinched back at the furious roar. Snape looked around wildly for a second, as if expecting a basilisk to attack them at any moment, before slowly relaxing. “Tell me about this basilisk.”

Harry bit his lip. “It was what was Petrifying people second year. It was Slytherin’s monster. I-I killed it.” As he said it, he realized that this might not be good news to two Slytherins. “Didn’t Professor Dumbledore tell you?” he offered weakly, hoping to distract them.

Maybe it worked; Snape was obviously deep in thought, gaze unfocused as he stared past Harry into the distance. “He said the diary was a Horcrux,” he said, as if to himself. “And that it could possess people, and that it was destroyed by basilisk venom.” Harry watched as his knuckles grew white and his fingers dug into his knees. “I should have seen it,” he hissed.

Draco spoke up, and Harry tried to split his attention between them, keeping an eye on Snape while looking at Draco. “What did happen second year? All we got told was that the monster was killed and we were having a feast. No one knew anything else.” He looked at Snape.

“I wasn’t told anything else,” Snape snapped, but it wasn’t nearly as sharp as usual. He was back to staring off into space. “I think… I was kitting up to go after the missing Weasley girl when Dumbledore found me.” Harry started, wondering if he’d heard that right, but Snape was still talking. “What did he say? It was along the lines of, ‘Good news, Severus! Young Harry found the monster, and it’s been killed. Please gather your students for the feast!’ And then he was gone, and he refused to answer any of my questions afterward. I never knew…”

He looked like he might be heading back into fury, but he wasn’t there yet, and Harry decided to try a distraction. “What were you doing when Dumbledore found you?” It helped that he was honestly curious. It had sounded like he had been planning to find Ginny himself, but he hadn’t known where the Chamber of Secrets was - had he?

“Gathering supplies?” Snape drawled, raising an eyebrow at him. “As one does, before embarking on a life-threatening endeavor?”

Harry flushed, remembering himself and Ron driving Lockheart to the Chamber at wandpoint. They certainly hadn’t prepared much.

“I am not referring to your attempt,” Snape said sharply. “You were what, thirteen? Twelve? I assume you charged in without any preparation whatsoever.”

“We took Lockheart,” Harry mumbled. Then he tried again to turn the conversation. “But you said you - you were going to go after Ginny?”

“Until you apparently rendered it unnecessary.”

He couldn’t help it. He burst out, “But she’s a Gryffindor!”

Snape sighed. “Much as I deplore the so-called virtues exemplified by your house, I am not going to sit back and allow a student to come to harm. If I had put the clues together properly…” He shook his head. “Regardless. You went after her?”

“Oh.” Harry looked down again. “Well, Ginny was being possessed by the diary of Tom Riddle and letting the monster out, and when she ended up in the Chamber, Ron and I went after her. We thought Lockheart would help, but he, er, got hit on the head and couldn’t do anything. I ended up in the Chamber where there was a - a ghost-thing of Tom Riddle, who was Voldemort when he was a student here, and he was draining Ginny to come alive again or something. So I stabbed the diary with the basilisk fang and it killed him, so that’s why I thought I could get some more venom for you, if you need it.”

“And where did you get the basilisk fang to stab the diary?” Snape asked icily. Harry wondered if he believed the story at all.

“I, uh, killed the basilisk before that.”

“You. Killed a basilisk. As a twelve-year-old. By yourself?”

Nope, he definitely wasn’t buying it. Well, Harry could probably show him the basilisk corpse, if Snape was willing to believe him that far. For now, he’d keep the story simple. “Fawkes came.”

“And brought Dumbledore?”

Ha, I wish. “No, he brought me the Sorting Hat.”

“The Sorting Hat. Was that supposed to be helpful?”

“Well, I got the sword of Godric Gryffindor out of it, so it was a pretty big help.” Be polite, Harry reminded himself. No matter how much he hated the interrogation, he had to keep his temper. He’d already exploded once this evening, and whatever was going to happen because of that, he’d only make it worse if he got sassy.

“Ah, yes. An ancient, heavy sword in the hands of a twelve-year-old. Of course that would be the best way to take down a basilisk.”

Draco must have recognized that he was on the verge of losing it, because he leaned over. “That’s the way he always talks when someone almost gets hurt,” he said reassuringly. “It means he’s, like, worrying about you after the fact.”

Snape worried about his Slytherins? Harry hadn’t thought he cared about anyone - he didn’t rip the Slytherins apart like he did the Gryffindors, but it wasn’t like he was really nice to them. But he didn’t snap at Draco for saying it, which Harry had to assume was an acknowledgement.

But he wasn’t worried about Harry. Unless - would they have died if he did, even before their marks appeared? He didn’t think that was how it worked; wouldn’t there be a bunch of people dying for no reason if that were true? But he couldn’t remember. If Snape thought so, yeah, maybe he was worried about how close Harry had come to dying.

“Well, Fawkes blinded it, and when it came at me I held up the sword and it sort of - stuck itself in the top of its mouth. The fang got me in the arm, but Fawkes cried on it, and started to heal it, but Riddle threatened Fawkes, so I stabbed the diary, and then the ghost-thing was gone and Ginny woke up.”

Snape did not look happy. Harry gritted his teeth.

“The Headmaster sent his phoenix and didn’t bother to come himself?” Snape demanded. Harry blinked. Snape was mad at Dumbledore? Why? “How many times have you nearly died under his care?”

“Um…” Harry tried to think how to answer that. “Are we counting the times at the Dursleys’, or just here? I mean, I asked him if I could stay with the Weasleys, but he said no, so…”

“Absolutely count those,” Severus growled.

“Well, I was going to say, I’m not exactly sure. I mean, it’s not like I kept track of how many times Aunt Petunia swung at me with her frying pan.”

“Well, we will just… Wait. Aunt Petunia? Petunia Evans?”

What the hell? “Do you know my aunt?”

Snape actually looked away, like he really didn’t want to talk about it. “We’ll ignore your appalling relatives. How many times have you nearly died at school?”

Harry gave up on that topic - though he was certainly going to think about it later - and started ticking them off on his fingers.

“I think three first year, just the one second year unless you count the basilisk crawling around the school in general, um, Sirius wasn’t actually trying to kill me so, er, three, probably, third year…” Snape didn’t seem to be listening anymore, so he trailed off. He didn’t want to think about fourth year.

There was a moment of silence before Snape said, “New priorities. After destroying Voldemort, we’ll assassinate Dumbledore, THEN get revenge on Nott, Zabini, and your relatives.”

“He’s joking again, right?” Harry asked Draco uncertainly.

Draco was staring at Severus with a concerned expression on his face. “No, I don’t think he is, actually.” He stood up and went over to wrap his arms around Severus’ neck. “Sev, you know I love you, but I don’t particularly want to spend the rest of my life in Azkaban with you.”

“You think I’m going to get caught?” Severus growled.

“I think that if Dumbledore dies, they may just throw you in there on general suspicion,” Draco replied. “You make the perfect scapegoat.”

Snape must have thought that Draco had a point, because he sighed. “All right, we’ll leave thoughts of what to do about Dumbledore for later. I need more information from him, anyway. That’s why I’m telling you all this now, before I go speak with him.”

Harry wondered what that meant, but Draco cleared it up. “What are the chances that he’s going to Obliterate you?”

Dumbledore wouldn’t do that! Then Harry wondered. Dumbledore did seem to want to keep his secrets; it had driven Harry crazy the year before not to be told anything. Maybe he would try to hide things from Snape.

Snape shrugged. “Probably not high, but I’ve been wrong before. Here.” He pulled out a stack of notebooks from somewhere and handed them to Draco. “Keep these from me until you’re sure I’m me and fully in control of myself.”

Draco grinned. “I can do that.”

“Very well, then.” He looked back and forth between them. “I’ll find out more about the other Horcruxes. Dragon will protect what we already know. Harry, we’ll fetch the basilisk venom in a few days; thank you for the offer.” Had Snape just thanked him? Harry tried not to show how weird that was. “Only after they’ve been destroyed will we move on to the next stage of the plan. Is that clear?”

Both of them nodded. Severus stood and drew his wand.

“I’ll begin the cleanup, then.”

Harry immediately got up and headed to the loo. He needed to be alone.

* * *

Severus had hoped for a few minutes of mindless magic work to try and process his thoughts. He’d spent the last six years trying - and failing - to fight his automatic responses to having Harry Potter at Hogwarts; the combination of being sworn to protect him and seeing his father half the time when he looked at him had made him irrational. He knew it, but he hadn’t ever managed to get control of it.

But now he was having his face rubbed in the fact that his reactions had hurt more than just himself. He hadn’t ever had room to worry about what Harry thought when he was drowning in his own feelings - but now that he was drowning in Harry’s feelings instead, it was abundantly clear that he had almost ruined everything. His blood still ran cold when he thought about Harry taking Lockheart into the Chamber of Secrets. If he had managed to be less reactive - don’t bother lying, Severus: less cruel - maybe Harry would have been willing to ask him for help, and he would not have come within inches of death.

And that didn’t even touch on the memories that had come unburied when he thanked Harry...

But he didn’t have the reflection time he was hoping for, because Draco put a hand on his arm.

“Um, Sev…” he said hesitantly.

His tone of voice was worrisome. Severus lowered his wand.

“I think - um, have you looked at your potions cabinet yet?”

Severus’ eyes narrowed as he studied Draco. There wasn’t anything visibly off about him. “What’s wrong?”

“Well, I don’t know exactly. I’ve been getting headaches and feeling sick a lot, but at weird times, and then it’ll just go away. But the potions don’t really help, so I was wondering…”

“When do you feel ill?” Severus asked suspiciously.

“Usually in the Great Hall, and sometimes in the corridors between classes. Not much in class. And never at night, only when I’m up and doing things.”

Ah. That made sense. “The way you’ve been feeling is perfectly natural, Dragon. It should pass soon.”

Draco stared at him in horror. “I’m pregnant?”

“What? No! Why would you even think that?”

“My parents are going to kill me,” Draco moaned, obviously not listening. “How did this even happen? It’s not supposed to be possible here! My father…”

“Dragon!” Severus had had enough emotional meltdowns for one day. He shook Draco by the shoulders. “Shut up and listen to me! You are not pregnant!”

“Then why did you say I was?” Draco demanded.

“I didn’t! I merely said that the way you were feeling was natural and would pass.”

“Well, what the fuck is that supposed to mean, if not that I’m pregnant?”

Severus sighed. “It means that your body is attempting to integrate Harry’s soulmate gift to you, and apparently you are feeling it physically. It should subside over time.”

“Harry’s soulmate gift?” Draco frowned. “A gift that makes me feel sick all the time? What’s that supposed to be?”

“I believe his gift to be empathy,” Severus said awkwardly. It wasn’t the sort of thing people talked about, after all.

“Empathy?” Draco’s face screwed up. “Knowing what other people are feeling? What kind of shitty gift is that?”

Severus raised an eyebrow. “If you cannot think of anything useful to do with a knowledge of how others are really feeling, I have to question your Sorting.”

Draco flushed. “All right, fine, yes, it’s useful. But why does it make me feel so awful?”

“As I said, your brain is attempting to make sense of new information. Apparently you are processing it physically. As you become used to the gift, you will soon stop overreacting.”

“Overreacting,” Draco muttered scornfully. “Is that why you’ve been so grumpy in Potions lately?”

“Being surrounded by emotional teenagers is not my favorite activity at the best of times,” Severus replied. “Feeling what they feel only compounds the problem.”

“Your gift didn’t cause me any issues like this,” Draco whined. Then he got a speculative gleam in his eye. “Did mine?”

Severus had never particularly wanted to find out what part of himself Magic considered worth sharing, but Draco was obviously curious. And he supposed he owed his mate something for all the time he’d spent ignoring him. Still… “Hmm. Your gift was never quite as uncomfortable as this.”

Draco appeared calm, but Severus could feel his eagerness. “Well, yours was much more subtle.”

“Hmm.” Severus began calling back the shards of table and dishes embedded around the room.

Sometimes Draco was a terrible Slytherin. “Why won’t you tell me?” he whined.

“Why should I?” Severus asked indifferently, repairing a serving dish.

At Draco’s provocatively-whispered response, both Severus’ eyebrows went up. Apparently he had been neglecting his mate even more than he realized.

“Well, then,” he said, lowering his wand mid-spell. “You first.”

Draco pouted, but evidently decided to take what he could get. “Yours was hard to figure out,” he began. “But then - Have you noticed how well Crabbe and Goyle have been doing in Potions lately?”

“Yes,” Severus said slowly, wondering where this was going. If Magic felt his teaching skills were the best and most valuable part of him…

“Well, you know I’ve always helped them, but it used to be that I’d get to the point where I couldn’t handle it anymore and gave up. But this year, I can’t do that. I have to keep working until they get it! It’s like that with other things, too. The amount of time I’ve spent on stupid, basic Quidditch drills is ridiculous!”

Draco’s outraged bafflement at actually working hard was priceless, Severus reflected with an inner smile. He focused on that instead of allowing himself to wonder what it meant that apparently his gift was simply a refusal to quit.

“That does explain the improvement in your Potions grade,” he said instead. Now that Severus thought about it, he recognized that Draco had been working with more determination lately, willingly putting in extra time to ensure that he knew every potion perfectly. He’d always done well at Potions, but his work had been more casual, even slapdash, knowing that his innate skill would garner him a passing score even if he wasn’t precise. That had changed sometime last term.

“Well?” Draco demanded impatiently.

“Well what?”

Draco glared at him. “What’s mine?”

Severus grinned at him, a sharp-edged look that made Draco a bit nervous, though still eager. “Self-importance.”

“WHAT?”

“Egoism. Vanity. Conceit.”

“Sev!” Draco’s distress tore at him, and he took his mate in his arms.

“Self-esteem, Dragon. You have an unalterable sense of your own worth, and you share that with me - with us. Through you, we believe that we have value.” Despite himself, his voice became unwontedly gentle and soft at the end.

“But- but that’s not a gift!” Draco protested, still distressed. “Everyone has that.”

Severus had had too many emotions hit him in short succession, and memories were too close to the surface. Bits of his life rose up to mock him: cowering in a corner as his father swore his contempt of his son; the bullies in school mocking his looks, his speech, his existence; Dumbledore forbidding him to speak of his near-murder, protecting the rich, handsome, important students instead of him. Even worse were all the reasons he had to believe them, all the ways he’d failed and fallen short and faced the worst possible effects of every wrong choice.

Draco stiffened in his arms, pulling his attention at least partially back to the present. “That’s fucking nasty,” he said in a shaking voice. He hunched over, clearly swallowing back nausea.

Severus used years of practice to fight down the overwhelming emotions and at least present the facade of calm. Apparently it was enough to help, since Draco straightened, his face regaining some color, and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

“I don’t think I like empathy,” he groused, and Severus felt a wave of gratitude for one of his rare displays of tact.

“It seems that you have mostly experienced others’ negative emotions thus far. I wonder if sharing something more... positive might not change your mind?”

The kiss was intense, and he realized that he had been more right than he knew: feeling Draco’s pleasure fed his own, which Draco sensed in a rising tide of passion. They were both panting when they broke apart.

“Yeah,” Draco said, his breathing ragged. “It might be worth it, after all.”

Chapter Text

Harry had managed to ignore the terror and rage he’d felt at dinner for the rest of the conversation, but once he was alone in his bed, it all came back. No matter how much he tossed and turned, he couldn’t stop replaying it in his head: how disgusting it had felt to realize that Voldemort was inside him somehow, his sudden surge of hatred for Snape, the magic exploding out of him in an attempt to kill him.

At least now he understood why Snape had always hated him. It had been obvious at dinner that Snape positively loathed Voldemort, though Harry still couldn’t understand it. Snape must’ve sensed, somehow, that part of Voldemort was in Harry - or maybe he was the only one who noticed when Harry did Voldemort-like things because he knew Voldemort.

But no, then Dumbledore would have recognized it too. Or did he? He didn’t hate Harry, but Snape had said he got information about the Horcruxes from Dumbledore, so he must have known. Maybe it was just that Dumbledore was nicer than Snape. He probably didn’t even hate Voldemort - he wanted to kill him, of course, but not out of hatred.

Everyone else, though, would hate Harry if they knew.

The thought of everyone turning on him again, as they had during the Triwizard Tournament and when the Ministry didn’t believe him about Voldemort… He bit his lip hard. He couldn’t go through that again. It would be even worse this time; he’d known he hadn’t put his name in the Goblet and he’d known he was telling the truth about Voldemort, but he couldn’t even pretend that people shouldn’t hate him if they knew he was possessed by the soul of the most evil wizard ever.

Rage gripped him again, so strong he felt like he was shaking. Why would Snape tell him that? Snape had always hated him, had picked on him and bullied him for no reason. And now this! Just like at dinner, he wanted to fight Snape and force him to stop saying it, as if that would make it not be true. He wanted to shut him up by any means necessary, even if he killed him...

Then he realized what he was thinking and felt sick. That had to be Voldemort inside him, making him think that way. He wasn’t a murderer! But he’d already tried to kill Snape once. He didn’t know if he could stop himself from doing it again.

Of course, that was assuming he’d be in a condition to do anything after Snape got through with him. He’d been too intent on interrogating Harry for some reason to punish him yet, but surely he wasn’t going to let Harry’s attack on him go. Considering all the ways he had threatened Harry for far less important things, whatever he came up with was going to be brutal.

And Harry couldn’t forget years of feeling impotent rage at all the ways Snape had sniped at him, or insulted him, or threatened him. If that hatred escaped again, things would only get worse.

The combination of hatred of Snape, hatred of himself, fear of what Snape would do, and fear of what he would do built until his stomach tightened painfully and eyes ached from holding them closed. He was so caught up in his own misery that when the bedcurtains abruptly parted, he lay perfectly still for a moment in shock.

The figure silhouetted against the dim light from the room was too tall to be Draco. Harry felt like his bed had turned to ice around him. Snape had decided to start his punishment now, then. And there was only one reason for it to be in the middle of the night, in his bed.

Trying to keep his face from showing any emotion, he shoved off the covers and turned over onto all fours. Waiting for his clothes to disappear, he saw that his hands were trembling. He clenched them into fists. He’d done this before, plenty of times. Once more wouldn’t kill him. It didn’t matter.

Then a hand grabbed him by the shoulder, fingers digging into him like talons. “Get up,” Snape hissed, jerking Harry upright so fast that he had to catch himself before he fell over. It took him a moment after he got his balance to realize that Snape was thrusting a potions vial at him.

It was uncapped, and the familiar scent of Dreamless Sleep wafted up to him. Harry looked from the vial to the shadow that was Snape’s face in confusion.

“You were having a nightmare,” Snape said softly, with ice beneath the words. “Take this and stop keeping everyone awake.”

Obediently Harry drank the potion down, wondering what Snape was talking about. Had he been rolling over so much that Snape heard him and thought he was thrashing in his sleep? He must have forgotten to ward his curtains against sound.

Snape snatched the vial back from him as soon as he finished and stepped away, letting the curtains begin to fall closed. One caught on the disordered bedclothes, though, so Harry could see him stride across the room and out the door.

Harry checked the time. Almost two in the morning.

It didn’t make any sense. But he didn’t have time to think about it. The Dreamless Sleep must have been stronger than usual, because it was already tugging at him. He lay down and was instantly asleep.

* * *

Severus slumped against the wall, confident that no one would come out at this hour to see him. He was trembling.

Usually the emotions he felt from others dissipated as soon as he was no longer paying attention to them. Sometimes it took actually leaving the room. But even down the hall, he couldn’t shake the understanding of what exactly he’d felt emanating from Harry. The realization of how his mate felt about him wouldn’t let him go.

The horrific memory-nightmares of years of bullying had been bad enough; they’d driven him out of bed and through uncapping a vial of Dreamless Sleep before he realized what was going on. Without stopping to think about it, he’d taken the open vial to Harry’s bed to stop the problem at its source.

He’d regretted that instantly.

The destructive blend of hatred and self-loathing and fear had hit him so hard that he hadn’t noticed what Harry was doing until he was kneeling in front of him. It was only then that he’d remembered the pitiful request not to bother him when his curtains were closed. Fighting his own emotions, he’d been unable to be at all reassuring; he’d thrust the potion at him and escaped.

But it seemed he couldn’t escape the effects of the gift, which was now forcing him to understand what Harry was feeling on a whole new level.

Magic took him again, pulling him back to times he never wanted to remember, when he’d been forced to crawl before bullies who despised his existence, and he’d seethed with impotent hatred. But those were just memories that he’d fought often enough. The torture was the way the faces were changing, seeing Harry in himself and himself in James Potter and Sirius Black.

He wanted to scream, to cry, to protest in some way. I didn’t do that! I didn’t mean it! But the truth was inescapable. For all his attempts to prove to Dumbledore, to himself, to Lily’s memory, that he was not as bad as everyone had believed him to be, as his own actions had shown him to be, that Dumbledore was right and he could change... It wasn’t true. He was as twisted and evil as he had ever been, and his attempts to take care of his Slytherins, to help the Order take down Voldemort, to stop himself from becoming his father, were as fruitless as anything else he’d tried. The only good thing he could say about himself was that he was broken enough that he no longer actively sought out evil. Now he did it inadvertently - as if that made any difference.

He slid down the wall to sit as another round of the face-shifting memories took him, trying to force him to face how Harry thought of him, as tormentor and threat and… He snarled and threw up an arm across his face in an attempt to ward off the thoughts, shaking like Tobias when he didn’t have money for another drink. This had to stop. He couldn’t stand it.

There was a voice inside him that whispered that there was another way, that if he fully faced the memories of how he’d treated Harry, he might find some way out of this hell. But he fought it aside. Any time he’d allowed himself to indulge in hope, he’d only seen himself descend even deeper into the pit.

He carefully ignored the knowledge that with Draco’s gift, that had not been true lately. He could not face those memorie and the recognition of what he’d done, not even with the gift’s assistance. Instead he pressed his wand against his wrist and murmured a spell he had perfected to get him through those first hideous years teaching.

The burning sensation under his skin began, and he relaxed into the familiar pain, channelling it into his Occlumency shields as Dumbledore had taught him. This was what he deserved, after all. This was what he’d done to Harry for years, destroying him bit by bit; he ought to suffer for it. If Harry ever knew, it would probably bring him some peace, just as Severus had rejoiced at the thought of Black rotting in Azkaban. Not that Harry would know. Severus had too much practice at hiding this for anyone to find out; the spell left no visible marks.

The memories released him at last; his mind calmed; his emotions retreated. Meticulously, he began inscribing a pattern along his arm, focusing on the sensation and letting his mind rest. He forgot the emotions that had driven him into this. Instead he retreated into an Occlumency trance, where he was safe, emotionless, and free.

He’d crafted the spell carefully, and the pain slowly built until he could think of nothing else, not even Occlumency. His pulse pounded in his ears, his breath was ragged and harsh… and then it abruptly died away, leaving him trembling.

A few deep breaths brought him back to normal, other than the fizzing beneath the skin of his arm that made his hand twitch. The afterpains would keep him grounded for a few hours, long enough to get through a class or a staff meeting. No one ever noticed the twitching.

He stowed his wand away. The spell wouldn’t work again until his arm had recovered. He’d built that in deliberately; whatever Lucius and Narcissa thought, he was in control of himself. He wasn’t going to hurt anyone, including his mates. He only did what he needed to get through the day.

The voice in his head was screaming at him that there were other options, that he shouldn’t do this, that he didn’t deserve to hurt. He ignored it. He treasured Draco’s love and the gift of believing that he mattered, but sometimes the gift was just like his mate: naively ignorant of what Severus really was. He could accept that his life mattered to Draco, and even that there were other people who cared about him - strange as it still seemed - but the idea that there wasn’t something innately wrong about him, that he didn’t deserve to suffer for his choices… Well. It was adorably naive, but he was no innocent, to buy into it.

Even with months of practice, though, it was hard to ignore the headache and distracted thinking that Magic pressed on him for ignoring the gift. He focused on the pain in his arm instead as he pushed himself to his feet. He had a meeting with Dumbledore soon, after all, and emotional manipulation did not feed his Occlumency shields like physical pain did. He needed to be prepared.

* * *

The Headmaster’s eyes twinkled as Severus entered his room. “Why, Severus! What a pleasant surprise. Lemon drop?”

“No, thank you,” Severus said shortly, taking the chair before Dumbledore’s desk. So far, things were proceeding as usual. Dumbledore was probably waiting for a complaint about teaching the Gryffindors and Slytherins together, or something similar.

Well, Severus was about to knock him off-balance.

“How many Horcruxes have you identified?” he asked calmly, as if it were part of an ongoing discussion between them.

Dumbledore’s facade remained kindly and welcoming, but Severus felt a wave of emotions: surprise, disbelief, anger. He hid a satisfied smile. He hadn’t managed to get much use out of Harry’s gift yet, but it was finally starting to work the way he’d envisioned when he first recognized it.

“You haven’t been studying dark magic, have you, Severus?” The tone was lightly chiding, as if jocular; the underlying threat was razor-sharp.

“Of course I have. Since my mate is possessed by a dark magic entity that I will be removing from him, it is a necessary step.”

Dumbledore’s face was compassionate and sorrowful. Somewhat to Severus’ surprise, his emotions did not proclaim it to be entirely a lie. “Ah, my boy, I did my best to spare you.”

A very, very tempting offer. Severus inclined his head minutely in respect. The desire to know exactly what role Dumbledore had played in the altered marks and Harry’s abuse was almost overpowering.

But Severus had forged his determination in a harder school than Dumbledore had ever recognized, and he rejected the temptation. “You would do that best by allowing me to observe the destruction of the other Horcruxes so that I can finalize my plans to eliminate the one in Harry without killing him. How many have you already destroyed?”

Dumbledore smiled serenely. “You know that I cannot tell you that, Severus. If Voldemort should find out…”

Severus allowed the flinch to be visible, the angry response to rise to his lips. Best to lure the old man into a false sense of security. He had no idea how well-armed Severus had come to this battle. “I carry enough secrets to damn the entire Order ten times over! Yet you sent me back to him without a second thought! Now, when I need information that could save us all, you refuse?”

“I must.” Dumbledore’s face was implacable. If Severus had not been able to sense the feelings behind the mask, he might have believed the man unperturbed by the argument. But, in fact, he was more affected than Severus had expected. Severus couldn’t quite place the feeling, though. “There is more at stake than you know.”

“I know precisely what is at stake.” Severus bared his teeth in something that might have been taken for a smile, if one did not know him. “The destruction of a monster, the goal I have devoted my life to. I know.”

“The cause you have devoted your life to?” Again the emotions behind the statement surprised Severus. Dumbledore’s words were dripping with disdain, but he was not radiating the disgust Severus expected. “An attempt to redeem yourself in the eyes of a dead woman, one who rejected you when she saw what you were becoming? A dream of expunging your own selfish choices and damning sins from your conscience? A fairy tale in which you might be the hero, instead of the villain?”

Now it was Severus who was thrown off balance, because even as Dumbledore denounced him, the feeling beneath it was regret and… something he didn’t want to face. He wasn’t prepared for this.

“No,” he answered coldly, drawing his focus back to the matter at hand. “The cause of destroying the greatest evil I have seen. I recognize the extent of that evil, because I can see its depths in myself, and I will do anything to bring it down.”

The threat went wide of the mark; Dumbledore studied him piercingly.

“Anything?” he asked softly. “There was a time, Severus, when you were willing to die to bring it about.”

“I still would,” he said automatically. He no longer wished for it - he wanted to keep Draco alive, and Harry too - but if it were necessary, he would still sacrifice them all to take down the Dark Lord. “But the Horcrux can be destroyed without that. When can I gather the data I need to help your Chosen One?”

Oaths Dumbledore himself had forced him into bound him just as strongly as the soulmate bound. He would succeed in this as he had in everything else the war had demanded of him.

Dumbledore sighed, and the regret he felt was still confusing Severus. Was it possible that Dumbledore had achieved such complete control over his emotions that he could lie with them?

“My dear boy. I should just give you the information you want and allow you to do your research and make your attempts, fruitless though they will be.”

Severus sat very still, waiting to see where this was going.

“You took part of a prophecy to Voldemort seventeen years ago.”

Severus flinched, memories grating across his too-raw mind. “You promised not to speak of that,” he said hoarsely.

Dumbledore ignored him. “I think it is time that you heard the entire thing.”

No! Severus wanted to shout. The one thing he had avoided, had tried not to think about, had sworn that Harry would never know about… But he was powerless now. Dumbledore waved his wand, and the silvery head of Sibyl Trelawney emerged from his Pensieve.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and each must die at the hand of the other for neither can die while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...."

The words reverberated in Severus’ head like a pounding drum. Neither can die while the other survives. Neither can die…

He bent forward, burying his head in his hands. Weakness, vulnerability, but Dumbledore had seen him like this before.

The older man came out from behind his desk and rested a hand on Severus’ head. “I would have spared you this, my boy. You might have died in the battle without ever knowing why. But there is no time for you to waste on plans that will never work. I need you focused on your own role, my boy. Keep Voldemort from suspecting. Help us slow him down. I will handle the Horcruxes. And in the end, when Harry dies at his hand as he once died at Harry’s, your sacrifice will not have been in vain.”

For a long moment, Severus wavered. He who had made the worst of mistakes, he who had doomed his only friend, he had no right to attempt to make decisions like these. This was the province of someone who was good, who saw the good in people and only sacrificed them with grief and love, not someone jaded enough to hate the whole human race. He had to let Dumbledore handle this, to follow the path he laid out as he had for so many years.

But the voice in his head refused to keep quiet. Fuck that, it snarled in anger that was far removed from the spite and rage that fueled Severus through every day. This anger was protectiveness born of love, and it took his breath away every time he felt it. He has no right to control your life because you made a wrong choice as a teenager. You are a different person now, with the skills to do whatever you set out to do. Fuck his attempts to set himself up as the only one who knows how this prophecy will play out. You have every right to try and turn it to the benefit of yourself and your mates. If it can’t be changed, you’ll all die anyway. But why give him the right to stop you from trying?

For a long moment he sat there, frozen on the edge of an impossible choice. Dumbledore had pulled him out of the pit - had given a boy who disgusted him the opportunity to redeem himself. He had trusted Dumbledore to be his moral compass for years. Could he reject all of that now? Cut himself off from any assurance that he was on the right path, that his own nature was not pulling him back into evil?

But sacrificing his mates without a fight - Draco, his Dragon whose self-assurance and enthusiastic love brought him a view of himself he’d never seen, and Harry, who he longed to protect and do better by, and who despite his pain offered an opportunity to become someone he had never thought he could be - condemning them to death on Dumbledore’s word alone that it was necessary: could he do that?

When Dumbledore’s orders had pulled him against his own inclinations in the past, he had always given in, seeing it as more evidence that he was flawed and couldn’t be trusted to make his own decisions. But what if Dumbledore couldn’t be trusted either? Magic saw in him the potential to be trustworthy, for his mates at least; otherwise the bond and the gifts would not have existed. Might his instincts be worth following?

One would think, he thought bitterly, pressing his hands harder against his eyes, that rejecting father figures would become easier the more one did it. But neither his hatred of Tobias nor his defection from the Dark Lord, nor even his decision to spy on Dumbledore, setting him on this course, had been as agonizing a choice as this.

And then there was the damnable thread of affection he’d felt from the old man throughout this conversation. If Dumbledore actually cared… Could he throw that away?

But he had appeared to care about Harry.

“Severus,” the old man said gently. “Will you trust me with this?”

No. The resolve crystalized in Severus’ heart, cutting away the ties that bound him to his judge and guide. He was no longer a child, to put unquestioning trust in whoever tempered firmness with kindness and offered clear direction. He would first trust in and guide himself, because no one else had proved worthy of it. He might not be worthy either, but at least he trusted himself to care about his mates, as he no longer trusted Dumbledore.

But he wasn’t a Gryffindor, to snarl defiance in his one-time master’s face. He let his breathing become ragged and asked in a voice that broke, “You said you tried to spare me - this?”

“Of course I did.” Dumbledore’s voice oozed compassion, but his feelings shouted his triumph. “From the time I heard the prophecy and determined that it applied to young Harry, I knew that if he had mates, they would be condemned to die along with him. I sought help to prevent any soulmate bond from binding him.” He sighed. “Alas, it went sadly awry.”

Severus had to bite his tongue until he tasted blood to keep up his broken facade. And the old man dared chide him for dabbling in dark magic? He had attempted to interfere with a soul bond - and there was no way the “help” he’d sought was a light wizard. What contacts did he keep with dark practitioners who would be willing to do such a thing?

And that was without taking into account how Harry’s near destruction was brushed aside as an attempt that “went sadly awry.” Dumbledore should have paid attention when he developed a soul mark anyway, kept him safe from those who called themselves his mates - what did he think would happen if Harry died at his own hand? Had he considered it a possibility worth allowing?

You see? the voice whispered again. You don’t have the monopoly on wrong choices, or on choices that hurt others. Will you deny yourself the ability to protect them by following someone just as fallible as you are?

He waited until he could force back most of the emotions, leaving only a touch to make his voice tremble. “And - if I’m to stall him - how long? The other Horcruxes must be destroyed first, must they not, before Harry-” He broke off as if unable to say the words.

Dumbledore’s self-satisfaction was beginning to make him sick to his stomach, and he sympathized with Draco significantly more. “I believe it will not be much longer. His goal was to create six Horcruxes - to split his soul into seven pieces - and one has already been destroyed, his childhood diary. I am quite certain that another was the Gaunt ring, which I will soon locate and destroy.”

Not if I have anything to say about it.

“As for the others, my research indicates that they are likely to be objects from the Founders, preferably valuable and meaningful ones. I am pursuing leads - it shouldn’t be long now before I am confident of what they are and where they are hidden.”

The complete confidence he reposed in himself was sickening. He believed every word he was saying, thought that the search for the Dark Lord’s secrets of immortality would be quick and easy. Severus hated pretending to believe him.

But he was a Slythern. “Soon,” he said, taking a deep breath and lifting his tear-stained face from his hands. “A few months? I can - I can do that.”

Dumbledore gazed on him with compassion. “Don’t tell your mates,” he advised gently. “There is no need for them to suffer. You are strong, Severus, but they are young yet. Let them have a bit more life without fear.”

He swallowed back his response to that and nodded, pushing himself shakily to his feet. “I-I need…” He let the words trail off.

“Of course.” Dumbledore moved aside. “Take time to compose yourself, and practice your Occlumency. Our few months will disappear if any hint of this gets out.”

As if I don’t know the risks better than you. “Yes. Yes, I will.”

He made it almost to the door before Dumbledore spoke once more. “And Severus?”

He stopped but did not turn. “Yes?”

“Thank you.” The pain and grief emanating from him almost shattered Severus again. “I can always depend on you, my boy.”

And those words pulled him back together, because they echoed a memory he tried to forget. “Ah, Severus, my faithful servant,” the Dark Lord had purred after hearing the piece of prophecy. “I knew I could depend on you.”

I am not dependable, he thought bitterly. I am not yours. I am on my own again. As always.

And, knowing it would reassure Dumbledore, he let the terror and despair of that realization show in his posture as he left the room.

Chapter Text

Draco stalked to the Great Hall for breakfast Friday morning in a foul mood. Severus had been planning to meet with Dumbledore the day before, and he hadn’t come back to the room all night. Draco had sat up for most of it, fluctuating between fear and annoyance. Now he was ready to snap at the first person he saw, preferably Sev.

His bad temper was driven into the background, though, by the impact of all the emotional upheaval of the Great Hall at mealtime. He did his best to hide his indisposition and made his way over to the Slytherin table, where Crabbe and Goyle had saved him a seat and a plate of his favorites.

He focused on them and the sickness receded a little; they were calm and stoic, exactly the kind of company he needed right now.

“Did you get the Transfiguration homework done?” he asked them.

“Mostly,” Goyle mumbled around a mouthful of sausage.

“What didn’t you understand?” At least helping them kept his mind from picking up feelings from everyone around them. The Great Hall was just too crowded to deal with.

But when there weren’t quite so many people around, it was a different story. He decided to start honing his new ability in class, when the predominant feeling was boredom. He stared intently at one student after another, trying to pick out how he felt when he looked at them and give it a name based on their expressions.

Confusion, annoyance, and fear were the first ones he figured out, because those were the main responses when people noticed him staring at him. Anger was a stronger form of annoyance; he felt both in his stomach, while fear mostly gave him headaches. Confusion made him light-headed. The more he practiced, the less debilitating the sensations got, just as Sev had said. He smiled to himself. He could use this!

In the halls after Charms, he startled a Gryffindor first year into dropping her books. His headache flared, and he grinned, gesturing to Crabbe and Goyle to step up and cut off her escape route. Clutching the books to her chest, she shrank back against the wall as he loomed over her.

“Clumsy little thing, aren’t you?” he said, rolling his wand between his fingers.

But before he could continue, it felt like a bolt of lightning shot through his head. He staggered, closing his eyes to try to drive back the blinding pain. He had to clamp his mouth shut to keep from whimpering. What was happening to him?

He fought back against the pain, stiffening his spine and reminding himself that he was a Malfoy and Malfoys did not show weakness. He managed to lean close to the little firstie’s face and whisper menacingly, “You should be more careful.” Then, before his control could break, he turned and stalked away.

Crabbe and Goyle hurried after him, and their confusion chased away the pain in his head. He sighed with relief.

“What was that about?” Crabbe asked.

“Tell you later,” Draco muttered. When I figure out what it is, and how to make it stop.

* * *

Draco had been looking forward to giving Sev a piece of his mind after Potions, but his mate looked so awful that his anger turned to worry. “What happened?” he demanded as soon as everyone else had left the room. “You look like shit.”

Severus frowned at him. “How, precisely?”

Draco concentrated, trying to put his finger on what exactly was wrong. It wasn’t Sev’s expression, which was as aloofly irritated as it always was in class, nor his complexion nor posture…

“Fine,” he sighed as he realized what was going on. “You feel like hell, even though you look normal. Happy?”

Sev relaxed minutely. “There are six Horcruxes. The diary was already destroyed, and another is the Gaunt family ring. The other four are important objects belonging to the Hogwarts Founders, but he doesn’t know which.”

Draco considered that, and opened his mouth to ask about the Founders, but then stopped abruptly. He was being distracted, and something else was more important.

“That doesn’t answer my question. What happened to make you feel so awful?”

Sev glowered at him. “It doesn’t matter.”

Draco flinched. “Don’t say that,” he snapped, louder than he’d intended. “I don’t want to hear that ever again.” That awful conversation with Harry still lingered in the back of his mind.

“And, of course, your wish is to be my command,” Sev drawled, the light of battle in his eyes.

It would have been so easy to start a fight, to put things back on a known footing between them and relieve the tension of waiting the night before with no word. Fighting with Sev was sharp and nasty and left him feeling like he was bleeding, but it was also familiar. It would take him away from thoughts of evil magic and tortured mates and all the ways his comfortable existence had been turned upside down since Yule.

But determination gripped him and wouldn’t let him go down that path. With an inward sigh, he surrendered to the power of the soulmate gift and once again turned the conversation back where it belonged.

“I’m not going to let you distract me. What did he do to you that you couldn’t face us last night and you feel like this today?”

Severus was silent, and Draco wondered if he had successfully gotten him off-balance. He decided to keep pushing.

He stepped closer, noticing with peculiar clarity the way Sev’s eyes widened and his hand snapped out as if to unholster his wand. He really was badly on edge. Draco ignored the tiny gestures and wrapped his arms around his mate, holding him as tightly as he could.

“We’re in a classroom, Dragon,” Sev said pointedly, standing stiffly as if trying not to touch him.

Draco tried not to roll his eyes. “They all know we’re mates. But ward the door if it makes you feel better.”

“With wards all of my Slytherins know how to get through?”

Now Draco did roll his eyes. “They wouldn’t be stupid enough to do that unless it were an emergency. Or you could always use the wards that they don’t know how to get through.”

Draco felt the tiniest of sighs, the slight relaxing of Sev’s posture, and he felt sicker than ever as Sev’s emotions began to break free of whatever he’d been doing to keep them in check. With his practice that morning - and knowledge of what the hell was going on - the sickness was easier to ignore. He rested his head on Sev’s shoulder and waited.

“My relationship with Albus Dumbledore is - complicated,” Severus said at last, voice carefully neutral despite the powerful emotions that Draco sensed below the surface. “He is… very skilled at getting people to do his will, and he knows me entirely too well. He never wishes to relinquish control or even knowledge. The conversation was... difficult.”

Draco got the impression that “painful” would have been a much better word. “That bastard.” He pulled his mate tighter. “Next time, I want to talk to him.” He knew, logically, that he was no match for Dumbledore, but at that moment, he felt like he could rip him apart for what he’d done to Sev.

His head started throbbing, which meant anxiety and fear. What did Sev have to be scared of right now? He stole a glance at his face without shifting his head. Sev’s eyes were wild, and his expression was no longer carefully controlled and stoic. What was going on?

“You should go meet your friends,” Sev said, his voice suddenly breathy.

“No.”

“Dragon!” Draco’s head was really pounding now, and he barely recognized that Sev sounded frantic. Then his arms were being pried off, and Sev almost tripped as he stepped back and spun around to brace his hands on his desk, breathing heavily.

Draco really wanted to step closer and lay a hand on his back, ask him what was wrong, but something told him not to. Instead he just waited.

“You should leave,” Sev said after a moment. He was trying to speak steadily, but it wasn’t working.

Both of his soulmate gifts shrieked at him that that was a very bad idea. He mentally snarled and shoved back the pain so that he could speak. “I’m not going anywhere.” He moved over a step to lean against a student table. “But I won’t touch you if that’s what you want.” He leaned back on his hands, feet crossed at the ankle, copying his father’s most innocent posture for when he wanted people to think him harmless and useless.

Sev didn’t turn to look at him, but the pounding in his head was dying down, so he figured he was doing something right. At last Sev sucked in one last long breath and straightened. As he walked around his desk and seated himself, Draco saw that his face was fully calm again.

“I have quite a bit of grading to catch up on,” he said casually, pulling out a pile of scrolls and an inkwell and quill. “And I know you have plans with your friends. We can talk tonight.”

If it weren’t for the sharp ache in his chest and the twisting of his stomach, along with the remnants of his headache, Draco might have believed him. He’d never realized just how good of a liar his mate was, and he couldn’t stop the smile that touched his lips. How did he get so lucky?

“I’m good here, thanks,” he replied casually.

The quill in Severus’ hand suddenly snapped; he flung it down. “Why are you doing this?” he growled.

“I don’t know!” Draco snapped back, wincing and rubbing his chest against the pain there. “But I know you’re in pain, and I’m not leaving you alone with it!”

“And if I wish to stew in my misery by myself?” Sev was stalking around the desk now, his tone icy.

Draco shook his head. “That’s - not good,” he said, fumbling to put into words what he was sensing from the gifts. “That won’t help. It’s better to have someone-”

Severus cut him off by grabbing his shoulder and hauling him to his feet. “I don’t need anyone!” Specks of spittle hit Draco’s face. “I’ve been taking care of myself for thirty years! I don’t need you!”

Draco was shaking with the force of Sev’s emotions, to the point where it was hard to keep his feet. He shook his head weakly. “No-”

“GET OUT!” Sev turned toward the door, and, as weak as Draco was feeling, he couldn’t fight the tug on his shoulder. He staggered beside Sev until the door banged open in front of them and he was propelled through it. He turned back just as the door slammed shut and the wards he couldn’t break went up.

He leaned his forehead against the door, feeling the soulmate gift release him from Sev’s emotions. That only left him feeling sick again, though. What had he done wrong?

* * *

As soon as the wards went up, Severus yanked up his sleeve and pushed his wand against his forearm, recklessly shoving more power through the spell than it had been built to handle. His head snapped back, but he managed to contain the cry of pain. All that emerged was a choked gurgle that Draco wouldn’t be able to hear through the heavy door, even if he had remained nearby.

Severus was confident that he’d left. Possibly for good - or at least, as much as soulmates could leave for good. They had to continue living in the same room for another year, but they could have three separate, curtained-off beds and effectively avoid contact with each other; Harry had proven that. Afterward, spending a few days each month at Malfoy Manor should satisfy the demands of the bond, and there was enough there to keep them all occupied separately.

He started tracing patterns on his arm, trying to focus on the burning sensation, but it wasn’t working. The sick taste lingered in the back of his mouth, and he was still trembling with emotion, not with pain.

Draco had known the conversation with Dumbledore had shaken him, and he’d wanted to help. He’d noticed that Severus was falling apart, and he’d reached out to hold him while he put himself back together. He’d wanted to protect Severus.

No one had ever done that for him. His mother had been too far gone by the time he could clearly remember. Lily had made things better simply by her presence, her light and laughter reminding him that there was good in the world, if not in his life, and she’d allowed him to hover around it like a moth near a flame. Draco had done the same, over the last six months.

But to notice his pain and want to hold him through it - to offer to fight someone powerful for him - to feel about him the emotions he’d felt pouring off Draco…

That wasn’t for him. He didn’t deserve it.

And when the soulmate gift had tried to swamp him with its power and make him believe that he did, he’d panicked. Terror at having his entire being upended had spurred him to fury, and he’d proven, decisively, that it couldn’t possibly be true, with the way he’d driven Draco off.

The spell peaked and died, and he cursed aloud. His words carried the coarse accent of his childhood, cutting him off immediately. Everything was failing him. His spell didn’t work to clear his mind. He couldn’t hold on to the personas he’d crafted, the ones that let him lie to himself that he was more than worthless scum from the wrong side of town. He’d cut himself off from Dumbledore, who had verbally lashed him back to his duty more than once. And now his inability to control his emotions had driven him to attacking Draco, the one good thing he had in his life. Just like before.

He pulled up his other sleeve and stared at the Mark there, the end result of the first time he’d let fear and anger drive him to attack someone who cared. He rubbed a finger over the raised scars where he’d tried so many ways to tear it from his skin. Perhaps the Dark Lord would summon him. After all, no matter how much he was falling apart, he would pull himself together for that. He always had.

But the Mark remained pale and unresponsive, and he shook his sleeves back into place. He’d go stalk the halls and terrify the children. Perhaps their hatred and fear of him would be enough to ground him, to remind him of who and what he really was.

* * *

Harry had never regretted his decision to hang out in the room on Saturday afternoons more. In the few minutes since Snape had come in, he and Draco had been ignoring each other with a viciousness that already had him in knots.

He kept his head down, pretending to do homework he had no attention for, and stole glances at them out of the corner of his eye. At times, his meals and possible lack of pain had depended on his ability to make out the nuances of what other people were feeling - if Uncle Vernon was “annoyed about work and wanting to unwind,” bringing him the paper and a drink would probably keep him from getting noticed, while if he was “annoyed about work and looking to take it out on someone,” making himself scarce was the only option.

He’d more or less managed to turn off the ability whenever it stopped helping - when he was going to be miserable no matter what, it felt too much like hanging on to false hope to care what people were feeling. He wasn’t sure what it meant that it had come back now. Maybe he’d started to feel like he could control things a bit with his new mates. He still couldn’t believe how they’d been treating him, but apparently he wanted to keep it going, because he couldn’t stop himself from paying attention.

At first glance, he’d thought that they were doing the pointed ignoring thing that Hermione did to Ron periodically. But now he was pretty sure that wasn’t right. Draco kept sneaking looks at Snape that seemed… concerned, or maybe worried. Even though he was pretending he didn’t care what Snape did or thought, he obviously wanted something from him.

Snape, on the other hand, acted like he wanted nothing to do with Draco whatsoever, but it felt off somehow. Harry was intimately aware of the nuances of Harry-hatred Snape could display, but other than that, he’d always thought Snape was unreadable. He’d wondered if Snape felt anything besides anger.

Now, he could tell that there was a whole mess of emotions under Snape’s expressionless mask, but he couldn’t tell what they were, and he wasn’t willing to stare at him and try to figure it out.

The tension between them was making his neck and back ache with strain, and Draco was starting to give him those looks, the ones that meant he was going to have to listen to another lecture on trust and calming down and not worrying. He tried to relax, but it wasn’t very effective. When his name was spoken, he jumped right out of his chair.

Snape was staring at him with eyes that glittered. “Would now be an agreeable time to retrieve some basilisk venom?”

Venom. Basilisk corpse. Chamber of Secrets. Harry pulled his thoughts together and nodded. “Sure.”

As they headed for the door, Harry chanced a look back at Draco. He wasn’t even trying to pretend not to care anymore. Quickly turning away from the look on his face, Harry hurried after Snape.

They made it to the end of the hallway before Snape stopped. “Where precisely are we going?”

“Oh, sorry.” Harry tried an apologetic smile. It felt false. “The entrance is in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.”

He wondered if Snape even knew where that was, but Snape immediately turned the correct direction. As he stalked along, Harry heard mutterings of “Myrtle. I should have known” and assorted curses. That still weirded Harry out every time he heard it; Snape could rip you apart with his tongue, but somehow Harry had never pictured him swearing.

They made it to the second floor loo without speaking to each other or seeing anyone else, which Harry was glad for. Snape stalked right in without a second thought, so obviously he knew that no one ever used this bathroom.

“Hello, Myrtle,” he said casually as the ghost billowed out of her toilet.

“Sev,” she said in a frosty voice. “You didn’t come to stink the place up again, did you?”

“I am Potions Master here now, Myrtle. I have my own lab. And besides, you have no olfactory abilities. We tested it, remember?”

She sniffed. “Still. Those nasty fumes were terrible, whether I could smell them or not.”

“You used to brew potions here too?” Harry blurted out without thinking. Then he winced. Hermione was going to kill him.

Snape looked at him sidelong. “Please tell me that Miss Granger was involved in your illicit recreational activities.”

“Um…” Harry tried to think how to get out of answering a direct question. He was pretty sure Snape would know if he lied to his face.

Snape sighed. “I am not attempting to trick you into getting your friends in trouble. I merely want to be sure there was someone competent involved in whatever you were doing.”

“Er…” There didn’t seem to be any choice. “Yeah, there was. I mean, she was.” Then he realized exactly what Snape had said. “Wait, you think she’s competent?”

All this time with Draco annoying him into saying what was on his mind was obviously eroding his survival instincts. He had to get a hold of his tongue!

“Don’t you?” Snape drawled sardonically

“Well, of course, but I didn’t think you would. I mean, she’s a…”

Oh, shit, he really should have stopped himself earlier. Harry shrunk back against the wall, unable to look away from Snape’s eyes, which seemed to promise instant death if he finished the sentence.

Then Snape stepped back, turning away from Harry. “Myrtle, how exactly did you die?” he asked, as if his conversation with Harry had never happened.

“Oooh!” Myrtle sounded just as flattered as she had when Harry asked her the same question. “It was terrible! I was crying in the bathroom, because that dreadful Olive Hornby had been making fun of me again, and I heard a boy speaking. So I opened the door to tick him off, and then, there were these enormous eyes, and I died!”

“And that was in… ‘43?” Snape said musingly.

“Yes. My death day is June 13th, 1943.”

Snape suddenly snapped out of his abstraction, and he spoke commisatorially. If Harry didn’t know better, he’d almost have said it was kind. “That sounds dreadful, Myrtle. What a terrible thing to have happen to you!”

“Well, I did get to haunt Olive Hornby,” Myrtle said with satisfaction. “But I’ve been stuck in this toilet ever since she left, and it’s dreadfully dull. You never come and talk with me anymore, Sev.”

“I apologize,” Snape said, with - what was that, a small bow? “I should not have let other concerns distract me.”

“Well, I know you’re very busy,” Myrtle sniffed. “You probably only came in here today because you wanted something.”

“I’m afraid you’re right,” Snape said apologetically. He gestured back toward Harry without looking at him. “Harry says the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets is here.”

“Oooh, Harry!” Myrtle cooed. “I didn’t recognize you; you’ve grown so much since you were last in here!”

Harry winced and, despite himself, cast a sidelong glance at Snape. Snape was as expressionless as ever, but Harry was certain he was smirking inside.

“Uh, yeah, it’s been a while, Myrtle,” he said awkwardly. “Mind if we use the sink again?”

“I suppose,” she sighed. “You should really come and talk with me sometimes, you know.”

“Of course he will,” Snape said before Harry could answer, and he was definitely smirking now.

“He’s much handsomer than any of those other boys you sent to talk with me,” Myrtle pouted, and Harry raised an eyebrow at Snape, but he’d already turned to the sinks.

“How does it open?” he demanded.

Harry swallowed back all the answers he wanted to make and walked to the last sink. Glaring at the little etched snake, he felt himself hiss as he spoke: “Open up.”

The filthy tunnel appeared; Snape stared at it, unimpressed. “A long-term cleaning charm would have been a good addition.” He stepped over the edge, and Harry bit back a gasp; he was hovering above the slanted tunnel as if he were standing on solid ground.

Snape reached out an impatient hand. “Come along.”

Harry swallowed hard and reluctantly took Snape’s hand. As the long fingers closed around his own, he felt a faint tug and looked down to see that he was floating as well.

A ball of light illuminated the tunnel before them, and they began to descend gently, at an angle to keep them from touching any side of the tunnel. It was almost like sliding, only without getting dirty and much slower and calmer. Still, Harry couldn’t shake the disorientation, and he was hyper-aware of the feeling of Snape’s hand on his.

“I used to discipline younger Slytherins by sending them to chat with Myrtle for an hour,” Snape said casually, as if they were standing on solid ground and talking. Actually, more like if he were talking to Draco. It was bizarre to hear that tone addressed to himself. “It was one of the more hated punishments. I wonder why I stopped using it.”

“Mmm,” was all Harry managed to say. He wasn’t sure if having more light made the journey better or worse. The edges of the pipe were disgusting, and he was glad not to be touching them this time. If only he weren’t touching Snape instead.

“She’s lonely, you know. She’s actually not a bad conversationalist if you get her started on the right subjects; she was a Ravenclaw, after all. Not that any of my snakes ever figured that out; she delighted in boring or annoying them.”

The bottom of the tunnel came into view, much to Harry’s relief. They landed gently on their feet, and Snape immediately released his hand. Harry wrapped his other hand around it and squeezed, trying to reassure himself.

The light brightened, and Harry looked up to see Snape muttering spells and the cobwebs, dirt, and skeletons disappearing. Without them, and in proper light, the corridor looked more imposing than terrifying. Grand columns lined the walls. The floor was actually a pattern of different shades of rocks; they might actually have been different colors if they were cleaned and shining.

Snape was studying one of the pillars. “Harry, can you read this?”

“Read what?” Harry asked. It was a pillar, not a book!

Now Snape was looking at him the way teachers at school had when he’d gotten the question on the board completely wrong. “No, uh, it’s too worn for me to make out,” he said quickly. He wasn’t usually bad at pretending he could see the things everyone else could. The flight down must have shaken him more than he’d thought.

“Have you ever been able to read the board in my class?” Snape demanded.

Old instincts were still powerful; better to be in trouble with a teacher for mouthing off than for Uncle Vernon to find out he’d been disparaging their name. He straightened up and glared at Snape. “I prefer to cheat off Hermione.”

Snape abruptly whirled and began stalking away. Over his shoulder he said, “Someone will take you to get proper glasses tomorrow.”

Harry just stood there for a moment, feeling like he’d braced for a blow that never came. By the time he shook himself and hurried after Snape, the rockslide had already been magically removed and he was standing at the great doors to the Chamber itself.

“Open up,” Harry hissed again, and the doors swung apart.

Snape immediately strode in like he owned the place, but Harry hung back. He knew the basilisk was dead, but still… What other nasty things might be in Slytherin’s Chamber?

He tried to steel himself to enter before Snape noticed that he was scared, but he was too slow. Snape looked back at him.

“Thank you for opening the way.” He sounded like he was gritting his teeth as he said it, but it was definitely a thank you. Harry still couldn’t believe it was Snape saying things like that. “I won’t be long.”

With a wave of Snape’s wand, a boulder rolled out of the shadows and Transfigured itself into an armchair. A red armchair.

Harry looked at the bright Gryffindor color and clenched his jaw. Snape wasn’t going to mock him for being a coward! He forced himself to step into the Chamber.

Snape had taken a small package from the pocket of his robe. As Harry approached, he enlarged it and opened what turned out to be a case with shining instruments carefully arranged in rows on both sides.

Harry began to see what Snape meant about gathering supplies. As he drew closer, he saw an array of scalpels, knives, and saws in different sizes and made of different materials. Snape was drawing out a collection of containers of different shapes and sizes from another pocket and eyeing them appraisingly. Harry tried not to follow Snape’s gaze as he looked from each container to the basilisk fangs next to him. He distracted himself by wondering what else Snape was carrying.

Then he was next to Snape, who looked at him questioningly. “I want to help,” he said, trying to keep his voice determined.

Somewhat to his surprise, Snape accepted that. “Here.” He handed Harry a pair of long dragonhide gloves, which resized themselves to fit skin-tight from fingertip to elbow as soon as he put them on. “Hold whatever I tell you to in place.”

He pulled on his own gloves and selected a scalpel from the case.

Snape worked surprisingly quickly, but removing the fang was more complicated than Harry had imagined. First he prodded the head above the fang all over with the scalpel, making tiny cuts in different places. Then he used a knife to peel away the skin and flesh of the head, having Harry hold pieces out of his way as he carefully severed muscles and connective tissues. Harry couldn’t figure out what he was doing until a cut exposed a pale grey membrane that looked like it was full of water. He suddenly realized that Snape was attempting to cut out the entire venom sac, and it took all his Gryffindor courage to hold himself in place. If Snape’s knife slipped and punctured that thing, it could kill them both.

But Snape didn’t seem at all concerned as he carefully carved around the sac. Then he took out a saw and actually began cutting out the fang. Was he really going to keep the fang and venom sac connected and remove them both?

Apparently he was. “Catch the fang in that tray,” he ordered Harry, and he obediently raised the container Snape had laid out so that the fang was resting directly on it. Snape cut the fang the rest of the way free and then carefully eased the venom tube and sac out of the head. When it rested in the tray, they both froze for a long moment. Nothing happened. Snape set down his tool and took the tray from Harry, placing it on the ground and lidding it.

The second fang went more quickly, and soon Snape was packing both trays in a shoulder bag he’d pulled out of yet another pocket. The case of instruments was shrunk back down, the strap of the bag went over his shoulder - Harry shuddered at the thought of carrying the venom so close - and Snape drew off his gloves and held out his hand for Harry’s.

As they walked back toward the entrance, Snape said casually, “How did you find your way into the Chamber?”

Harry knew Snape didn’t do anything casually, but he couldn’t figure out what he was trying to get at. So he answered honestly. “Hermione figured out that it was a basilisk that was Petrifying people, and she guessed that it was moving through the pipes because of the way I kept hearing it in the walls.”

“Hearing it?” Snape demanded sharply.

Harry glared at him. “That’s how I kept showing up at the scene of the attacks, even though I wasn’t involved.” For all that Snape had done his best to make everyone think Harry was.

There was a short pause. “I see,” Snape said in an unreadable voice. “And when you decided there was a basilisk in the pipes?”

“We figured that there were lots of pipes in a bathroom, and since Moaning Myrtle died in a bathroom, we thought she might have been the one killed by the basilisk. So we asked her, and she told us about the boy hissing at the sink.”

“Impressive inductive reasoning,” Snape said, and Harry stumbled. Had Snape really just complimented them? All three of them? It was one thing for him to say Hermione was competent - of course he knew she was, even if Harry thought he wouldn’t ever say it out loud - but to admit that Harry actually had a brain? That seemed so out of character that Harry tried to remember how to check someone for Polyjuice. Maybe that was why he’d been fighting with Draco, too, to keep Draco from noticing.

He sneaked a glance up at Snape, which told him exactly nothing. Didn’t Polyjuice only last an hour? Had they been down here longer than that? He wasn’t sure.

The best thing to do was to keep him - whoever he was - happy until he could talk to Draco. Draco would know what to do. That’s why Snape had asked him to keep the notebooks, after all.

“Thanks,” he said casually, trying to gage how far it was to the tunnel entrance. He wanted to get out of there!

“Perhaps the three of you could make something of the fact that Dumbledore believes the Dark Lord made four Horcruxes out of famous items belonging to the Founders of Hogwarts.”

“Sure. I’ll tell Hermione and she’ll get right on it.” Yep, definitely Polyjuice. But why would someone impersonating Snape not realize that being polite to Harry and his friends was a dead giveaway? Unless it was someone who knew they were mates and believed they had a better relationship now…

The bottom dropped out of his stomach. Blaise and Theo. Who else knew about his real mates? And now he was in their power, alone in a place no one else could find, and, holy shit, they had basilisk fangs right there and what was he going to do?

Frantically, he tried to think of a spell that could get him up the pipe by himself. Automatically, he went through the lists Narcissa had been drilling him in. Not one of them seemed like it could be used for this.

Fawkes, he thought desperately. Fawkes, I need you! But there was no answering burst of phoenix fire.

Terror was making his heart pound so loudly that he was afraid the fake Snape could hear it, and he was clammy with sweat. He bit his lip as hard as he could. He had to think!

Not-Snape turned and frowned at him, and his courage broke. “I think I left something back in the Chamber!” he blurted, and turned and fled.

He pounded desperately down the corridor and through the doors - the doors! He spun on his heel and hissed, “Close! Quickly!”

The doors slammed shut, and he slumped to the ground, panting. He was safe. Now he just had to convince himself of that.

* * *

Severus stood before the closed doors and cursed the air blue. What in Merlin’s name had set Harry off like that?

He’d been trying so hard. He couldn’t take any more of Magic’s attacks, and he couldn’t even try to use his spell, since his hands had to be perfectly steady to extract the venom sacs. So he’d done his best to keep Harry’s emotions calm. He’d tried to make casual conversation the way Draco did; it had been easy enough with Myrtle, who was one of his better friends among the ghosts, and that had given him something to talk about when Harry had been afraid of flying down the tunnel. It had worked, too; the memories had let him go while he was talking, so their flight had been perfectly smooth and calm.

Of course, he’d nearly ruined it when he’d asked about Harry’s eyesight and then had looked down to see his own defiant face turned up to him and his hands clenching into Tobias’s meaty fists. But he’d gotten out of that. And when he was gripped by memories of standing outside the door of the Shrieking Shack, steeling himself to go after the children trapped with a murderer and a werewolf, he’d offered to let Harry wait outside. It wasn’t his fault that his mate was more stubborn than a hippogriff.

But he still had no idea why his sudden realization that the children wandering around the school after a deadly menace had been less reckless and more intelligent than he’d realized - more able to put the clues together than he had, much to his chagrin, despite the way he’d been expending every waking moment on trying to keep a lid on the mess of blood-politics, resentment, and hatred that was Slytherin House that year - and his attempt to acknowledge that he’d been wrong, had sparked such overpowering terror.

He’d been caught in a flashback of his first meeting with the Dark Lord after his return - and what on earth had gotten Harry to the point of feeling like that? - for a crucial moment, and now his mate was behind Parseltongue-sealed doors with no way for Severus to get through to him.

He’d managed to drive Draco off, and now he’d gotten Harry stuck in a barren stone chamber, too terrified of him to come out. He couldn’t remember why he’d thought he was more capable of handling this than Dumbledore. He should have listened to the old man and not thought he could go off on his own like this.

One day. One day of going against Dumbledore’s guidance, and I’ve already destroyed almost everything.

There had to be a way to convince Harry to come out! But he couldn’t think. Too many nights filled only with nightmares, too many memories attacking him at every turn... His mind was too full, and he couldn’t think, even when he desperately needed to.

Well, there was a solution for that. He didn’t need steady hands anymore, after all.

This time, the pain did its job, clearing his head and relaxing him. He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes as the spell died away, leaving him grounded and steady. He took a few deep breaths into the calm before straightening up and looking around. The doors seemed like a good place to start.

Carefully setting the bag with the basilisk venom off to the side, he examined them critically. They were covered with the same carvings as the pillars, the ones that seemed to be a language. It looked decorative, but the repeated elements were neither a pattern nor entirely random. They could have been glyphs, though they did not resemble symbols in any language he knew.

Which was why he had asked Harry if they could be a written form of Parseltongue. If he could read it, it might even tell him how to open the blasted door and get Harry out of there.

Of course, he didn’t know how to pronounce Parseltongue, even if he could understand the glyphs. He had a lot of practice figuring out languages out of context, starting when Lucius had spoken to him only in Latin for half of his first year in order to get him up to speed with the rest of Slytherin, and continuing as the other students had kept switching languages to try and shut him out. But only two phrases…

No, he realized, thinking back. It had been the same phrase, repeated twice.

Hearing the same phrase twice was enough to start.

Severus slowly breathed out in a long hiss, moving his tongue to hear the different sounds. Some of those were definitely in Harry’s words.

But there had been some glottals, too. He experimented with some throat sounds, deliberately trying to ignore the ones he knew in other languages and just make as many as he could. Yes, he recognized some of those as well.

He grabbed a notebook and began jotting phonetic signs for the sounds he recognized. Once he had a reasonable list, he began trying to reproduce the order.

He was actually still buried in his notes, hissing to himself, when the door behind him suddenly cracked open, almost sending him sprawling. He jumped to his feet and whirled around to see Harry huddled on the floor.

* * *

When the doors opened, Harry was too shocked to move. By the time he had managed to push himself to his feet, the person disguised as Snape had come into the Chamber and sat down on the floor, putting his wand behind him. The posture was oddly familiar, but Harry couldn’t place it.

His wand was shaking so hard he didn’t know if he could even cast a spell, and he wondered if there was any point in trying to run. If he’d already made it through the doors…

Wait. How could Blaise or Theo possibly have made it through the doors?

It absolutely couldn’t be Voldemort. Right? Why would he bother with this whole charade? But there were no other Parselmouths in England.

Maybe it was Dumbledore! Surely Dumbledore could get into the Chamber if he wanted to. And Snape had been worried about Dumbledore doing something to him. But why would he be hiding from Harry?

Unless Snape had convinced him that Harry agreed with Snape and had turned against him…

“Harry.” Whoever-it-was was making Snape’s voice sound far more soothing than it had any right to be. “I am not going to harm you. We have an agreement.”

Harry suddenly recognized the position the false Snape was sitting in. It was the same way he’d sat in the bathroom, that awful day when Harry had been sure their agreement was over and they were about to start treating him like Blaise and Theo had.

But how could he possibly know that?

“Have- have you been spying on me?” His voice trembled and broke. He tried to get a hold of himself.

“No. I was there.”

Harry shook his head frantically. “No. You’re not Snape. I don’t know who you are, but you’re not him.”

“Ask me something.” He was sitting completely still, hands in his lap, and Harry couldn’t figure out why, what was his plan? “Something only the two of us would know.”

Harry’s mind skidded, trying to think of something. If whoever-it-was had been spying on him - but he couldn’t have been spying for the past five years, could he? If he remembered something from a few years ago, he could probably catch him.

His mind latched on one of his more awful memories of Snape. “Tell me about Veritaserum,” he challenged, straightening up. There was no way the imposter knew about that conversation!

“Veritaserum…” Snape closed his eyes, and his hands shifted. Harry’s eyes jumped to them, and he saw that Snape was digging his left thumb into his right wrist. The gesture didn’t seem threatening, but he kept part of his attention there all the same. “We discussed that your fourth year, I believe.”

He took a few very slow breaths, and Harry wondered if he was going to answer at all. Then suddenly Snape’s face and posture shifted, to the utter loathing that Harry remembered. The realization that this was a shift, that Snape hadn’t been looking at him like this lately, threw him so off balance that he staggered back a step when Snape’s eyes snapped open, glaring at him.

“Do you know what this is, Potter?” he hissed. “Veritaserum. One drop, and you’ll be spilling your deepest secrets to anyone nearby. Quite illegal, of course. But one of these days, my hand might slip over your evening pumpkin juice…”

Just as abruptly as it had started, Snape blinked, and the expression was gone from his face. His voice resumed the calm tones he had used since the beginning of the conversation. “Does that accord with your memory?”

“How did you do that?”

Snape shrugged, and Harry realized that he had released his wrist and was once again resting his hands on his knees. “There are techniques to enhance memory. Useful for a spy.”

Harry’s heartrate was slowly calming down. Maybe this was Snape, after all. “If it’s really you, why’d you say that?”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific. I still have no idea what I did to convince you that I was an imposter in the first place.”

“You complimented us!” Harry burst out. “Not just Hermione - that surprised me, but I guess I can believe it - but Ron and me too! And then you said that I could tell Hermione about the Horcruxes! That - Snape just wouldn’t do that!”

“Ah.” Snape closed his eyes. “I see.”

Harry waited, but he didn’t speak. “Well?” he challenged at last. “Trying to think up a good lie?”

“I assure you, I can lie much more quickly than that,” Snape said drily. “It is thinking of the correct way to phrase the truth that occasionally gives me trouble.”

Harry couldn’t think of anything to say to that.

“Let us say, I was attempting to not make you miserable.”

And that was familiar too, from the conversation they’d had the first morning he woke up in their room. Harry was starting to believe it really was Snape; surely no one could have been spying on him that much.

But it still didn’t make sense.

“Why?”

“We are going to be spending the rest of our lives in close proximity,” Snape pointed out. “It might be beneficial to occasionally be able to hold a civil conversation.”

Harry shivered. “Blaise and Theo didn’t think so,” he muttered.

Snape sighed. “I had hoped that perhaps you had begun to realize that Draco and I are not Zabini and Nott.”

Well, he had figured that out, but it didn’t mean that Snape wanting to make “civil conversation” wasn’t deeply weird.

“So you meant it when you said I could tell Ron and Hermione about the Horcruxes?”

“Now that Miss Granger has overcome her tendency to attempt to prove that she knows more than anyone else by regurgitating books indiscriminately, her research and analysis skills are exemplary. Her assistance could be most useful. And apparently you and Mr. Weasley have…” Snape looked like he’d bitten into a lemon, which was at least more normal than what he was saying “...unplumbed depths.”

Huh. Harry didn’t know what to make of that.

“Might I suggest we continue this conversation in our room? Perhaps Draco will be able to reassure you of my identity.”

Harry’s hand tightened on his wand. “I’m not going anywhere with you!”

“And what precisely do you believe I could do to you as we walk through the halls that I could not do here?”

Oh. Well, that was true. And it seemed like there was a good chance it actually was Snape, after all. His paranoia was starting to look a little silly. “All right.”

Snape stood up and turned his back on Harry with a flourish to bend and pick up his wand. He immediately slid it away and kept his hands ostentatiously where Harry could see them as he walked ahead of him out of the Chamber.

Harry followed, gritting his teeth. He had been taking perfectly reasonable precautions. Snape had no reason to mock him for it.

The tension between them grew until they were almost to the bottom of the tunnel. Suddenly Snape whirled around to face him.

“What do you want?” he demanded, and Harry was reminded inexorably of when he had asked the same thing of Draco. “I am attempting to reassure you. Will you be reasonable and just accept that? At least pretend to be calm?”

His eyes were wild and his voice rose - and strangely enough, Harry found that comforting. He’d seen furious Snape several times over the years; it had scared him in the past, but at the moment, it convinced him that the person in front of him was, in fact, the real Snape.

And, well, the fact that the man was practically screaming at him to calm down was kind of funny.

Abruptly, Snape relaxed. “Thank you,” he said, and it sounded oddly sincere. Then he stepped up to the tunnel and off the ground, holding his hand out to Harry once again.

Harry shrugged to himself and took it. What choice did he have?

As they began to rise up the tunnel, he tried to think about how he was going to explain all this to Ron and Hermione. They were never going to believe it.

Chapter Text

“Harry! Nice glasses!” Hermione greeted him Sunday evening in the Great Hall.

Harry smiled back at her, but his mind wasn’t on his all-day shopping trip with Narcissa. “Can I talk to you two after dinner?” he asked in a low voice.

Hermione and Ron knew that tone of voice. One quick look, and then they all started pretending there was nothing unusual going on. Ron started a conversation about the Chudley Cannons that Harry could respond to in his sleep, and Hermione pulled out a book but didn’t actually turn the pages. No one paid any attention to how fast they ate.

But once Harry got Hermione and Ron in a secluded corner of the library and had Hermione cast the spells to keep anyone from overhearing them, he couldn’t figure out how to start. He stuttered and stumbled and fidgeted restlessly with his stuff until Ron lost his patience.

“Just spit it out, Harry! It can’t be as awful as all that!” He hesitated at the look on Harry’s face. “Can it?”

“It’s… pretty awful,” Harry said. Taking a deep breath, he looked down at the table and said in a rush, “Voldemort split off pieces of his soul and hid them in things so he couldn’t die, but it made his soul unstable, so when he tried to kill me a piece of his soul split off and ended up in me.”

There was a moment of silence. Harry didn’t look up, waiting for them to scream, or run away, or whatever.

“Wow,” Ron said at last. “I take it back. That really is awful.”

“Ronald!” From the sound of it, Hermione punched him in the arm.

“Ow!”

Harry looked up. Ron was rubbing his arm and glaring at Hermione, who was ignoring him and looking at Harry.

“Are- are you all right? How did you find out?”

He ignored the first question. “Snape figured it out and told me. Apparently Dumbledore has known all along but didn’t let anyone else in on it.”

“Does Voldemort know?” Hermione dropped her voice and looked around as if Voldemort might be lurking in the shadows to eavesdrop on them.

“Snape?” Ron said at the same time. “Mate, you believe Snape? About something like this?”

“I-” Harry paused, struck again by how deeply weird that was. He couldn’t tell them that there was a perfectly good reason for Snape to be working to keep him alive, but even if he could, he wasn’t sure he could make it make sense. There was no way to explain that lately the man hadn’t been the absolute bastard Harry had always known him to be. There was no reason for him to trust Snape wasn’t just lying his head off, but he did. “I know it sounds crazy, but believe me, he’s telling the truth. I’m sure.”

Ron still looked skeptical, but Hermione had moved on. “So what are they doing about it? Surely Professor Dumbledore has a plan.”

“Well,” Harry hesitated, but decided not to tell them about how Snape was trying to take over the whole thing from Dumbledore. He didn’t understand it himself. What was wrong with Dumbledore’s plan? Snape hadn’t explained that. “First we need to find all the other Horcruxes and try different ways to destroy them, so that we can figure out a way to destroy the one in me without killing them.”

“Horcruxes.” Hermione already had a piece of parchment and a quill ready, and she wrote that down. “Those are the soul pieces?”

“Or the objects they’re in?” Harry shrugged. “I’m not exactly sure. You’ll have to ask Snape.”

Hermione hesitated. “He… knows you’re talking to us about it?”

“And he won’t turn Hermione into Potions ingredients if she tries to ask him for help?” Ron added.

“Talking to you was his idea.” Harry shook his head at the looks on their faces. “Don’t ask me, I don’t understand it either. He said that Hermione was ‘an exceptional researcher’ and that Ron and I had ‘unplumbed depths’.”

He and Ron exchanged eyerolls, but Hermione had turned pink. “He said that? Oh!” Then she faltered at the looks they gave her. “I mean, it’s just that I’m never sure what he thinks of my work. He tears my essays apart but some of his comments… What?” she added defensively. “I learn a lot from him. Just because he’s got some weird problem with Harry doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate what he has to say.”

“OK, moving on,” Ron said. He pulled out a sheet of parchment himself. “What exactly are we supposed to be doing?”

“Dumbledore thinks that four Horcruxes are in - or were made out of, I don’t know, Hermione, ask HIM - special objects belonging to the four Founders.”

Hermione made a note. “Does he have any other clues? Why does he think that?”

“Er…” Harry racked his brains, trying to remember exactly what Snape had said. It hadn’t been much; he’d still been in not-really-talking-to-Draco mode when they got back to the room, so it’d gone fast. “Voldemort decided to make six Horcruxes to split his soul into seven pieces-”

“The most powerful magical number.” Hermione nodded. “That makes sense.”

This time Ron elbowed her.

“What? I don’t mean it’s a good idea,” she said. “Just that the logic checks out.”

“Well, it was too many pieces, because that’s what made his soul unstable enough to break off a piece and land it in me,” Harry interrupted firmly. “Anyway, the diary second year was one, and Dumbledore found another - a family heirloom ring - and the other four are probably objects from the Founders. That’s all he said.” It had been a very short discussion.

“The diary!” Hermione looked up from her frantic scribbling. “I’d forgotten about that. You talked to him, didn’t you?”

“He wouldn’t shut up,” Harry answered, grimacing. The memories of that night were too vivid after having just been in the Chamber the day before.

“All right.” Hermione capped her inkwell decisively. “Ron, you and Harry go over exactly what Harry remembers from his conversation with the diary-ghost. And the other times you’ve talked to Voldemort, too, actually. Write down everything you possibly can. I’m going to see what books Madam Pince has on the Founders.”

She was gone before Harry could protest. He really didn’t want to dig into those memories. That was a sure way to get nightmares.

Ron sighed. “We’d better do what she says, mate. You know how she gets.”

Unfortunately, Harry did know. He rested his forehead in his hands and tried to summon his courage.

Then Hermione popped her head back around a bookcase. “When I’m done, we’ll go talk to Professor Snape.”

This time both of them groaned out loud, but she was already gone.

* * *

Crabbe threw a look at Draco over his shoulder, and he shook his head. It didn’t help. Even if he wasn’t the one putting the Mudblood in his place, he still couldn’t get rid of the sickness that feeling his emotions generated.

Crabbe shoved the second year to the ground and walked off, followed by Goyle. “You all right?” he muttered to Draco as soon as they’d turned the corner.

Draco rubbed his forehead. The headache was already receding. “I’ll be fine.”

“Have you figured out what’s going on yet?” Goyle asked as they paused before heading out into the main corridor, checking for upper-level Gryffindors or other packs of dangerous predators.

Draco sighed. “I’m going to have to do more research.” But he was fairly certain that wasn’t true. The soulmate gift was simple: he felt what other people felt, and if he caused other people to feel anger or fear, he felt it worse. Much worse.

It wasn’t fair! There was a war going on! How was he going to defend himself if he got struck down by headaches every time he cast an offensive spell? Even in Hogwarts, it wasn’t safe for Slytherins. He had to be able to fight back if he got cornered, and to make sure the younger students knew that Slytherins were not to be messed with. How the hell was he supposed to do that with this stupid empathy ruining everything?

Just then a small girl burst out of a side corridor, shoving the flying hair out of her face with one hand as she clutched a pile of books with the other. She stumbled into them and shrank back with a gasp before seeing the green on their robes and relaxing.

“Vanity?” Goyle was always the best with names. “You know you shouldn’t be walking alone.”

The little first year gulped back a sob, and Draco realized that she hadn’t been pushing back her hair; she’d been wiping away tears. The sight of black ink dripping from her books to stain her robe and puddle on the ground made him grit his teeth and fight back the lingering headache and sharp pain.

“Sorry,” she whispered, hanging her head. “I was just getting some books from the library, and I thought… but…”

Draco managed to focus on his own anger and somewhat ignore her guilt and worry. Whoever did this would pay!

“Ask a prefect to help get the stains out,” Crabbe suggested. “If Madam Pince charges you, you can get money from the Funds if you need to.”

The girl drew in a shuddering breath and squared her shoulders. She shifted the books to one arm and pulled out a headband to get her hair under control. Then she looked up, her face a proper Slytherin mask. “Okay?” she asked, still young enough to need reassurance that she was doing her House proud.

Goyle patted her shoulder. “Good job,” he said with a smile. Then he looked around and waved at another small figure. “Talkalot! Get your housemate back to the dorms!”

A couple of second years changed course and swept up Vanity. After a quick glance, all of them started an animated discussion on Charms. In Latin.

Good for them, Draco thought fiercely, despite the fact that Sev wouldn’t approve. He always warned that speaking other languages, just like fighting, would only worsen the prejudice against Slytherin.

Well, Draco didn’t know what Hogwarts had been like when Sev was in school, but right now, it was eat or be eaten. And he intended to be one of the ones doing the eating.

He didn’t even have to glance at Crabbe and Goyle. All three of them headed the direction Vanity had come from.

Almost immediately, they came across a sniggering group of Gryffindor second years. One of them was the Mudblood they’d just been trying to cut down to size.

Draco relished about the sudden headache that flared when they looked up and saw him. He grinned savagely.

“In the mood to have fun with Slytherins, are we?” he asked in his father’s most dangerous tone.

The one on the right drew his wand - too late. Crabbe hit him with a Petrificus Totalis, while Goyle waded in with his fists. No one ever expected a physical attack in a wizard’s duel; surprise left the other two open to Draco and Crabbe’s spells.

When all three were incapacitated, Draco walked around them in mock-thought. “What shall we do with Mudbloods and blood traitors?” he mused aloud.

He was getting better at working through debilitating headaches, he decided. When his vision whited out, he prodded the Gryffindors with his foot to make sure of his path and kept walking. He kept his balance by leaning nonchalantly against the wall when necessary.

One of the Gryffindors looked up from the slugs he was vomiting. “Please,” he managed to say between retches. “We didn’t - do - anything!”

“Nothing?” Draco hissed, shoving aside the pain to glare into the boy’s face. “You just happened to knock someone down and drop a bottle of ink on her library books, is that all?”

Even through the pounding in his head, he felt the familiar light-headedness of confusion. Maybe this group hadn’t been the ones who attacked Vanity. It didn’t matter, though. They were Gryffindors.

He whipped his wand around to cast Furnunculus on one of the three - it didn’t matter which - but just as he spoke the incantation, another set of Gryffindors rounded the corner.

He knew Crabbe and Goyle would be covering them, so he didn’t bother to look up until a new bout of sickness hit him so hard that he staggered despite all his precautions.

It was only then that he looked over and recognized Harry.

The look on his face was terrible. Draco was feeling so awful at the moment that he couldn’t pick out Harry’s emotions from the mess, but it didn’t matter. He could see the betrayal and fear written all over Harry before his vision whited out and he doubled over with a choked cry.

Crabbe and Goyle were instantly supporting him, pulling him away from the scene of the altercation. Through the pounding in his ears, he heard Ron and Hermione talking to Harry:

“What’s wrong, Harry?”

“What, you’re not surprised that Malfoy’s acting like Malfoy, are you? It’s not like that’s something new, mate.”

And then they turned into another corridor, leaving Draco with only his own emotions to deal with.

* * *

Severus tried to rub his forehead discreetly and wondered how to coax Narcissa into giving him access to headache potions again. For once it wasn’t gift-induced memories plaguing him, even though he hadn’t had a chance to reapply his spell after the bout of counselling interviews he’d just completed with his second years and he felt his control slipping.

No, Hermione Granger could cause headaches all on her own.

He was grateful that the only emotion she was feeling at the moment was determination. The fear that had flared when he opened the door to the three of them had been momentarily debilitating, but compared to the memories Harry had been thrusting on him lately, it was relatively weak. And as soon as he invited them in with a modicum of politeness, Granger at least had dropped all worry and plunged in directly.

As long as he didn’t take his focus off her, he would be all right.

Of course, that was assuming she didn’t drive him mad with her questions.

“I’m afraid I cannot give you details about Tom Riddle’s private habits,” he said to shut up her latest bout of questions. “I was not, in fact, here fifty years ago. Despite what my appearance might lead you to believe.”

Granger smiled falsely at him. “Oh, of course! I’m sorry, sir; I forgot that vampires don’t age after the transformation.” She shifted her stack of parchment to uncover a new one, which she ostentatiously titled “Evidence Professor Snape is Not a Vampire.” Under it she jotted, “1. Looks old.”

Severus almost smiled. Sometimes in more recent years he had wished that Miss Granger had ended up in his house. She would have fit right in.

Weasley elbowed her, looking equal parts scandalized and terrified. “Hermione!” he said in a whisper that could be heard across the room.

Harry was looking at him with wide eyes, and he was not going to make eye contact and get swept away again. He brought his attention back to Miss Granger.

“Once you have made it through the suggestions I gave you,” he nodded to the top parchment in her stack, “let me know the names of Riddle’s contemporaries and I will arrange interviews for you.” Somehow. On top of everything else.

No, that was a task he could delegate to Narcissa. He made his own note.

“Right.” Her quill scribbled busily for a few minutes. “OK. I think that’s enough for this week. Can we make this a recurring meeting?”

A week? He’d given her at least a month’s worth of resources for any normal person.

“Make it half an hour later,” he said, fingers twitching with the desire to apply his spell. “I’ll set the time aside for you.”

“Thank you, sir.” Her smile was a relief; no negative memories were stirred up at all. “Come on, Ron, Harry. We need to get back to the library before it closes.”

Weasley gave a loud groan and followed her, but Harry hung back. Damn it.

Severus buttoned up his Occlumency as tightly as it would go and forcibly ignored the memories that tried to come up. He was not going to feel anything right now. He refused to meet Harry’s eyes, looking down and tidying the parchment on his desk instead.

“Was there something else?”

There was the briefest of pauses. “No, sir.”

Harry left, and Severus let himself collapse backward into his seat, his head thudding against the wall behind him. Almost without thinking about it, his wand slipped into his hand. He pressed it to his wrist.

Before he could complete the spell, though, there was another knock at the door.

“What?” he snarled, right hand flexing and tightening.

Draco had already opened the door and was coming into the room.

Sweet mother of mercy, I cannot deal with this. And if he was swearing by his father’s saints instead of his mother’s, things were really bad. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it and tried to think how to address an estranged mate. Dragon was far too intimate, after all. Draco? Mr. Malfoy? Absurd. He settled for merely saying, “Yes?”

He was hit with a memory of standing outside the entrance to Gryffindor tower, desperately determined. Clenching his jaw, he slid his wand away and gripped his right forearm with his left hand, digging the nails in between the tendons. It wasn’t as good as his spell, but it grounded him a bit. He wasn’t going to apologize; he knew firsthand that it didn’t do any good.

“Sev, I think… I think I just messed things up with Harry.”

The power of the memory receded a bit, and Severus relaxed his hold on his arm. So Draco was neither demanding an apology of him nor offering one; that was a relief. Concern for Harry was easier to deal with.

He ignored the headache that Magic thrust on him for the lie and said, “What exactly happened?”

* * *

Draco hesitated. Sev was obviously still angry with him, but he didn’t have anyone else he could go to for advice. His mother would eviscerate him, and everyone was trying to keep his father and Harry as far apart as possible until Harry calmed down a bit and they could deal with the whole Death Eater thing. So he forged ahead. “That first year Vanity got caught by some Gryffindors, and we were stopping them.”

“Mr Malfoy, you have been warned repeatedly...”

Oh, hell, no. Not happening.

“Shut up. That’s not the point here.” It didn’t matter how mad Sev was, Draco was not letting him pretend this was a school matter. “If you hear about it formally, you can schedule a disciplinary hearing then. Right now, as your mate, I’m telling you that our third is in serious trouble, because he saw me roughing up some Gryffindors and I think he got the wrong idea.”

Severus’ expression didn’t change, but at least he dropped the Head of House voice. “What exactly did he see? What did he say?”

“He didn’t say anything, but the look on his face…” The memory made Draco shiver. “I don’t know what he saw - or what he thought he saw. I looked up and he was there, and then he - no, wait, we left. He just stood there.”

Sev seemed to be shivering too. And his response was the last thing Draco wanted to hear. “I suggest apologizing. As soon as possible.”

Draco groaned. “I know that. But what am I supposed to say? ‘I’m sorry I protected the younger students in my House? I’m sorry your House is full of jerks and you caught me dealing with it?’ I didn’t do anything to him, but he felt like I had. I think. Stupid empathy gets overloaded when I’m the one making someone feel things.”

He looked up sharply. “Speaking of which, I’m still feeling awful, even though it’s just the two of us. What is up with you?”

Sev visibly stiffened, grabbing his arm in a gesture that should have been familiar but seemed off. It took Draco a second to realize he was gripping his right arm instead of his left. “It doesn’t matter.”

Did he want another fight? Because if so, Draco was happy to oblige him. Maybe this one wouldn’t leave them in such a mess. He leaned forward across the desk, deliberately getting into Sev’s personal space. “And why exactly would it not matter that one of my mates looks like he’s going through hell?”

Suddenly Severus was back to being the acerbic Head of House brusquely ordering an erring student back to his studies. “I’m sure you have more important things to worry about.”

Draco abruptly rose and stalked around the desk. “Hell, no. You’ve been ignoring me for days, and normally I’d demand a good fucking and let it go, but not this time. I am not letting go of this.” He pushed his way directly in front of Severus, blocking him so he couldn’t get up and throw him out again. “What the hell is wrong?”

Given how sick he felt, he was genuinely surprised that Severus managed to sneer at him. “It is not something I choose to discuss with you.”

“Unacceptable,” Draco snapped.

Severus was blinking as if he was struggling to focus on Draco. “What difference does it make to you?” Draco rather thought he was trying to sound dismissive, but it came out closer to desperate. Good. At least I’m getting through to him somehow.

He leaned down, close enough for a kiss. “It makes a bloody difference because I love you, you idiot.”

As he’d expected, Sev tried to get up, but with Draco trapping him between the desk and the wall, he didn’t have the leverage. Of course, he could have just hovered Draco out of the way, but he didn’t seem to be thinking clearly.

“I’m fine,” Severus said, and Draco didn’t know whether he wanted to laugh or cry at the absurdity of the lie. Maybe hit Sev, instead of either of them. That sounded good. “I’m handling it on my own. You need to worry about Harry, not me. He’s only responding to you, and if we lose that connection to him after what he saw - you know how fragile he is, if he tries to harm himself again…”

Draco shook his head. Sometimes he just didn’t understand his mate at all. “What good will it do to help Harry if you’re tearing yourself apart in the meantime?”

And then he flinched back, because Sev’s eyes went absolutely dead.

* * *

What good would it do? This memory did not need any help from Magic; it had wounded him and goaded him at the same time for too many years to ever let it slip far from his mind. What good would that do anyone?

Automatically he fell back into the patterns he had built out of the rubble left after his life was destroyed, the only things that had kept him moving and living not almost fifteen years ago. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in: What good? Breathe out: No good. Find the next step. The next words.

He looked up at Draco. “You’re right. Of course. What good would that do?”

“Sev…” But Draco’s voice was uncertain now, and he backed up, freeing Severus.

“I’m all right now.” He held off from saying Dragon, still not sure whether he had the right, and knowing that rejection might shatter him. One step. Stay safe. Take only the next step.

He stood, and Draco stepped back to give him room. “Sev, what did I say?”

Severus managed to pull together a tiny hint of a smile. “You said what I needed to hear. I was being foolishly self-indulgent. We need to focus on our third right now. I will try to reach out to him again. We’ve had a few… slightly less hostile interactions lately.” An overstatement. But pulling his mind back into analytical mode was helping. One step, then the next. “But you have a better relationship with him, at least up until this point. You need to at least try.”

Draco looked frustrated - and Severus realized fleetingly that he wasn’t getting any memories to confirm that, it was only his knowledge of his mate’s expressions. Don’t count on it. Don’t expect anything. Just survive each moment.

Severus rested a hand on his shoulder for just a moment, not daring anything more. “I’m all right,” he repeated, more firmly this time. “One thing at a time. Let’s focus on Harry right now.”

“Fine.” Draco glared at him. “But don’t think this means I’m not going to insist that you tell me what’s going on.”

He almost smiled at the intensity of that statement, resigned to the knowledge that it wouldn’t last. Draco would forget. They always did. As long as he kept up with his work, they decided he was fine and left him alone.

Alone. That was all he wanted right then.

“Go look for Harry,” he said. “I’ll wait in the room in case he goes there. We should both try to talk to him this evening.”

Draco was obviously reluctant, but he went. Severus began tidying his desk to give himself an excuse not to leave yet. He almost had his wand out when Draco turned back at the door.

“I mean it. I’m not forgetting about this,” he said. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to deal with Harry and you, but I will find a way.”

He stepped out, and this time, Severus managed to remember to ward the door.

Chapter Text

“There you are.” The voice from a side corridor startled Harry into almost jumping. Automatically, as he turned to face it, he stepped back into the first position of the dance and got a grip on his wand, though he didn’t draw it.

“Draco,” he acknowledged. There went his plan of sleeping under the invisibility cloak in an empty classroom to avoid his mate. He was going to have to deal with this situation after all.

Draco did not look happy. “Look, we’ve been over this. You know I’m not going to do anything to you. So you saw me putting a couple of Mudbloods in their place; that doesn’t mean-”

The word Mudblood hit him like a punch in the gut, and he realized that he had, illogically, been trying to tell himself that it hadn’t been that bad, that he’d misunderstood something, that Draco wasn’t the same Malfoy he’d hated for all those years. Well, now he knew. Draco - Malfoy - was just the same as he’d always been. And Harry was his mate. What did that say about him, that Magic thought they belonged together?

His arm twitched with the desire to fire a curse. But he couldn’t do that. He had to live in the same room as Malfoy; he couldn’t attack him. He tried to keep his voice steady as he said, “Don’t say that word.”

“Fine,” Malfoy said, sounding put upon. “The point is, I’m sorry.”

Harry stared at him, wondering why such an obvious token apology sounded... oddly sincere. Malfoy definitely wasn’t sorry about beating up Gryffindors. Sorry that Harry had caught him? Probably. He had been trying very hard to make Harry think he was safe. This must have messed up whatever grand plot he’d been working on.

Whatever the plot had been, Harry had fallen for it, like the fool that he was. He’d wanted to believe that his new mates weren’t so bad. After all, they weren’t treating him like Blaise and Theo had, and Draco had actually started to convince him that they never would. But apparently he’d wanted to go beyond that and believe that they were actually good people. That maybe being mates with them was a sign that he wasn’t incapable of being part of a halfway decent family relationship.

Magic must be laughing at his stupidity.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said with resignation. “Malfoy. I shouldn’t have expected anything else.”

Malfoy’s eyes darkened. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he snapped.

Harry bit his lip. Draco won’t hurt me. The thought had almost become automatic, after all the time Draco had spent harping on it. But now it made him feel bitter. He just expects me to let him hurt other people.

He pulled on the acting skills he’d developed over the last year and shrugged. “Just that you’re a Slytherin and I’m a Gryffindor. I hadn’t been thinking about it, that’s all.”

“Come on, just because some members of your House were picking on a Slytherin first year and I did something about it…”

“You mean three adults went and beat up a couple of twelve year olds?” Damn it, what had happened to his instincts about when to keep quiet? They seemed to have disappeared this weekend.

“We can’t just let bullies attack them because of their House!”

Harry knew he should keep his head down, agree vaguely, and move on. But he couldn’t, not with a statement like that. He stared directly into Malfoy’s eyes. “No. We can’t.”

Malfoy actually growled. Harry waited, taking a tighter grip on his wand, though he didn’t know if he would actually use magic. He’d only pulled his wand on Blaise and Theo once; that had prompted them to buy the collar. So far, he’d been defiant and rude, but that probably would only get him a beating if he’d finally pushed his mate too far; drawing his wand would land him in a whole new level of misery.

But he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop himself.

Malfoy rolled his eyes and stepped back, holding up his empty hands. “Calm down, all right? Just because we disagree doesn’t mean I’m going to attack you. For fuck’s sake, you’d think you’d have gotten over this by now.”

Harry forced himself to release his wand. Draco was right; he should have been over this sort of thing. Why did he keep overreacting?

It was confusing, that was why. There were too many versions of Draco Malfoy in his head: Malfoy beating people up in the hall, beating Harry up, mocking him and his friends, Draco telling him that he was safe, reassuring him when he worried, Malfoy spitting slurs, attacking Ron, wishing Hermione would die, Draco hugging him, telling him to stop being an idiot because no one was going to hurt him anymore… He couldn’t make sense of it. What was his mate really like? Why had Magic put them together?

“Just because some of your House are bastards doesn’t mean I’m going to take it out on you. You’re one of us now.”

The words were like a blow to the face. He’d been trying so hard to deny it, but Draco believed it too: he wouldn’t have been mated to them unless he belonged with them - unless he was like them.

“I am not!” He hadn’t intended to say the words; it was more like they were ripped from him, a desperate rejection of the whole situation.

Malfoy glared at him. “Will you stop being an idiot? Of course you’re-”

A sound startled them both into turning, but all they saw was the trailing end of a robe turning the corner. At least it reminded Malfoy not to start talking about their relationship in public. “We can’t discuss this in the hall. Come on.”

Harry took a step back. “I have something else I need to do here.”

“At curfew? Across the castle from where you’re supposed to be?”

Harry knew he couldn’t walk away with Malfoy right now, as if everything were fine between them. His control was slipping; he couldn’t handle any more of this.

“Leave me alone, all right?” It came out desperate and angry. “Just - go away and let me be!”

Malfoy glared at him, pale cheeks flushed with spots of red. “Fine! I’ll leave you to be just as alone as you like! Maybe that will give you a chance to figure out where you mislaid your common sense.” He turned away. “Let me know when you’re able to actually hold a conversation.”

Harry watched him stalk off before he returned to the Fat Lady’s portrait, trying to compose himself.

“Coming back, dear?” she said in surprise. “You don’t belong here at this hour.”

Harry hid his wince as he gave her the password. I don’t belong anywhere.

“Harry!” Ron and Hermione said in surprise as he stalked back into the room.

“I thought of something else,” he said, trying to act normal. They won’t notice, a bitter thought whispered. They never do. “I want to rejoin the DA.”

It was the first thing that came into his head, but as soon as he said it, he knew it was a good idea. At least he could do something positive.

Ron lit up, but Hermione looked worried. “Are you sure?” she asked. “I mean, I understood why you stopped - aren’t you worried about people finding out?”

“I’ll handle it,” he said. Malfoy wasn’t going to catch him off guard again. “And I want to bring the younger students in. The first and second years.”

“But they can’t handle battle spells,” Ron protested.

“They can learn something,” Harry said, thinking of Narcissa and her talk of private tutors to make up for useless Defense professors. All the Slytherins probably had that kind of help. “They need to know how to defend themselves, too.”

“You understand Defense best, Harry,” Hermione said. “I’m sure you’ll think of something to teach them.” She dug in her bag and passed him a coin. “I’ll make some more tonight and we’ll start inviting the younger kids tomorrow. The next meeting’s on Tuesday, but I doubt we’ll have it organized by then. Next week, though, I’ll have a group for you. But don’t forget to help us, too!”

“Yeah, we want you working with us, not just babysitting,” Ron added.

Harry tried to smile at their obvious enthusiasm. It was hard. “I’m beat, and it must be practically curfew. Mind if I crash here for the night?”

Hermione frowned. “I’m not sure you should-”

“Oh, one night won’t matter,” Ron said. “I’d offer you a bed, but yours disappeared a while ago.”

“That’s fine.” Harry flopped down on a couch and closed his eyes. “This is comfortable.”

He pretended to drift off to sleep as Hermione dropped a throw blanket over him and then cast a silencing ward. It was a nice gesture, but it left him with entirely too much quiet.

Stop thinking about it, he told himself, trying to stop himself from tossing and turning. Think about something else. Tomorrow I’ll… Shit. I’ll have that lesson with Narcissa that got rescheduled. And I didn’t practice today.

Great, now he had two things to worry about. He was never going to get any sleep.

* * *

Narcissa stopped him halfway through the dance when a misaimed hex shattered a mirror. “Harry, dear, what is wrong?” she asked as she deftly repaired the damage.

He shrugged, not looking at her. “Nothing,” he started to say, but he could tell she wouldn’t believe it. He scrambled for something else. “I didn’t actually practice every day this week. I’m sorry.”

“Hmm.” He could feel her staring at him, even if he refused to look up and see it. “Has my son been giving you any trouble?”

Dangerous. He wasn’t going to insult Draco to her and lose what goodwill she had toward him. She probably approved of him beating up kids in the halls; she was a Slytherin, too, after all.

“Draco hasn’t done anything to me, Narcissa,” he said as reassuringly as he could. It’s technically true, so maybe she’ll believe it. Then he realized how Slytherin that thought was and felt sick to his stomach. Was Magic right about where he belonged, then? Had the Hat been right at his Sorting? Was he really a Slytherin at heart?

“Would you prefer a live duel?”

That got Harry to actually look at her. She was smiling at him as if she had no concerns at all. Maybe he’d convinced her?

The offer was enough to make him stop worrying about what she thought. They’d duelled at the end of the lesson last week, and although he’d gotten his ass soundly kicked - and recognized that Narcissa was deliberately going easy on him, at that - it had been wonderful. The way he was feeling, he could use any good experiences he could get.

“I’d like that.”

The duel lasted much longer this time; he could tell Narcissa was spinning it out, giving him more time to think about his spells and using only the weakest jinxes against him in return. Even at the slower pace, half the time he wasn’t using steps from the dance at all, and almost none of his spells were chosen because they began with the appropriate wand movement. He didn’t care. With every nerve on edge preparing for the next strike, every muscle protesting the way he wrenched his body around, there was no room for worrying about what his mates’ behavior said about him. Every thought was centered on what he was doing, and it felt amazing.

When Narcissa finally knocked him down with a Petrificus, he simply lay there after she cancelled the spell, dragging air into lungs that burned. He heard her heels clicking on the floor as she walked over to him but didn’t open his eyes.

“Are you all right, dear?” she asked, bending down to brush the sweaty hair out of his face.

He managed to crack his eyes open and smile at her. “’M fine.”

She offered him a small pot of bruise balm; he pushed himself up to sitting and accepted it, checking his arms and legs for spots that needed it. He had no idea where he’d gotten most of the bruises and small cuts he found, but he enjoyed watching them disappear as he rubbed the balm into them.

He capped it and handed it back, and Narcissa slipped it back in her pocket. “What do you need to work on most?” she asked as she offered him a hand up.

Harry bit his lip, wondering. Hesitantly he said, “I know I need to practice matching steps and spells but… could we duel again? Maybe at the end?”

She surveyed him appraisingly for a moment before her brilliant smile broke out. “We can spend today focused on duelling, if you prefer. But!” She held up an admonishing finger. “I expect you to practice matching the correct spell with each step of the dance, at speed, during your practice sessions this week.”

It felt good to honestly smile. “I promise. I’ll do an hour every day.” It was the only thing not turning to shit in his life currently. He’d practice duelling every spare moment he got if it would stop him from being miserable.

“Pick a single spell to go with each step, and get that up to speed without thinking,” Narcissa said. “We can move on to making choices on the fly later. Now, for this duel, try to keep to the steps you’ve learned. Use whatever spells come to mind, but watch your feet.”

He raised his wand and stepped back into the first stance. She smiled at him again before sending a Cutting Curse his way.

He relaxed into the motion once again.

* * *

When his mother’s delicately-colored Palisades owl found him after dinner, Draco would have groaned if he hadn’t been in public. “Thanks, Aphrodite,” he said glumly as he accepted the letter she offered him. She preened his hair with her beak for a moment before taking off for the Owlery. Draco carried the letter back to his room without opening it and flung it on his desk, glowering at the envelope.

Finally he unfolded the letter and sighed. It was exactly what he’d expected:

Darling,

What have you done to your mate?

Mother

Which one, Mother? he thought, crumpling the letter in his fist. They’re both being idiots. You never have to deal with this kind of thing from Father.

Although, now that he thought about it, the arguments about whether to send him to Hogwarts or Durmstrang had gotten pretty intense… But nothing like this.

Suddenly the room felt too confining. It wasn’t like he had any reason to stay there; neither of his mates had shown up in the past two days, not even to sleep.

Well, if they were going to avoid each other, he could go along with that. He headed back toward the dungeons.

The Common Room was full of studying first and second years and their mentors, creating a soft hum of quiet conversations about tricky subjects. Draco slipped through without attracting much notice and headed for the stairs. He slipped behind the suit of armor on the first landing and into the dark tunnel.

The ceiling dropped almost immediately, forcing him to crawl on his hands and knees. Not for the first time, he wondered why no one ever expanded it. Sure, it preserved the secrecy, but if someone was poking around within the precincts of Slytherin House, something had gone wrong enough that the intruder finding this path was the least of their worries. But then, Slytherins had been crawling through this tunnel for generations, and undoing the tradition would have everyone up in arms.

At least it wasn’t long before the tunnel opened back up, just in time for him to stand before starting up the ladder-like stair. As he always did at about this point, he wondered if the whole thing was worth it.

But the first cave over the Black Lake always reminded him that it was. Generations of Slytherins had decorated it with mosaic tiles accented by gems, and even in the dim light of evening it glowed. He paused for a moment to enjoy it before making his way out to the cliff face.

Now, this part was fun. Some of the other kids complained about the lack of solid paths, but he was a Seeker; he enjoyed hanging precariously high up. Pulling himself along the path of hand- and foot-holds was second nature at this point, and his destination was one of the closer caves, almost directly above the Common Room.

He slipped inside and let his eyes readjust to the gloom before picking his way around the main soaking pool. It was hardly ever used except for big parties, and he made his way to the first offshoot cave to find a more comfortable setting.

The privacy marker wasn’t up, so he was surprised to find the pool occupied by a group of chattering girls: Daphne, Pansy, Daphne’s little sister, and a few others. He hesitated in the doorway.

“Draco!” Pansy cried, catching sight of him. “We haven’t seen you in ages!”

“You see me every day,” he pointed out, leaning against the door frame. “You didn’t have the privacy marker set up; is this one of your exclusive girls’ nights or what?”

“Even if it was, we might make an exception for you if you’re useful,” Daphne said. “Pansy keeps trying to do a new style, and my hair’s too curly for it. Let her do it on you instead.”

“Oooh, yes!” Pansy beckoned him over enthusiastically. “It’s been far too long since I’ve gotten my hands on your hair!”

Since it had been equally long since he’d had a decent scalp massage, Draco willingly shucked off his clothes and slid into the water between Pansy and Daphne. He closed his eyes in pleasure as she began combing his hair.

“Sooo,” Daphne said in a tone he knew too well. He deliberately stayed relaxed. He was not going to turn into gossip fodder. “Professor Snape has been on edge for weeks, and now you show up looking all lonesome. Trouble in paradise?”

He snorted. “There certainly would be, if I were stupid enough to tell you any such thing and Severus heard the school-wide rumors before breakfast tomorrow.”

“But Draco!” Daphne widened her eyes and leaned closer. “We can keep secrets!”

“In your own little clique, sure,” he said, since no one ever knew what the group of them was actually up to. “But I’m not forgetting that I’m not one of you.”

“Well then, we’ll just have to induct you into our sisterhood.” Daphne glanced around the group. “Hands, girls.”

They all shifted so that they could clasp hands in a circle. “Just a second,” Pansy said in a muffled voice.

Draco did jerk at that. “Are you holding my hair in your mouth?”

The grip on his hair shifted. “I didn’t have enough clips.”

“Then conjure some more, witch!”

“Pansy, we’ll count you as holding hands in spirit, OK?” Daphne interrupted. “Now, all together.”

“We hereby accept Draco as one of our sisterhood and swear to protect his secrets as he protects ours,” the girls chorused.

“Now you swear,” Daphne nodded at him.

Instead, he looked from one to another in confusion. “I know you made that up on the spot,” he said finally. “So how the hell did you all say it together like that?”

The younger girls dissolved into giggles, while Daphne stuck her nose in the air loftily. “That is a girls’ secret.”

“Help me with this, Daph,” Pansy said, and as they shifted around to do whatever it was they were doing to his hair, the chance to answer back was lost.

“So what is going on?” Daphne said at last, when Pansy released her from braiding detail.

Draco had been trying to decide what was best to say. At this point, if he refused to share anything, the retaliatory rumors would flood the school and make things worse. If he shared something innocuous and boring, however - maybe even asked them for advice - they were more likely to let it go.

So he sighed. “Oh, Severus is on his Housemaster high horse again. You know, when he lectures us about fighting and speaking foreign languages in the halls and saying ‘Mudblood’ and all that. He seems to think that just because we’re mates, I should agree with him.”

Perfect. Nothing that isn’t common knowledge, most of it is Slytherin House matters so they can’t talk about it outside the House, nothing juicy, and conveniently, it happens to be something vaguely close to the truth. Maybe talking about it will give me some ideas of what to do next.

“You’d think he’d know by now that he can’t stop you,” Pansy murmured, starting in on a new section of hair.

Draco remembered a little guiltily the lengths he’d gone to in order to hide what he was doing from his Head of House over the past five years. But then, it was really Harry he was talking about, and Harry knew perfectly well.

“But it’s not like breaking up with a boyfriend, Pansy,” Astoria protested. “I mean, when that Hufflepuff boy got annoying, I stopped seeing him, but they’re mates.”

Daphne rested her elbows on the edge of the pool and leaned her face on her hands. “It’s only another year till we’re out of here and it won’t matter. Maybe you should just go back to you sneaking around and him pretending not to know about it?”

“I don’t see that happening,” he said, thinking of Harry’s face. Oh, they might be able to go back to Harry tiptoeing around him and/or ignoring him, but that wasn’t what he wanted. He’d liked having Harry as… as a friend, at least, whatever else they might be to each other. He didn’t want to lose that just because Harry was being an idiot.

“So just stop, if it’s only for a year,” Roselia said with a shrug.

Daphne snickered, and Pansy snorted. “Draco? Stop proclaiming his superiority to Mudbloods, blood traitors, and every other non-Slytherin?” Pansy said. “I know you were only a first year when the whole Chamber of Secrets thing went down, but really.”

Draco glared at Daphne, since Pansy was conveniently out of his line of sight. “Look, just because I was an ass second year doesn’t mean…”

“Oh, yes, because you’ve grown up so much since then,” Daphne countered. “Mr. A-Hippogriff-Scratched-Me-So-I-Have-to-Get-My-Father-to-Have-It-Executed.”

“All right, so third year-”

“And those Potter Stinks badges were definitely not out of jealousy, not a bit,” Pansy continued.

Now his face was really flaming. “That’s not really the point.”

Finally, Astoria took pity on him. “Well, if he can’t change, and obviously Professor Snape won’t change, then they’re just going to have to figure out a way to deal with it.”

“Thanks,” he said drily. “That’s just what I needed to hear.”

Daphne nudged him with her shoulder. “Oh, come off it. You’re mates, after all. You’re meant for each other. Of course you’ll be able to work it out.”

“It must be wonderful,” Roselia said wistfully. She wasn’t sixteen yet, Draco realized, recognizing the look. She was still hoping for a soulmate.

He wished he could set her straight. Tell her about infuriating gifts, absurd expectations, being shut out of your mate’s life… Let her know that it was nothing to be longing for.

But of course he couldn’t. He couldn’t talk about his real situation, and they wouldn’t understand anyway. They just bought into the idea that mates were perfect for each other.

Maybe another mated person would understand, but who did he know in a similar situation?

“Done!” Pansy proclaimed, fetching a mirror with a wave of her wand and holding it for Draco. The hairstyle was elaborate and lovely, and didn’t work with his facial structure at all. The way it pulled away from his face emphasized his long nose and narrow chin. The Black look, his mother always called it, showing him photographs of her and her sisters…

“Brilliant!” he exclaimed as realization struck him like a bolt of lightning. “Thanks, Pans!”

He could feel Pansy and Daphne exchanging looks over his head. Pansy enjoyed doing his hair, but at least half the time she deliberately chose looks that were awful for him, because she enjoyed his frustrated outbursts just as much. Oh, well. She was going to have to go without today.

Just to mess with her, he didn’t take his hair down as he jumped out of the pool and headed for the pile of towels. “I’ll see you girls later. Thanks for the chat.”

“Does he think a new hairstyle will fix his problem?” he heard Roselia ask in an undertone as he pulled his clothes back on. “Should we tell him…”

“Oh, believe me, he knows,” Pansy said. He could feel her eyes boring into the back of his head as he left. He wondered what they would say after he was gone.

But he couldn’t spare much attention for that. All the way back to his room, he was working on composing the letter in his head.

Actually, two letters. But the first didn’t take long at all.

Dear Mother,

We had a bit of difficulty over interHouse politics. Don’t worry, I have it under control.

Draco

The second was much more complicated, and he expected to go through several drafts before he had something worth sending. He pulled out a stack of scratch parchment.

Dear Aunt Andromeda...

Chapter Text

It had been one of the better Slytherin House meetings (roughly defined as any meeting where their Head of House wasn’t furious with them), but not one of the fun ones where Severus stayed and hung out with them afterward. Draco told himself firmly that he didn’t mind that Sev hadn’t so much as looked at him during the meeting and focused on setting up a betting book for the contest Pansy was organizing.

So when Sev appeared next to him, he jumped in surprise. Severus didn’t speak, just gestured in a silent summons. Draco handed off the book and followed him out of the common room, keeping his head high and ignoring the stares and whispers. They wouldn’t have any reason to think he was in trouble. There was no reason for him to be in trouble, after all.

“What’s going on?” he demanded as soon as they were out of earshot.

Severus didn’t answer, but he started walking faster. Draco huffed in impatience. If Sev was just going to keep ignoring him, why had he dragged him out here?

That became clear when they entered the office and he found his mother sitting in a throne-like chair she must have transfigured out of the uncomfortable one Sev kept for students who bothered him.

Draco’s mouth went dry. “Mother,” he greeted her politely. He glared at Sev. He could have warned him! But Sev was sitting down at his desk and pulling out essays to grade as if nothing was going on.

“So,” his mother said, her voice ice-cold. “I find that I have vastly overestimated your cunning, Draco.”

He tried to keep his expression smooth, the way she had taught him. It wasn’t easy. “I don’t know what you-”

“Or perhaps it is merely your loyalty to your family that I misjudged,” she continued without letting him finish. “Perhaps you decided that if saving your family name and heritage required sacrifice of some of your pleasures, it wasn’t worth it. After all, you personally wouldn’t suffer for it, even if you ended the Malfoy line. What is that against the thrill of frightening children?”

Well, at least now he was sure she was talking about his fight with Harry. But why was she making such a big deal out of it? “It was just an argument, Mother.”

“Just. An. Argument.” Draco wasn’t sure he’d ever heard her so angry. It was hard not to shrink away from her when she rose from her seat to glare at him. “You have no idea what you’ve done, do you? The effort you’ve just destroyed, the danger you’ve put us all in? You utter fool.”

The contempt in her voice was like a blow. Draco swallowed hard against the urge to start babbling apologies. He was an adult, and his relationship with his mate was none of his mother’s business!

With a wave of her wand, she transfigured the chair into a child’s desk, complete with parchment and inkwell. “Sit down,” she ordered. “I am going to attempt to explain things simply enough that even you can’t mistake them. Take notes if necessary; I do not want to do this more than once.”

Seething, Draco sat obediently, though he deliberately ignored the note-taking materials. His mother stared at him, hands on her hips, for a long moment before she whirled and began pacing.

“Your grandfather,” she began, and Draco couldn’t help groaning. If this was starting three generations ago, he was going to be here all night.

She glared at him, and he remembered that she was furious enough that it was probably a good idea not to antagonize her anymore. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“Your grandfather,” she repeated, “believed that the best way to increase Malfoy power and influence was to ally our house with the Dark Lord. After his defeat, your father managed to preserve our wealth and standing in the new government. Now, with the Dark Lord’s return, we have been balancing our position in both areas.” She stopped pacing to look at him directly. “Do you follow this far?”

Draco resisted the urge to say something sarcastic. “Yes, Mother,” he said instead. It came out sounding impatient, but what did she expect? He’d heard this for as long as he could remember, and she was talking to him like he was four!

“Perhaps this comes as a surprise to you,” she continued, “but discovering that your mate is Harry Potter upset that balance. Our time supporting the Dark Lord is numbered, you do understand that? If we wish our line to continue, we must remove ourselves from him before he kills your mate. You were aware of this fact?”

“Yes,” Draco said through gritted teeth. It was just about the only thing Sev had talked about in the past month. He knew it was important, but they were handling it! Why was everyone in such a state over things when they knew exactly how to fix the problem?

“But apparently you have not bothered to consider what will happen to us when the Dark Lord is defeated. When Dumbledore’s faction takes control, what do you think will happen to the Malfoy family, the legacy you were born to protect?”

All right, so he hadn’t actually thought about it. “I assumed you would have it under control.” He meant it as flattery; it came out belligerent. He was still in school; he wasn’t supposed to have to deal with this sort of thing yet!

“And so I did, until you nearly destroyed everything,” she snapped. “I had assumed that as a Slytherin, a son of the Malfoys and the Blacks, you would have seen the solution and been working toward the same end. I relied on you as an ally, when I should have been guiding you as a child.”

Draco ground his teeth together but managed to keep silent.

“It may be that I expected too much of you. After all, you will survive whatever happens. No one will place the mate of Harry Potter in Azkaban. You can take your mate’s name, live on his wealth, abandon your heritage, and be perfectly safe. Was that your design? Sacrifice the legacy entrusted to you in order to be free to play at whatever childish games came into your head, instead of working with the rest of us to save it?”

“So what is your great plan?” Draco demanded, too angry to attempt to keep up appearances. “The one that is apparently so sensitive that I destroyed it by stopping some bullies?”

His mother shook her head. “I lay it out before you, and you cannot see it? The Sorting Hat has clearly failed.”

Before he could respond to that, she leaned forward, resting her hands on the tiny desktop in front of him. “There is a very simple solution. If your mate claims us as his family and takes our name as his own... Well. Who would deny Harry Potter - Harry Potter Malfoy - anything he wished? Who would take away his wealth in reparations, or besmirch the name he has chosen? We would not only be safe, we would be better off than we were before.”

Oh. Suddenly this all made a lot more sense.

“I had assumed that you understood that this was our end, and guessed the means we must use to pursue it. Since it seems that I vastly overestimated your intelligence, listen carefully. Your mate is a Gryffindor. We cannot negotiate an alliance with him by offering an exchange of benefits. He will make his choice based solely on emotion. Now, what is his emotional state?”

“Not very good.” Draco looked down. He was starting to see where this was going, and he didn’t like it at all.

“Not very good,” his mother echoed. She stepped back and closed her eyes. “Where did I go so wrong?” Her eyes opened, and she pierced him with a sharp stare. “Your mate has never had a family that cared about him. His adopted parents abused him; he came to Hogwarts and found friends, perhaps security, and then had it ripped away from him when he was forced into the soul dorms and his prior mates treated him worse than the people he was raised by. He has never had a family who cared about him, who took care of him, who were willing to meet his needs on a most basic level, let alone when it required effort or sacrifice from them.”

Draco glared back at her. “I know that. I felt all that, remember. I know better than you do how much it hurt him.”

HIs mother had her hands on her hips again. “And what conclusion do you draw from that knowledge?” she asked, not at all as if she expected him to have a coherent answer.

“That I need to help him trust that I won’t hurt him like that, which is what I’ve been doing!” He’d done a better job of it than Severus or his father, so why was it him she was laying into?

She tapped a finger against her chin. “Yes. And attacking those Gryffindors helped this how?”

Why did everyone keep harping on this? “It wasn’t that big a deal!”

Sighing, his mother shook her head. “You still don’t see it, do you?” She pursed her lips. “Perhaps what you fail to grasp is that his only knowledge of the Wizarding world has been framed by Dumbledore. By his worldview, every Slytherin, from the moment of their Sorting, is known to be untrustworthy, dangerous, and irrevocably inclined to evil. He believes that we make choices not out of calculation but out of spite and desire to dominate, that we are naturally inclined to fight against all that is good, and that we will turn on him at any moment.”

Draco glanced over at Severus, since he said roughly the same thing - though it was usually more diplomatically phrased - every time he reminded Slytherin House of the prejudice they faced whenever they left their dorms. But Severus had his head down, marking papers as if nothing else were going on in the room.

“I have been devoting all my attention and efforts to convince him otherwise. To show him that, whatever he may think of other Slytherins, our home and our family offer him a safe haven, the only one he has ever had.” Her voice rose. “And what do you do? You, my son, the one I relied on as my chiefest ally in this endeavor? In your selfishness and stupidity, you destroyed all that I have been working for in a single instant! You proved Dumbledore right!”

“I did not!” he protested. “I just-”

“You confirmed to him that all Slytherins are spiteful bullies with no redeeming qualities when you attacked younger members of his House!”

Her voice was practically a shriek, and Draco clamped his mouth shut on any response. He’d never seen his mother so visibly distraught: she was panting and her eyes were wild.

Taking a deep breath, she visibly resettled herself. “Here is what we are going to do,” she said calmly. “I am going to continue my lessons with Harry, acting as if I know nothing of what has happened. If I can coax him to tell me what you did himself, you can rest assured that I will impose a such a penalty that even with his background, he will recognize it as punishment for an action completely beyond the pale. Maybe that will reassure him that not all Slytherins condone such behavior.”

Draco gulped, remembering the secondhand pain he’d felt from his mate over the Christmas holidays. He was quite sure that whatever Harry had been punished for, it wasn’t “actions completely beyond the pale.” His parents had never hurt him, so he knew his mother wouldn’t do anything like that - but what would she come up with, that someone who had been treated like Harry would recognize it as a terrible punishment?

“Meanwhile,” she continued, “your next task must be done perfectly. You have to orchestrate a moment of reform. Show him that you recognize that the way you’ve behaved in the past was wrong and that you will change. And mark me well, Draco, it will be a true change, not merely an attempt to fool him while you continue your recreations behind his back. Until the war is over and our standing is once again secure, your actions must be unassailable. Is that clear?”

He wanted to protest. What will happen to the Slytherins if we let the Gryffindors walk all over us? We have to fight back, or we’ll be ground down. But he knew that it would be no use. There was no way she would listen to him, not right now. So he simply nodded.

“Go over your plans with me before taking any action; I no longer trust you to run such a campaign on your own. But we must act quickly, Draco. Our chances are slipping away.”

She turned away without waiting for his reply, gliding toward the door. “Severus,” she called over her shoulder. “Accompany me.”

Draco glanced at his mate as he walked by, hoping for some reassurance or at least some comfort. But Severus didn’t even look at him as he passed, leaving Draco alone.

Draco took immense pleasure in cursing the chair to matchsticks. Sev could transfigure it back, or replace it; he didn’t care. He just needed to destroy something.

When he finally stopped, panting, he sagged against the wall. A crinkling noise from his pocket reminded him of the letter he’d shoved there earlier. Slowly he drew it out and looked it over again, and something new stood out to him.

Aunt Andromeda had offered him her Floo address. He knew his mother had it - she called her sister a few times a year, and most Christmases he was trotted for presentation - but this showed that she respected Draco as an adult, someone she could treat with on his own terms and not through his mother.

It was more respect than anyone else showed him. He turned the letter over in his hands, thinking. The address was given as a gesture; he was perfectly well aware of that. She wasn’t actually expecting him to call her.

But he wasn’t going to just fall into line and invent a change of heart the way his mother insisted. He had a reputation to uphold, one that protected the younger Slytherins by making himself both the feared defender that deterred the weaker, and the target of those who weren’t afraid. He wasn’t going to stop that, no matter what his mother or Harry thought.

And Aunt Andromeda offered the best chance he had to find another solution. As a purebred Slytherin witch whose soulmate was a Muggleborn Hufflepuff, surely she’d faced similar dilemmas. And there was no reason anyone would have told her that she had to bow down and live according to her mate’s wishes!

He almost ran to the back room behind the office that held the Floo. Opening the wards for outgoing calls only took a moment, and he threw in the Floo powder and called out the address before he had time for second thoughts.

Speaking his name to Andromeda’s wards, he did wonder if she’d even accept his call. It wasn’t exactly polite to make an unscheduled approach like this, not in their tentative state of alliance. But before he could worry much about it, the green flames parted and he was looking out into a - kitchen?

The slate floors and large wooden table were unexpected, but the witch in the green dress seated before the hearth was not. Aunt Andromeda was not as striking as his mother, but their relationship was plain in their features; anyone would guess they were sisters. Draco smiled at her automatically.

“Well, nephew,” she said in a voice much deeper than his mother’s, and less polished. Had she deliberately adapted the accent of her Muggleborn mate, or had it happened gradually? “It is always a pleasure to see you, but I trust it is no disaster that brings you to my hearth so unexpectedly?”

“Not a disaster,” he said quickly. “Just… an annoyance. My mother has decided to intervene in my relationships.”

Andromeda raised an eyebrow. “And just what does Narcissa have to say about it?”

Draco scowled. “She says that because my mate is so much more important to our family name than I am, I should give in to all his whims and do whatever he wants.”

“I see.” She was studying him, but he was annoyed enough with the memory that he didn’t pay attention to the look on her face. “And what whim is it that you resent so strongly?”

“He thinks I should stop fighting with Gryffindors! How am I supposed to keep us safe if I just lay down for those bullies?”

Her eyebrows rose almost to her hairline. “Severus Snape has a problem with you fighting Gryffindor bullies?”

Shit. Shit, shit, fucking shit, what had he done? Somehow it had never occurred to him that even with Dumbledore’s charm forbidding him to speak, he could drop enough clues that someone could figure out who his new mate was.

For a split second he considered ending the call and running to Sev, telling him that they might be at risk of being found out… but no. His mother’s voice rang in his ears: “I no longer trust you to run a campaign like this alone.” He was not going to immediately prove her right!

After all, Aunt Andromeda’s mate was a Muggleborn. She couldn’t be loyal to the Dark Lord. His secret - if she figured it out, which she probably wouldn’t, because after all, it made no sense - was probably safe with her.

Probably.

While these thoughts raced through his head, he summoned up a smile. “As Head of House, he’s obsessed with Slytherin’s standing and reputation. He’s always lecturing us on how we need to keep from causing trouble.”

“Hmm.” Her eyes on him were sharp, and the lie that had seemed so plausible with Pansy and Daphne seemed less so under her gaze.

Then she blinked and released him. “Well, that is an unfortunate situation, but surely one that can be finessed. What keys do you have?”

“I… Sorry, what?” He was not using the manners his mother had drummed into him, but he didn’t even care.

“The keys to the puzzle. The core desires of those involved, so that we can create a truly elegant solution.” When he looked blank, she frowned. “Hasn’t Narcissa taught you this?”

“Um,” he said uncertainly. He wasn’t sure exactly what she was talking about, so he had no idea if he had learned it or not.

Andromeda sighed. “Come visit me over the holidays, nephew,” she said. “Your education has clearly been sadly one-sided.”

“That would be pleasant,” he managed to say noncommittally. He didn’t particularly want to spend time in a Muggleborn’s hovel, even if his mother’s sister managed to survive there.

To his relief, he dropped the topic. “In order to craft the correct solution, you need to know, not just what all the parties involved want, but why they want it. What will getting it mean to them? How does it fit with their self-conception? What basic desire does it feed or need does it fulfill?” She must have recognized that he still wasn’t following her. “Has Narcissa truly never mentioned this to you? She uses it constantly!”

“Maybe she thought I would pick it up on my own,” Draco suggested. It was true, now that his aunt had laid it out like that; his mother did do that kind of thing. He’d just never thought about it like that before.

“I suppose that does make sense,” Andromeda said. “She never was as interested in the frameworks and unifying concepts as I was. She may never have thought of it that way.” Her attention snapped back to him. “Be that as it may. This is what you need to do first. Find out exactly why this is important to everyone involved: your mate, your mother, and don’t forget yourself. Bring me your conclusions, and we’ll work through them together. Be sure you have some leverage on each person in case there is no easy path to agreement. Call me again when it’s done.”

“All right,” Draco agreed, his head already spinning. What exactly was Harry getting out of opposing him on this? He’d obviously been scared; he’d usually shut down when he was scared in the past, agreeing to absolutely anything Draco said. Why was this any different? “Thank you, Aunt Andromeda.”

“You are most welcome, nephew,” she said with a smile. “I look forward to your next call.”

Draco pulled his head out of the fireplace and replaced the wards before sneaking out of the room. Luckily, Severus wasn’t back yet. He headed down to the Slytherin dorms and the tunnel to the caves. The stargazing rock seemed like the perfect place to ponder this.

Chapter Text

It had been almost a week since he had seen either of his mates, and Harry was perfectly happy with that. If he hid in the Room of Requirement until after midnight, he could sneak into his room under the invisibility cloak without waking them, and there was plenty of time between Snape’s insanely-early rising time and Draco’s last-second-possible rolling out of bed for him to sneak out again. He figured that satisfied the bond, and if he was perpetually short on sleep, at least it gave him lots of time to practice his duelling. Narcissa would be impressed at his next lesson.

He was thinking about that as he left the Potions classroom and headed for the stairs, wondering if he should give up trying to figure out the roll he’d seen Narcissa doing in one of the more advanced dances. He slowed down to rub the bruises on his hip. Maybe he should just ask her to show him how to do it properly, but he wasn’t supposed to be learning it yet. It just looked so cool!

He was too distracted to notice that the rest of the class had moved ahead of him and he was alone in the hallway. When a Petrificus Totalus hit him from behind, he had no time to do anything. He crashed to the ground.

The levitation spell that got him next was done in a whisper, so he had no idea who was propelling him down a passage he hadn’t even known existed, but his stomach twisted with fear nonetheless. When he emerged in the hallway housing the soul dorms, he knew he was right, and panic flared. He struggled futilely against the spells holding him.

“Get the pendant on him before someone sees,” Theo hissed.

“Almost…” Blaise muttered, and Harry felt the cold weight against his neck. The Petrificus stopped his terrified reaction.

Then the spells were cancelled and he was shoved through the door, collapsing on the floor of the room he knew too well.

A heavy boot kicked him aside as Blaise and Theo walked in and locked the door behind them. His clothes were gone, his wand was gone, he couldn’t speak, he was helpless, again…

“I told you they’d get tired of it,” Blaise said smugly.

* * *

Severus set aside the scroll he’d finished and glared at the pile still waiting for him, wishing they’d spontaneously combust and spare him the effort of dealing with them. He’d been interrupted so many times in his office that he’d moved to their room to try and get something done, but they were breeding, he was certain of it. With all his other concerns at the moment, grading kept getting shoved aside, and now he was paying the price.

The door opened behind him, and he glanced back to see Harry easing his way inside.

His first reaction was annoyed relief. Harry had been avoiding them since his fight with Draco, but at least he’d been coming back at night to sleep. He hadn’t even done that the last two nights, and Severus was not looking forward to problems with the soulmate bond if he continued being stubborn.

But that was almost immediately displaced when he actually saw the way Harry was moving. He didn’t need Magic to bring back the memories - though of course it did - of trying to slip into the common room without anyone noticing him after Black and Potter had been roughing him up. It was obvious in the stiff way he moved, the shadows of bruises forming, and the way he flinched and then froze when he noticed Severus, hunching in on himself, eyes on the floor.

Automatically he cast a diagnostic charm and felt bile rise in his throat at the amount of damage Harry had sustained. Even the Marauders hadn’t been that vile.

Dumbledore was supposed to keep this from happening!

As soon as he thought it, he was appalled at his own stupidity. Of course Dumbledore wasn’t going to handle this properly. He was the one who had allowed the situation to occur in the first place. As soon as Severus found that out, he should have taken steps to make sure Harry’s abusers were incapable of touching him again.

I failed him. This time the memories were all his own, a list of the others he’d failed, who’d been hurt or killed because of him. He gritted his teeth against the onslaught and, lesser of two evils, reached out for the memories the soulmate gift had been trying to press on him instead. What had he wanted back when it had been him being attacked?

Please don’t let them notice me, please not another lecture on how I’m disgracing Slytherin, I hope I have some pain potions left and don’t need to brew more, my hands are shaking too much, how will I get past them… It wasn’t a particularly pleasant litany, but it did cut through the other voices in his head, the ones telling him how much of a failure he was and how unlucky anyone was to be his mate, and give him concrete direction.

He walked over to the potions cupboard instead of summoning anything. If Harry wanted to slip into the loo, he’d send the potions in after him without speaking to him.

But Harry was still frozen in place when Severus turned back around, so he walked over and offered the containers he’d selected.

“Bruise balm,” he identified when Harry glanced at the potions but made no move to take them. “Pain reliever. Muscle relaxant. And this,” he indicated the salve he’d had to fetch from his stores with a switching spell, “can be applied to… internal injuries.”

Very slowly, Harry reached out and curled his fingers around the offered containers. Severus stayed poised for an instant, certain he was going to drop them, but he managed to hug them to his chest without incident. Severus relaxed and turned back to his desk, but there was no sound of motion behind him.

Under cover of selecting another scroll to grade, he managed a glimpse of Harry out of the corner of his eye. He was still standing where Severus had left him, clutching the vials but staring at the ground.

What the hell? Severus let the soulmate gift search his memories, but the best it could come up with was a murky memory of Lestrange growling at him, We’ll teach you not to give Slytherin a bad name. He guessed that it wasn’t much like what Harry was feeling, but the closest Magic could get? At any rate, it seemed to indicate that Harry was afraid of his reaction.

“Go get yourself cleaned up,” he ordered brusquely, turning back to his work. He would give Harry what he’d never gotten, privacy to put himself back together without judgment.

To his relief, he heard Harry walk slowly to the loo. The door locked, the water turned on, and Severus shoved up his sleeve.

The pain wasn’t as effective a ground when he kept half his attention on the sounds from the loo, but it did allow him to force the guilt to the back of his mind. He could deal with that later. Right now his mate needed him.

But needed him to do what? That was the question. Severus was inclined to go back to his office, but he wasn’t certain that Harry would interpret that as respect and a promise not to interfere, the way a Slytherin would. If they had any sort of a real relationship, he ought to stay, but as things stood between them, he wasn’t at all certain that would help either.

Draco was supposed to deal with this kind of thing.

Well, since Draco had fouled up the whole endeavor, it came down to Severus to figure out some way to keep their mate in one piece.

With a sigh, he leaned back and closed his eyes, letting the magic of the soulmate gift drag him back into memory again. He’d felt like Harry often enough, after all. Perhaps some memory would give him a hint of how to help.

He slid through the door of the Common Room, keeping his back to the wall. A group of NEWT students sat around the fire, apparently chatting over their notes. Narcissa glanced up and noticed him. He swallowed hard and tried to stop from trembling. They were all going to see where she was looking in a moment, and then…

Then Narcissa tossed her hair and leaned into the group conspiratorially. “Did you hear about Alistair?” she said in a low voice.

Sensing gossip, the others leaned in as well. They paid no attention to Severus as he headed for the hall to his dorm.

Thank you, he thought as he glanced back at Narcissa, knowing she wouldn’t see the gratitude in his gaze but unable to stop himself. To give up the potential power a piece of gossip could’ve gotten her, just for him, was more kindness than he’d expected. He’d have to brew her something and leave it in her room as thanks.

Severus pulled himself free of that memory. I have done that, thank you, he thought irritably at Magic. And I will have to tell Draco, whether Harry wants me to or not. Isn’t there anything else?

The next memory was not a clear moment, but the slow awareness that had built in him over weeks in his fourth year as the potions he used for pain never seemed to run out. In prior years, he’d been brewing every other week; at that point, even though the Marauders had increased their bullying, he’d made it over a month without replacing them.

He remembered lifting a balm and surveying it appraisingly. For the first time, he’d noticed the drop pattern on the side that showed that someone had refilled it clumsily, without the precision he expected from himself.

His first instinct had been to assume it had been adulterated in some way, but quick testing didn’t show anything wrong with it. Cautiously he’d scooped some out and applied a quick touch to a bruise. It had worked perfectly.

Severus shook his head to dislodge that memory. He’d given Harry potions too, but what was he supposed to do now? What would help his Gryffindor mate?

”That toerag!” Lily raged, stomping up and down the classroom they were hiding out in. “I wish I could throw him in the lake and pretend it was accidental magic!"

They both knew it wasn’t an option. Her standing as a Muggleborn was too precarious to risk anything like what the rich pureblood Potter got away with on a daily basis. But it felt good to pretend.

”I’d brew something to turn his skin silver and his hair emerald green,” Severus said vindictively. “And then Vanish his clothes. In the middle of the Great Hall.”

Lily’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, I have a better idea!

Severus winced and pushed the memory away before it could hurt him any more. He’d done his best to forget those gripe sessions, back when it had been Sev and Lils Against the World. They’d both done what they had to to survive, and even if he hated himself for it every day, he couldn’t blame her. She’d had to stop their meetings when those beasts had started finding them every time, or things would’ve gotten worse for her. Even if it had led to the widening gap between them, and their eventual falling out.

But after he’d carefully tucked that pain away with the guilt, he realized that that memory was something he could actually use. Even better, he was in a position to carry out some of Harry’s ideas for revenge. They couldn’t do much, not until they were free from Dumbledore, but as their Head of House he had every right - no, responsibility - to make Zabini and Nott absolutely miserable for the rest of the term.

He tested his Occlumency shields one more time to be certain that his own guilt wouldn’t surface for a few hours at least. Right now he needed to focus on Harry and try to help his mate as best he could.

* * *

Harry spent as long in the loo as he dared. Even though the water hitting his body made him hiss in pain, he let it run over him until it started to chill. Then he very slowly rubbed the various balms all over; he was practically coated before he was done. He left the “internal injuries” one strictly alone, both because he couldn’t apply it with the thing Theo had left in him and because just looking at it made him flinch. After all, it meant that Snape knew exactly what had happened, and if he did…

Once again, he wrenched his mind away from that train of thought. Whatever was going to happen, would happen, and worrying about it wouldn’t change anything.

But his hands were shaking as he pulled on his clothes. He didn’t want to walk back out there and face whatever was coming. The medicines had worked; most of him wasn’t in pain anymore, which gave Snape a blank canvas for whatever punishment he was planning.

Biting his lip hard, he shoved the door open and forced himself to step out. Snape was still sitting at his desk, but his quill stopped when the door opened and he looked up. Harry looked down and increased the pressure on his lip, wondering how hard he had to press to actually draw blood. He felt like he was close to that point now.

There was a moment of silence that felt everlasting. Then Snape said slowly, “Was there a problem with the potion?”

Harry gulped. Ungrateful freak, after all we’ve done for you… “No, sir,” he whispered. Speak up, freak! “I’m sorry. Thank you very much for the potions.”

“Then why are you still in pain?”

Oh, God, please, get him out of here, he didn’t want to do this! Snape knew, he knew everything, and it was going to be just like Blaise and Theo had said, and he’d thought he was safe here, where was Draco? No, Draco wouldn’t keep him safe anymore, he knew that, that was the whole problem. He’d been ungrateful and greedy and he’d lost that protection and now he was in for it…

“Harry.” He closed his eyes,not wanting to see what happened next. “Tell me why you’re still in pain and let me help you, and I swear I will leave you alone for the rest of the night. Is that an acceptable agreement?”

He couldn’t trust it, of course, but Snape would find out anyway. He was supposed to have gotten in here and patched himself up without anyone noticing, and he’d failed that. He supposed it was no worse than what Blaise and Theo would have done to him when he went back.

“Please take it out.” Damn, he hated begging, but sometimes it was the only option. Trying not to think about what he was doing, he pulled his clothes aside and dropped to all fours. “Please.”

He heard Snape’s chair scrape across the floor and lowered his head to rest on his clenched fist. He was shaking.

“Is this… thing made entirely of wood?” Snape asked, his voice tight.

What kind of a question was that? “Yes, I- yes, it is.”

There was a quiet spell and the pressure inside him vanished. He couldn’t help the sigh of relief, even if he knew the pain was only going to come back. He flinched at the cleaning spell, but was surprised by the gentle warmth of the lube spell that came after. Breathing deeply, he braced himself.

Instead of pain, he heard the chair moving across the floor again. Did Snape want him in some other position? He sneaked a glance around. Snape was… sitting at his desk, writing again? Harry stared, trying to make sense of that.

Then Snape turned, and his eyes caught Harry’s. Quickly, Harry turned away, furious with himself at being caught staring and making things worse.

“Get up and fix your clothing.”

The sharp command startled him so much that he couldn’t stop himself. “But aren’t you going to…”

He could imagine the expression of disgust on Snape’s face, just from hearing his voice. “What, is the sight of your naked backside supposed to send me into a frenzy of unbridled lust?”

“No,” Harry said quickly. “It’s just that Blaise and Theo said, if you knew I’d been… whoring around…”

There was a beat of complete silence. “Get dressed,” Snape ordered sharply. “Then we will discuss what to do next.”

Feeling lightheaded from confusion, Harry obeyed. Snape continued scratching out comments on student essays as if he thought of nothing else, but he was obviously paying attention, because as soon as Harry was dressed, he dropped the quill and stood. Harry forced himself to stand still, arms at his sides, but Snape brushed past him and sat in his armchair. He raised an eyebrow at Harry, who hurried to sit in his own chair.

“Now.” Snape leaned back, the picture of calm. “Have you any suggestions as to what you would like to happen to Nott and Zabini? Some things may have to wait until we are out from under Dumbledore’s thumb, but there is no harm in planning ahead.”

Harry tried to figure out what he meant by that. Was this some sort of bizarre ‘eye for an eye’ trick? Whatever he suggested be done to them was going to be done to him? “I- I don’t know.”

Snape sighed and closed his eyes. Harry tried to wait patiently, but he was feeling more and more anxious, and the words burst out of him. “What are you going to do to me?”

Snape’s eyes snapped open. “What are you talking about?”

“My- my punishment. For…” he hated to say it again, but it was the only thing that came to mind, maybe because of the way Theo had said it, with vicious pleasure. “Whoring around.”

“I must be laboring under a misapprehension,” Snape drawled in his most cutting way. “Correct me. I had assumed that you were ambushed, immobilized, and tortured, probably for at least two days. Were you in some way responsible for that?”

“No, but…” Harry couldn’t think of anything to say.

“But what?”

“They said that if you found out, you’d, um, have to make sure I knew who I belonged to, and, um…”

“Spare me any more of their subpar attempts to make you hide what they’d done,” Snape snapped. “How did they expect you to get that thing out on your own?”

“They said… they said I’d have to come back and beg them…”

“I will have to remember to congratulate them.” Harry flinched. “It has been nearly a decade since a student has done anything so egregious that I have doubted my ability to come up with a fitting consequence.”

Harry huddled smaller in his chair.

“For Merlin’s sake,” Snape muttered. Then he spoke loudly and slowly. “I am not going to hurt you. I am not going to punish you. You did nothing wrong. Do you understand?”

“But…”

Snape waited, but Harry couldn’t think of anything else to say. The word hung in the air, the silence between them growing more and more awkward.

Finally, Snape said, “I will go and mete out whatever pale shadow of justice Dumbledore will allow me, then.” He hesitated. “It would be extremely helpful to know the next time one of them makes eye contact with you, so that I can emphasize the extent of their mistake. Perhaps you could see your way to letting myself or Draco know?”

Harry nodded, but from the look on Snape’s face, he didn’t believe him.

“Try leaving a note,” Snape suggested. “Just a name will be enough.”

Harry nodded again.

Snape stood, but stopped again. Harry ducked his head to avoid his gaze.

“I apologize, Harry.”

Without meaning to, Harry jerked his eyes up to Snape’s face.

“That you were treated so abominably by your supposed mates was bad enough, but for me to believe that Professor Dumbledore would keep you safe from them was inexcusable. I apologize for not taking action earlier. It will not happen again.”

Before Harry could answer, if he could have come up with an answer, Snape went on in his usual tone of voice. “You should rest. I will have dinner sent up. Draco and I will sleep elsewhere; you can set your own wards in addition to mine to be certain no one will disturb you tonight.” Then he swept out the door, and Harry felt the defensive wards locking him in.

He sat frozen, waiting for Snape to come back and… something. Something that made more sense.

He hadn’t had any reason to doubt Blaise and Theo. They knew a lot more about soulmate bonds than he did, after all, since they’d grown up in the Wizarding world. And they’d seemed sure of what would happen if he failed to hide what had been going on.

”Even though they obviously don’t want to touch it, if they find out it’s been wandering, they’ll have to put it in its place. No mate will put up with their submissive letting other people take it.”

They’d gone into brutal detail while he did his best not to listen. And Snape had every reason to do even worse than they had suggested. After all, with how he’d been avoiding his mates, Harry still hadn’t been punished for losing control and trying to kill the man. Shouldn’t Snape be taking his revenge for that?

It was one thing to believe that Snape was enough afraid that Harry would kill them all to give up the pleasure of beating him senseless every time he misstepped. That had seemed too good to be true, but Snape had consistently ignored him for a month. Harry couldn’t think of any other explanation for that.

But now Snape had a Magic-sanctioned reason to punish him. The soulmate bond shouldn’t have let him ignore this, and with all the reasons he had to hate Harry, he’d expected to be in agony and begging for unconsciousness.

Instead, Snape had healed him. He’d said what happened wasn’t Harry’s fault. He’d apologized.

No matter how he thought about it, it didn’t add up.

Draco. He needed Draco to make sense of this. He had to apologize to Draco, beg him to take him back and keep him safe from Blaise and Theo and Snape and everyone Draco had been protecting him from. He should never have defied him.

He could feel his heart pounding in his throat as he shot to his feet. He had his hand on the doorknob when he felt the pressure of the defensive wards Snape had put up.

He froze, suddenly cold to his core. He was in danger out there. If he couldn’t find Draco fast enough… If Draco wouldn’t accept his apology…

He shivered and rubbed his arms. He had to stay. But he couldn’t go back to sitting still.

Without really thinking about it, he pulled out his wand and moved into the first stance of the dance. His muscles immediately screamed with pain. There was only so much the potions he’d used could do, and he knew that if Madam Pomfrey had seen him, she’d have ordered him to stay in bed for at least a day.

He knew, but he didn’t care. He’d forced his body to move through pain plenty of times. At least this time it was to do something he chose, something he enjoyed, instead of something like doing yard work with broken bones. And he had more potions he could use afterwards.

A sharp pain shot up his left ankle when he forced his foot straight; whatever healing the balm had imparted, he’d just undone it. Grimly, he kept the foot in line with his knee anyway. He’d have to fight through pain in battle, after all. He might as well practice now.

He knew his footwork was sloppy, despite his best efforts, and it took him too long to remember a spell for each step. But despite the pain that made him gasp and stumble, and the guilt for doing it wrong when Narcissa put such an emphasis on precision, it felt so good to move freely. He overdid the arm movements, accidentally setting off a couple of spells that were more powerful than he’d expected, just to feel that he wasn’t restrained any more. He could move, he could fight, and it felt like he breathed for the first time in two days.

When the dance ended, he collapsed to the ground, only dimly aware of the tears streaming down his face. He wasn’t sure how long he lay there, letting the cool stones beneath him leach away the pain. Finally, he pulled himself up enough to stagger back to the loo and get the potions. He needed some relief if he was going to run through the dance again before dinner.

Chapter Text

Severus slammed the door open, taking vindictive pleasure in the way Nott and Zabini jumped to their feet in shock. He ignored their confused attempt at a polite greeting and raised his wand. “Accio vestigia Harry Potter.”

Containers opened and shut as all the items in the room that had touched Harry recently flew into a pile at his feet. Severus forcibly kept the supercilious sneer on his face that he used when pulling contraband out of the dorms, even though what he really wanted to do was to Incendio the lot of it, as well as Zabini and Nott themselves.

The last item was a necklace that positively reeked of dark magic. He caught it in his hand instead of letting it fall to the pile. This needed to be looked into more closely. Then he vanished the pile in front of him and turned his glare on the young men cowering before him.

“My office. Fifteen minutes,” he ordered, and stalked out before they could gather what wits they had and start questioning him.

He examined the pendant he’d taken from them as he walked. It was clearly Dark, with compulsion spells that would prevent it being removed once it was put on, and other compulsions that were not as obvious and that he didn’t have time or inclination to read deeper into. The spells to imbue an object with so much dark magic would have been expensive, and he doubted the boys had gotten their parents’ help to torture their mate…

He entered his office and dropped the necklace on his desk upside down. Ah. He smiled slightly in satisfaction. The shoddy workmanship was revealed here, at a close look: the design was meant to hide the fact that the pendant was made of two half-circles joined together around the stone, instead of being forged in one piece with the spells imbued as a better-made item would have been. This was clearly a temporary thing, not a Dark heirloom.

And that left weaknesses to exploit.

Carefully warding his desk to keep any adverse effects from coming out of control, he carefully drew his wand down the join of the pendant, softly murmuring spells. The silver peeled apart behind his wand, letting the stone fall free as the two halves separated. The pendant was spelled against destruction, of course, but he wasn’t precisely destroying it, just returning it to an earlier state, as a craftsman might have to do to effect a repair. The spells settled; clearly, they had been linked to each separate piece instead of the pendant as a whole. Shoddy. It was quicker and easier to set a different spell on each piece and then stitch them together, but it was poor craftsmanship, as evidenced by how easily he tore it apart.

But the spells were still able to be sensed, even if he wasn’t sure whether they would work. Quickly he severed the chain to create two necklaces with crescents of silver and a ruby. It took only a moment to reassemble the pieces in the shape of the original necklace, and he finished just before the knock sounded on his office door.

The door opened with a wave of his hand; he continued casting analysis spells at the jewelry in front of him while the two made their way slowly to stand before his desk. He waited a long moment before he looked at them. On the surface, this was nothing but an intimidation technique, one that he often used because it was so effective. They couldn’t know that he was shoving icy rage behind Occlumency shields, forcing himself into the persona he used in Death Eater meetings. My master would be displeased if I killed these idiots, he reminded himself. I will be restrained.

Finally, when he felt confident that his mask wouldn’t crack, he raised his eyes to theirs. They were already trembling. Fools.

“So.” Zabini took a half step backward at that one word, obviously recognizing what Nott did not. Severus always began a chewing-out by addressing his male students as “gentlemen;” a sign of respect and a reminder that he expected them to live up to it. Trust the son of the Black Widow to immediately notice and understand the departure from the norm. “I’m sure you have surmised that your pathetic attempts at subterfuge had failed. It is painfully clear to me that you have not absorbed any of the lessons I have tried to teach you over the past six years.”

They were both silent, but Nott was fidgeting. Severus had never seen that behavior from him before.

“Let us review the childhood lessons you missed. What are the steps to achieve a goal?” he barked.

Both of them straightened automatically and began the recitation they had memorized in their first year and reviewed ever since. “Determine not just your aim, but why it matters. Count the cost and verify that it’s commensurate.”

Severus leaned forward slightly; the recitation cut off at once. “Can you possibly justify to me your pursuit of this goal?” he demanded icily. “What did you imagine it would bring you that was worth the risk you ran?”

He could see Nott swallow before he was able to speak. “No, sir,” he said, Zabini a beat behind him.

“No.” Severus ran a finger along the chain of the pendant on the desk. “Continue.”

“Envision the worst possible results and create plans to neutralize them.”

“And here we are.” He gestured broadly. “Feel free to implement whatever plan you’ve made.”

Zabini nudged Nott, who licked his lips. “I - If I tell my father about…”

Severus laughed mirthlessly. “That was your plan? A first-year’s threat? I had thought I was beyond being surprised at your inadequacy.”

With a sudden lunge, he was around the desk and standing directly in front of Nott, leaning close to his face. “Do you really believe,” he breathed in his softest, most deadly tones, “that I have nothing on your father? You, in your total ignorance of the politics of… our circle, assume that he will outmaneuver me in such a matter?” His lip curled. “Filial loyalty is all very well, but it had best be grounded in some sort of fact, or it will lead to,” he paused meaningfully, “mistakes.”

Nott, apparently, had more courage than sense. “But if he tells the Dark Lord -”

Severus moved back enough for his wand to snap up between them. Nott belatedly managed to shut up.

There was a long, long pause while Severus allowed Nott to reflect on his misstep. Speaking of one’s own Death Eater connections was one thing, but no one was allowed to speak of Severus’. It was another thing his snakes learned young and, if sensible, never forgot.

Severus stowed his wand away and moved back to his position behind the desk. “I find it offensive,” he said, as if the last few seconds had never happened, “that you assume that I would be as inadequate in my contingency planning as you are.”

Zabini had eased closer to his trembling mate, as if to provide support. It wouldn’t help.

“Go on.”

It took them both a second to find the plot again. “Reassess constantly, and don’t be ashamed to abort.”

“And are you reassessing?” He asked it as if it were an idle question, toying with the necklace once again.

“Yes, sir.”

Severus smiled grimly. “Too late.”

He folded his hands together, as if he were nothing more than a concerned Head of House. “Of course you recognize that I cannot allow sixth years who have so utterly failed to assimilate any of the lessons of our House to guide and influence younger students. Therefore,” he paused, drawing out the tension. “You are suspended from any positions on House Committees, removed from your study groups, and forbidden to participate in House activities.”

Both of them blanched. Service on House committees and mentoring in study groups was not only enjoyable, but an important part of applying for positions after Hogwarts. If a Slytherin wanted to work with another Slytherin - and there were Slytherins in all of the best positions - they had best have an impressive record of House service behind them. A suspension in the middle of sixth year would not look good.

Of course, that would never matter for these two. As soon as Severus had Harry secure and no longer needed to cater to Dumbledore’s whims, they would be removed from the picture. Permanently.

"But we wouldn't want you to have to make awkward explanations to your housemates," he added with false concern. "So I shall simply tell everyone that you are under the Ban."

Now they looked terrified, and he smiled in satisfaction. He hadn't used shunning as a disciplinary tool in some time, but clearly the legends were still handed down properly within Slytherin. It was cruel, of course, to cut students off entirely from their housemates, but at least he was honest about it. Minerva preferred to let her lions know who had cost them hundreds of house points and leave them to tear each other to shreds. At least the Ban prevented attacks, physical or verbal; the shunned students were not to be interacted with in any way. A twisted mockery of mercy, perhaps, but these two didn't deserve even that.

“For- for how long, sir?” Zabini gathered the courage to ask.

Severus dearly wanted to say Forever. But he knew too well that backing a Slytherin into a corner was a dangerous proposition, and he didn’t need any more complications. Better to give them some hope; then he could dash it later. “We will reassess in three weeks and see if you have managed to grasp the basic concepts of our House by then.”

They looked relieved, and he wasn’t letting that stand.

“But that will leave you with extra time on your hands.” The relieved looks disappeared. “Since I now know what you come up with when you have too much time, I would be remiss to let that stand. Detention, with Mr. Filch, every evening from seven till nine, and weekends eight to six.”

They both gulped, and he smiled grimly. “I trust you have been diligent enough in your classes that this will not inconvenience you.”

Of course, he knew they hadn’t. He’d barely glanced at the reports on his snakes’ marks lately, but even the most cursory attention revealed these two needed a disciplinary hearing for their lack of effort in all classes but his. Getting further behind was likely to put their NEWT scores at risk. If they ever got the opportunity to take them, that was.

“One more thing,” he said, and enjoyed the way they went even paler. “I found this.” He indicated the piece of jewelry lying before him. “It seems to be of some importance to you, yes?”

They exchanged panicked glances, obviously trying to decide if it was better to attempt to disavow the necklace or brave it out.

Predictably, Nott was the one dumb enough to speak up. “It’s not ours, sir. It must be-”

Was he really about to name Harry? “Silence!”

Honestly, what had happened to this year’s class of Slytherins? But he already knew the answer to that: adding investigating the Dark Lord’s return, fighting His minions, and trying to keep a suicidally nosy Gryffindor alive had strained an already-overpowering schedule past bearing. He had neglected his snakes for the past six years, and now he was paying the price.

“”From the symbolism of these etchings,” he said, pointing to the abstract pattern around the edge, “it is clearly meant to unify and to remind the wearer of their membership in a group.”

They acted like what he had said made any sort of sense. Lying to people who had a vested interest in making him happy was always a pleasure.

“And imagine my surprise when I found it did… this.” He separated it into two necklaces, letting the stone roll free. “One for each of you, to keep you united. Of course, you wouldn’t want to lose such a valuable artefact. Put them on.”

They stared at him hopelessly for a long moment before Zabini ducked his head and picked up one of the crescents. Severus waved his wand and the chain together as he placed it around his neck, and activated the spells that made it impossible to remove. Zabini flinched, but when nothing else happened, he slowly relaxed. Nott followed his example.

“There. Now you won’t lose them.” He gave them a parody of an encouraging smile.

“Thank you, sir.” The words were unwilling, but at least they hadn’t forgotten everything they’d learned in his House.

“Of course, the spells it carries seem to have been affected. I don’t believe they will work properly unless the wearer is in contact with the bearer of the focus stone.” He rolled it idly across his desk and back. “”I will see that this gets to its rightful owner. Then you only have to touch him for your pendants to activate.”

They were both shaking by now. He let them stew for another long moment before closing the stone in his fist. “Dismissed.”

They practically ran from the room.

Severus’ skin itched with the need to purge the effects of the last hour. His arm was still twitching, but that was no problem; he’d removed the limiter on how often he used the pain spell days before. He hadn’t designed it for this level of stress, after all.

But he had responsibilities to take care of first. He sent a note to Draco telling him to avoid their room, and ordered dinner to be sent up to Harry. Only then did he allow himself to roll up his sleeve.

Chapter Text

Draco stormed down the hall to the dungeons, crumbling the note in his hand into a tighter and tighter ball as he walked. Sev ignored him for a week and then sent him a one-line note telling him to stay out of their room? Absolutely not. He was done waiting for Sev to be ready to talk; they were going to fight this out once and for all.

Sev’s office was warded, but Draco dismissed the spells, anger making his magic stronger than usual. He shoved the door hard; Severus’ doors did not slam open, he made sure of that, but Draco gave it his best effort nonetheless.

“What the hell-” His shout cut off abruptly as he stepped through the door and was hit with a jolt of pain up his arm. He’d never gotten anything like this from the soulmate gift before! Even his headaches were nothing compared to the sensation that his arm was on fire. He yanked back his sleeve, half-convinced that his flesh was melting away, but it looked perfectly normal, even as it burned with pain and jerked uncontrollably.

What the fuck had hit him? Was this a side effect of the wards that he hadn’t managed to undo properly? If so, Sev was probably laughing at him.

But Severus was not laughing. He was leaning back in his chair, head against the wall, and his expression was somehow familiar, in a way that made Draco feel a twisting in his gut that had nothing to do with the pain.

And his wand was pressed against his right forearm, right where the pain was digging into Draco.

Imperius curse! Draco raced across the room and around the desk, snatching the wand out of Severus’ hand. It burned like he’d stuck his hand in the fire without Floo powder, and he jerked back, flinging the wand. It hit the floor and rolled off into a corner.

Sev’s face contorted into a snarl, and he turned to face Draco fully. He said something, but his accent was suddenly so thick that Draco couldn’t make out a word of it. He didn’t need to recognize the words, however, to know he was being cussed out.

Not Imperius, then. He didn’t think anyone would think to have Sev drop into his childhood accent, except possibly his parents, and they wouldn’t be doing this. So then why was Sev spelling his own arm?

That reminded Draco that his own arm had stopped hurting, and he used both hands to grab Sev’s arm and check it for damage. He could barely hold onto it, as it jerked and flailed in a manner that seemed entirely uncontrolled. Given how his own arm had behaved, that was probably accurate.

“Get off of me!” Sev’s voice was still rough, but Draco could at least make out words this time, and he was fairly certain of what he was saying. That was reinforced when Sev tore his arm out of his grasp and shoved himself to the side, away from Draco.

“What did you do?” Draco demanded, casting the diagnostic charm Sev had taught him. Sev’s entire arm lit up with bright red light, bleeding small lines across his chest and up to his head. “Shit. What is this? What the fuck is going on?”

Severus wrapped his robes around himself and held them, arms crossed. “It’s no concern of yours.”

“No concern of mine?” Draco heard his voice rising and thought about trying to control it, then decided that he didn’t care. “How the hell is it no concern of mine if my arm feels like it’s been dipped in boiling oil as soon as I step through the door?”

“If you had the common decency to knock,” Severus growled, his voice finally back to normal, “you would not have been affected at all.”

“And that’s supposed to make it better?” Draco jabbed his wand toward Severus’ arm. “You’re burning yourself and you think if I don’t feel the pain, everything’s OK?”

He finally placed what Severus’ expression had reminded him of, and no wonder it had felt like a punch to the gut. He hated to remember the night he’d walked into the common room and found Pansy in a dark corner, watching the blood roll down her arm with that same look on her face.

He’d called Daphne to deal with her and then had to listen, horror-struck, as she reminded Pansy that she’d promised to talk to her before doing this again. And it had only gotten worse when Pansy whimpered that she’d needed something to make it stop hurting.

He hadn’t wanted to recognize that cutting herself was supposed to make her stop hurting.

And now Severus was doing the same thing? And, by his jerky nod of agreement with Draco’s last statement, he expected Draco to just let him get on with it?

Fuck that.

Before he could come up with a response that adequately expressed his feelings, Severus reached out a hand and his wand came flying back to it.

With a horrified mental image of Sev starting that spell up again, Draco lunged for the wand but missed. He’d put his own wand away, it was going to be too late, he had to stop this now...

In desperation, he resorted to Crabbe’s methods and punched Severus directly in the face.

* * *

His damn head wasn’t clearing. Even with the higher power levels he’d started using in his spell, the pain hadn’t been enough to get rid of the memories before Draco had burst in on him, fucking demanding he stop like he had any right to control him.

And now he was stuck in an indistinct state. Sometimes he was perfectly aware that he was in his office arguing with Draco; then, without warning, he’d be swallowed up by the memory of being under attack all those years ago.

They had his wand, he was helpless, no way to counter whatever they were going to do… He concentrated, desperate to get it back, to give himself that small measure of control, of hope.

And somewhat to his surprise, it flew back into his hand.

Before he could even think of using a spell, a blow to his face knocked him off the edge of the chair where he’d been perched. His head hit the desk as he went down, and he instinctively curled into a ball, trying to minimize the damage he was about to take.

Tobias loomed over him - or was it Black? Potter? He couldn’t remember, and his vision was still greyed out from the pain in his head. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear it, and kept his head down in the meantime. Why was he trying to see, anyway? Any minute now, the pain would start, and he didn’t want to see the looks on his tormentors’ faces. He wished his ears were ringing enough that he couldn’t hear either, but of course he didn’t get luck like that.

But it was oddly silent. He pulled himself in tighter. The uncertainty was worse than the pain, sometimes. They weren’t smart enough to do it on purpose, though. What was their game?

* * *

Draco had never wanted to run away more in his life. Some part of his brain was dimly aware that his fear and Severus’ must be feeding off each other, because his head was absolutely splitting and Sev was…

Sev had just taken that hit as if he hadn’t seen it coming, which was absurd, and now he was on the floor shaking, and Draco had no idea what the hell was going on. Sev was supposed to be telling him off, not… not…

Draco wasn’t willing to put a name to what Sev was doing, because if he did, he might just break and run. He didn’t know what he’d done, let alone how to fix it, but Sev was his mate, damn it, and he was not going to leave him like this.

So he knelt and sat back on his heels, to bring them onto the same level. He wanted to reach out, but apparently weeks with Harry had taught him something, because he stopped himself almost at once. Whatever he was supposed to do, that wasn’t it.

“Severus?” he said instead. He would’ve liked to make his voice soothing, but he’d never really done that, and it came out sharp and uncomfortably high-pitched. “Sev? Are you OK?”

* * *

Someone was speaking to him. Lily- Eileen- Narcissa- Lily? Whoever it was, they were safe. He didn’t have to hide.

But he didn’t want them to see him like this.

“Fuck off,” he growled, not looking up. “Leave me alone. Not like you care, is it?”

There was a short pause.

“I didn’t understand any of that.”

Oh, it was Lucius. Smug bastard, always on about his speech.

“I said,” he said in his most cultured tones, raising his head to speak clearly, “Te futueo et caballum tuum.” [Latin: Fuck you and the horse you rode in on.]

“Tu me fais des avances dans une langue morte?” Lucius shot back, and with a snort, Severus unfolded himself from his defensive huddle. Lucius wouldn’t be mocking him - wouldn’t be there at all - if he were still in danger. [French: Are you hitting on me in a dead language?]

He took a quick inventory and was surprised to realize that an ache in one cheek was all the discomfort he felt. Lucius must have run them off before they could get very far. He probably thought he was owed thanks for it. Severus scowled. Not bloody likely.

“What do you want now?” he asked, letting his accent and posture go full Cokesworth in defiance of everything Lucius had been teaching him. If he could push Lucius back into lecturing, they would be back to normal. He’d already paid for these lessons.

“I want to know what the hell is going on!”

He paused. That didn’t sound like Lucius. It was frantic. Lucius was a seventh year Slytherin and a prefect; he didn’t do frantic. He looked up for the first time and blinked, trying to focus on the face in front of him.

Slowly he pulled his scattered wits together. It was Dragon - Draco. He’d interrupted. Severus had been angry and Magic had hit him with a memory - had Magic escalated to actually making him feel the physical effects of these memories? He resisted the urge to touch his cheek and check, not wanting to know the truth. He wasn’t sure he could handle it if he had to relive all the pain.

“Severus!” Draco grabbed him by the shoulders and tried to shake him. “Why the hell were you hurting yourself?”

Severus tried to Occlude as an image of a Death Eater mask flickered over Draco’s features. It made no noticeable difference, and he felt his pulse start to race in his throat. If he couldn’t Occlude, he was very, very dead. They all were. He’d have to kill himself before he could be interrogated, or the Order - the war - would be lost.

Being cornered by another Death Eater usually made him more angry than afraid. But without the benefit of Occlusion, fear was quickly taking him. Automatically he reached for his wand, didn’t find it, and stretched out a hand to summon it. But the Death Eater grabbed his wrists.

“There’s no way I’m letting you touch your wand until you tell me what I want to know,” whoever-it-was growled. And he still couldn’t Occlude. He had to get out of there.

He resorted to the ugly brawling of Cokesworth, all elbows and knees and teeth. It was generally useless against magic, but the Death Eater holding him stumbled back and he scrambled across the room, desperately summoning his wand.

“Severus, please!”

Suddenly he was free, back on a windy hilltop, unable to think of anything but Lily, Lily, Lily, she’ll die, I can’t…

But he’d been here often, too often to believe it was real. Dream or flashback, he reminded himself, closing his eyes to shut it out. Dream or flashback. Where are you really?

He inhaled deeply, searching for scents to ground him. The cold stone smell of the dungeons; traces of Potions ingredients; oddly enough, sweat.

He was home. Though he often hated the place, he was safe enough there. He opened his eyes.

“Dragon?”

His mate stepped within touching distance, studying his face. Draco looked disheveled, frantic - was he shaking? Then he took another step forward and gingerly wrapped his arms around Severus, leaning his head on his shoulder.

There had been so many moments like this since their marks had appeared, moments of uncertainty about this new relationship and how to navigate it. Automatically Severus brought a hand up to stroke his mate’s hair, and Draco relaxed against him, some of the stiffness melting from his body.

“Dragon, what is it?”

Draco stiffened against him, then carefully relaxed again. “Don’t hurt yourself,” he murmured.

Severus couldn’t keep straight what had and hadn’t happened that day. Had Draco really walked in on him using his spell? Probably; what else could have prompted that statement?

“I won’t,” he said reassuringly, running his fingers through Draco’s hair.

“Don’t lie to me!” The words were sharp, but the expression on Draco’s face as he pulled back to look at him was anguished. “Why are you doing it?”

His vision started to swim; he wasn’t sure who he was talking to or why.

Draco grabbed his face and kissed him.

For a long moment, all was right with the world. Then Draco pulled back, and Severus sucked in a sharp breath, trying to reorient himself. He clenched his right fist; he needed to clear his mind!

Draco noticed; he twisted in his arms to pull Severus’ right wrist to his chest. Severus shivered and fought the urge to pull away as Draco’s fingers gently stroked his forearm.

“Why?” he murmured, his voice no longer shop, though tensioned thrummed beneath the mild words. “Why are you doing this?”

Without the filter of his Occlumency shields or masking personas, the truth slipped out.

“I need it to stop the memories.”

The soothing touch on his arm didn’t falter. “What memories?”

Severus felt the tension bleeding from his shoulders with each gentle touch. “The soulmate gift.”

“Yeah, I’m still feeling sick,” Draco admitted. “What’s it doing to you?”

Severus tensed again, and Draco leaned close, trapping his arm between them, and kissed him gently. “This gift hurts,” he said, still close enough that Severus could feel the breath on his face. “But it’s hurting you worse than me. Tell me.”

The words came without mediation. “It’s telling me how others feel by reminding me of times I’ve felt the same. If I don’t want to ... “ He trailed off, and Draco stroked his arm again. “They’re getting more… real.” He swallowed. “If I don’t have the pain to ground me, I lose track. Of when I am, or where, or… who…”

Draco stiffened. Severus pulled back, seeing Lily looking at him with disgust. He knew he was losing her, and he tried desperately to think of a way to stop it. But Draco wrapped his arms tightly around him and kissed him again.

“It’s just me,” he said, his voice rough. “It’s me, and whatever you’re feeling from me, it’s what I feel about Magic doing this to you. It’s not you, OK?”

Severus took a deep breath and nodded. Draco shifted so he had one arm wrapped around his waist and the other stroking his arm again.

“So. How can we make it stop?”

“What?” Severus had not expected that.

“You said that it’s getting worse. Right? And you…” he paused, steeling himself. “You’re hurting yourself more because of it, aren’t you?”

Severus blinked hard, trying to keep his focus on Draco’s face and not let his fear carry him away. Draco touched his cheek. “I’m scared of what you’re doing, OK? I don’t know what’s going to happen, and if it keeps on like this…”

Severus had a sudden, clear memory of going for his wand when his Occlumency had slipped. If he hadn’t snapped out of that… The bleak truth settled on his mind. He could have killed himself. And that would have killed Draco.

“You’re right.” He drew in a shuddering breath. “It has to stop.”

But how? The pain wasn’t helping anymore, not enough. The memories were getting stronger, and if he started re-experiencing the physical effects of the attacks… He had to stop it before he did something that hurt Draco.

“Isn’t there anything that helps?”

“The pain-”

“Not happening,” Draco interrupted immediately, fingers clenching around Severus’ wrist. He felt the loss of the gentle stroking with an odd ache. “We have to find something else.”

“I was going to say, the pain isn’t working,” he said, giving Draco a look. The younger man glared back stubbornly, but went back to gently stroking his arm. “It enhances Occlumency, but even with pain, my Occlumency can’t keep back whatever Magic is doing to me.”

Draco looked sick. The Death Eater mask flickered over his features again; through the rushing in his ears, Severus heard Bellatrix boasting about her latest torture victims, and laughing.

I must not be sick, he reminded himself, digging his nails into his palms. I must not let them know.

Then a hand gently pried his fist open and rubbed his palm, and he was back standing with Draco, who said in a would-be casual voice, “And to think that last summer I was begging my mother to teach me Occlumency.”

“You should still learn it,” Severus answered instantly. “Basic Occlumency is simple enough. The pain is… an advanced technique.”

It didn’t take Magic to remind him of nights in Dumbledore’s office, writhing under pain curses until they were both certain he wouldn’t break and reveal secrets to the Dark Lord. Clenching his teeth against screams, forcing himself to speak normally. ”Why, Albus, I didn’t know you cared.”

That was painful on its own, but at least he could recognize that it was simply a memory and put it aside, unlike the Magic-borne hell that invaded his mind through the soulmate gift.

“The point is, I need a different method to respond to these memories. A non-Occlumency-based one, it seems.” But what did he have, other than his skills at Occlumency? He could invent potions and spells, but that would take far too long; Magic would drive him to insanity or death long before that. What else was he good for?

“Isn’t there anything else you’ve tried? Any times that it didn’t overwhelm you so much?” Draco’s voice was getting desperate again, but before the soulmate gift could attack Severus, he closed his eyes and breathed deeply, calming the emotions back down.

So Severus gave him the respect of seriously considering his question. “My most powerful Occlumency still works to get through a conversation with students, or other professors.” People he didn’t have a deep connection with, he realized. That meant that it wouldn’t help around Draco, or Harry.

He frowned. Harry had been terrified earlier, and yet Severus hadn’t been incapacitated. What had made the difference? “There was one time,” he said aloud, slowly. “I let the memories in, because I thought they might have information I needed.” He had felt in control most of the time he talked to Harry, the opposite of how he’d been with Draco, even though both situations triggered powerful memories.

“That’s it!” Draco smiled at him in delight. “Mine is less painful when I try to figure out what it’s telling me rather than just fighting it. Yours must be the same way!”

Severus smiled back at his evident enthusiasm, though he had no idea how this insight would be useful.

“My father has a Pensieve,” Draco babbled on. “We can watch all the memories that the gift keeps throwing at you and figure out the point, and then as soon as a memory shows up, you can remember and use that, and you won’t have to be stuck in the memory!”

What? “Absolutely not!” he roared. It was obviously too sharp, because Draco flinched back in surprise and Magic took him into the altered memories again, where he was Tobias storming around the house as Severus-Draco cowered.

That was horrifying, but it was easier to keep track of the fact that it wasn’t real. It only took Draco’s touch on his cheek to pull him out of it.

“No one is delving into those memories,” he said firmly, trying to put the thought out of his own mind. To go back and watch it all again - it would be hell on earth.

“But you’re living them again anyway,” Draco pointed out. “Wouldn’t it be better to just do it once, under controlled conditions, and get it over with? Isn’t a Pensieve supposed to just let you watch? It won’t make you feel everything again. And I’ll be with you, so you don’t have to do it alone.”

“You most certainly will not,” Severus retorted instantly. Salazar, the only thing worse than having to relive all of that himself would be to have his mate see it. He was not spending the rest of his life with someone who knew how weak he had been.

Although being constantly overwhelmed by this gift was not making him look particularly strong…

“You need me,” Draco whined. “I’m helping you right now. I can help you in those memories if they’re too much.”

Severus snorted. “I lived through them, if you recall,” he said. “They aren’t too much for me.”

“So I am just a child in your eyes.” Draco let go of him and took a step back. “Someone who can’t handle life, so you lie to them to keep them happy.”

“I was thinking of you as a Slytherin: always eager for information to hold over another,” Severus retorted. “But if you are fool enough to think I am that easy to manipulate, perhaps I must reconsider my assessment.”

“Wanting to help my mate when he’s in distress doesn’t make me a Hufflepuff. After all, it hardly looks good on me to be soulbonded to someone who can’t function because of some bad dreams.”

“Not good enough for the Malfoy name, am I?” Severus gave him an icy smile. “It certainly is unfortunate for you that Magic thinks otherwise. After all, then you are stuck in the impossible dilemma of deciding whether to admit that a poor halfblood can do more than any of you inbred idiots, or holding to your prejudices because they are the only thing you have to make you feel good about yourself, and believing that Magic put you with someone lesser - and what does that say about Magic’s opinion of you?”

* * *

Sev didn’t seem to have noticed yet that Draco wasn’t as angry as he ought to be in this argument. Good. If Draco could just keep him distracted a little longer and keep the argument focused on whether or not Draco could view those memories, he might be able to get him to agree to look in the Pensieve as long as Draco didn’t.

It was a long shot, but Draco had to try it. It was the only idea that had a chance of working, and he had to do something to stop Sev from hurting himself worse. And Sev was off-balance enough that even though Draco couldn’t normally manipulate him, he felt like he had a chance right now.

“Because you’re looking so capable and powerful right now,” he sneered back. “Hiding in terror from memories that terrified a child. They would still scare you now, wouldn’t they? Because you haven’t grown up enough to face them. That’s why you won’t let me see; you know that I would recognize how pitiful, even laughable, they are.”

Severus’ eyes narrowed. “So you do have some Slytherin cunning after all. Pity. You had such a good excuse for incompetence. Now you’ll simply have to admit that you can’t keep up.”

“And how long will you keep up your illusion of competence when my friends hear that you have bad dreams but are too scared to tell me about them? Being Head of House isn’t easy when your students have reason to despise you.”

Oops, that had been a misstep. The wave of sickness from the soulmate gift made him hide a wince. What nerve had he struck?

“Do you truly believe that it is I who would suffer most in a smear campaign? Pretending to be an adult does not make your childhood indiscretions disappear.”

“And, of course, your childhood memories hold so much worse than indiscretions. Things so terrible that you can’t let poor little me see them.” He forced as much derision into his voice as possible, given that he actually believed there were horrors in Sev’s memories that he’d be better off not knowing about. “You can’t watch them without me holding your hand, but you’re too ashamed to let me do it.”

“Almost you tempt me,” Severus murmured, his gaze intent. “To see your face when your naive illusions about the world are shattered…”

The sharp pain hit him in his chest again, the one that he still didn’t have a name for but that came up whenever things fell apart with Severus or Harry. Shit!

“Ah, yes, we wouldn’t want to shatter my illusions,” he scrambled, trying to pull the conversation back on course. “Because your memories are so very dreadful, even you can’t face them, let alone me. I forgot what big bad things you have in your mind.” He made his tone as pitying as his mother’s was when she mocked him for whining about not getting his way. “We’ll just all pretend they aren’t there, shall we? That’s been working so well for you that you can afford to refuse all help. Or do you want my mother to watch them with you instead? Mummy can keep you safe.”

That worked, to his relief; he felt Sev’s anger in the pit of his stomach and welcomed it.

“I will deal with my memories entirely on my own,” he growled, “and none of the Malfoys need be inconvenienced by it.”

“Right,” Draco drawled. “I’ll be there when Father sends the Pensieve over. We’ll see if you dare use it without dragging me in to be your teddy bear.”

He saw the moment realization of what he’d agreed to dawned in Sev’s eyes, and the pain in his chest spiked again. He stepped forward and snuggled close to Sev again, though he kept his tone casually caustic. “Of course, I’m sure you’ll tell me that looking in the Pensieve is utterly unnecessary, and you’ll come up with some reason that isn’t anything to do with being terrified. Because I can’t possibly have had an idea that would help.”

* * *

First his Occlumency failed, and now he let Draco outmaneuver him? He might as well go back into those memories. Clearly all the things he thought he’d gained since then were illusions at best.

It’s just a mark of how debilitating all this has become, the voice in his head whispered.

And is that supposed to make me feel better? he thought bitterly.

At least consider that it might not be a bad thing to let yourself be manipulated into doing what needs to be done. You have to integrate the soulmate gift somehow.

He could still get out of it, of course. He wasn’t that impaired. But seeing just how badly he was doing - his little trip through hell would at least be time-limited. If he were functional afterwards, it could save Harry and Draco. Given the stakes, he could hardly refuse.

And he could repay Draco for coming back, even though Severus had driven him away. He’d been too caught up to register it before, but Draco was being far kinder than he deserved. He had to do something in return.

“I take it back,” he said softly, cautiously returning Draco’s embrace. “You are a consummate Slytherin.”

Draco beamed at him. “Then you’ll do it?”

He sighed. “Yes.” He hated the very thought, but there wasn’t any choice. He'd spent the last seventeen years doing things he hated to protect those he was responsible for. He wasn't going to stop now.

Chapter Text

Harry rubbed gritty eyes and rested his head against the wall of the shower. He was almost dozing off where he stood after three nights without sleep - he didn’t count the brief periods of unconsciousness while he was with Blaise and Theo, nor the few minutes he’d slept last night before the nightmare started and he’d decided he’d rather stay awake. At least that had given him a chance to catch up on his homework and duelling practice. But it was going to make classes a misery today.

He stared at the temperature controls, knowing he ought to turn the water cold to wake himself up but unwilling to face it. When he tried to reach out and instead found his eyes closed again, he gave up and got out of the shower entirely. Maybe food would wake him up.

It took forever to get dressed. His arms felt too heavy to move quickly as he dried off and drew on his clothes. Buttons kept slipping out of place, and constant yawning didn’t help.

He stood in front of the loo door with his eyes closed until he felt himself swaying on his feet. Blinking hard, he unlocked the door and shoved it open.

He stepped out and froze. The door hit him in the shoulder as it swung back, and he didn’t even respond. He wasn’t alone anymore.

“Found it!” Malfoy was saying triumphantly, raising a scroll and turning toward Snape. “Now-” He cut off abruptly as he and Snape noticed Harry and turned to face him.

Harry closed his eyes and took a breath to steady himself. Of course they were there. It was their room, after all, and the terms of his agreement with Snape were one night without being bothered. It was morning now.

He braced himself and stepped out of the way of the door so that it could shut properly. Clasping his hands behind his back, where the white-knuckle grip couldn’t be seen, he lowered his head submissively and waited.

* * *

Draco fought past the shooting pain in his head with a mental snarl for the worst soulmate gift ever and looked from Harry’s trembling figure to Severus’ wild eyes.

“Merlin and Salazar,” he hissed. How was he supposed to deal with this?

One thing at a time. He leaned up against Sev and kissed him until he un-froze. “Focus on me, OK?” he said softly, and waited for the tiny nod before he turned back to Harry.

Harry was shaking even harder now, and just looking at him made the pain in Draco’s head intensify enough that his eyes watered. He squeezed his eyes shut to stop it, wishing he could kiss Harry calm like he could Severus. Or shake him and tell him to stop being an idiot. Either one, really.

But he wasn’t stupid enough to try it, so he tried to think through the blinding headache and come up with something that would help.

“Harry,” he said, making his voice as soothing as he could. “I’m not going to hurt you. I promised, remember? You can still tell my mother if I do.”

That wasn’t it. Harry flinched violently, and Severus did too. Draco ground his teeth together. He was going to get them out of this conversation in one piece, or he was going to burn Nott and Zabini alive, and to hell with worrying about Azkaban.

With a sigh, he wrapped his arms around Sev until he softened slightly, and then shoved him down to sit in the desk chair. Before he could respond, Draco sat in his lap and gave him another quick kiss, steadying himself with his wand arm around Severus’ shoulders. There. That looked appropriately non-threatening. Now he’d see if Aunt Andromeda’s advice to figure out what the other person wanted was worth anything.

“Sit down and let’s talk,” he told Harry, who obeyed hesitantly. “So why don’t you believe Mother will keep me in line anymore?” If he didn’t have that to reassure Harry with, he might just go quietly mad.

Harry was staring at the ground. “Please don’t tell her,” he said softly, his voice shaking. “I’ll do anything - you can do whatever you want to me - but please. Please don’t tell her what I did.”

Draco almost squeaked when Severus abruptly leaned forward and almost knocked him to the ground. He had to tighten his grip to stay balanced.

“You did nothing,” Severus said in a tight voice. “We discussed this last night. I failed you, Dumbledore failed all of us, and those two mali nequamque committed crimes for which they will one day pay, but you did nothing.”

Harry did not look reassured.

“Sev’s right,” Draco said. Obviously what Harry wanted was to know that they didn’t blame him, because for some stupid reason he thought they would. “It wasn’t your fault. So you can stop looking at me like I’m going to beat you up because my former roommates raped you. We’ve been over this, OK? I’m going to beat them up. Want to help?”

Draco’s headache was as bad as ever, and Harry still hadn’t looked up from the floor. Damn it. Aunt Andromeda’s advice sucked. How soon could he get out of this conversation?

He just had to remind Harry who the real enemy was, reassure him that they’d keep him safe, get Sev to the Potions classroom without a chance to hurt himself, and try to get to Charms before Flitwick gave him a detention for tardiness. Merlin. He rubbed his head. How did his life go to hell so completely overnight?

* * *

Harry could feel his heart pounding in his ears. His whole body was shaking, and he desperately wanted to be up practicing the dance again, instead of sitting here quietly and waiting to know his fate. They were pretending to be calm, which only made it worse. When Uncle Vernon had to pretend to be calm and reasonable because someone was watching, it meant that Harry would get it even worse when they were alone. He couldn’t even figure out why Snape and Malfoy were bothering to pretend, and that made him even more anxious. He had no idea when they were going to turn on him.

And the threat of telling Narcissa was even worse than a physical punishment would have been. He’d lived through plenty of pain, after all. But duelling was the only thing holding him together right now, and Narcissa… Narcissa was, well, something. He couldn’t think of a word for what she was; he only knew that she was something important, something he’d never had before, and he didn’t want to lose whatever-it-was. But she wouldn’t want anything to do with the slut who cheated on her son.

He didn’t want to think about what would happen when Malfoy told her. Wasn’t there anything he could do to convince him not to?

Well, grovelling was always a safe bet. It might get him yelled at or smacked around a bit, but it almost never made things worse, and sometimes it even helped.

He hated it, of course, but since when did that matter?

“I’m sorry for making you so much trouble,” he said, eyes on the floor. “I-”

He was supposed to say some gushing version of Thank you next. It was on the tip of his tongue, but his voice failed him. His last conversation with Malfoy had been arguing about beating people up, after all. How did he phrase “I’m humbly grateful that you’re offering to beat up Blaise and Theo instead of me, but please don’t take that to mean I’m OK with you beating up Gryffindor first years” without sounding entitled and demanding? It wasn’t possible. Which meant that he had to drop his attempts to protect the younger students.

He’d thought about it before, during the night. He’d thought he could say the words - it wasn’t like anything he said was going to change how Malfoy acted, after all, so the words didn’t mean anything. And this was the perfect opportunity. He just had to give a kind of rueful smile and say something about how he’d been wrong, now he saw how Malfoy’s beating people up was a good thing and he was glad Malfoy was defending him. Malfoy would be pleased and flattered and go back to protecting him. He’d be safe.

But he couldn’t do it. He could still see the terrified eyes of those children lying on the ground while Malfoy casually threatened them. No matter what Malfoy and Snape did to him, even if they threw him back to Blaise and Theo for opposing them, he couldn’t say that what Malfoy was doing was OK. Even if what he said made no difference, he had to say it. He couldn’t live with himself otherwise.

Harry bit his lip, trying to ignore the knowledge that he was signing the death warrant for any hope of them not following through on their threat to tell Narcissa. He pushed aside the icy pain of the thought of the way she would look at him when she knew what he’d done. What he was. He’d known that her liking him was too good to last.

He looked up, willing himself to show defiance rather than terror. He doubted it was effective, but he tried.

“I don’t particularly want anyone to get beat up, Malfoy, if you recall.”

“We’re not talking about your stupid Gryffindors right now,” Malfoy snapped. “We’re talking about two so-called Slytherins and how those bastards are going to pay for what they did to you. That’s not negotiable. We’ll talk about the whole Gryffindor thing later.”

“I’m not going to change my mind or anything,” Harry said. If he was going to defy Malfoy, he might as well get it over with. “I don’t care what you do to me. I’m not just going to let you attack my Housemates.”

Malfoy sighed. “I said we’d talk later. You know, talk? Sitting around discussing things sanely, with no one getting hit or anything? Stop overreacting. Right now I’m focused on making pieces of shit regret ever looking at you.”

Snape put a hand in his pocket, and Harry tensed. “On that note,” he said, pulling something out that was clearly not a wand. Harry couldn’t tell what it was, though. “I have done what I could to prevent any further attacks on your person. If my other deterrents fail, however, it would be beneficial for you to have this.”

He opened his hand to reveal a red stone, and Harry shoved himself back in his chair until it hit the desk behind him. What the hell was Snape doing with a piece of that fucking pendant? Were they going to collar him now?

“Zabini and Nott are each wearing half of the pendant this came from,” Snape said. “The spells that prevent it from being removed or destroyed are still in effect. However, the other spells are quiescent with the stone separated from the rest of the pendant. I suggested to them that those spells might take effect if they were to make contact with the bearer of this stone. If you let it be seen that you carry it with you, it ought to dissuade them from any future attempts to harm you.”

Very reluctantly, Harry stood and stepped forward to take the stone. It was a relief that Snape wasn’t staring at him, although the fact that he was being distracted by Draco caressing his face was certainly awkward. But it made Harry feel less self-conscious about the way he hesitated with his hand just barely above it. If this was a trick…

It doesn’t matter, he reminded himself, and took the stone. Nothing happened, and he thrust it into his pocket and hurriedly stepped back before anything could.

“Well, that’s taken care of, then,” Malfoy said, standing up. “We’ll make sure you don’t have to worry about those two anymore, all right? And you don’t have to worry about us, either.” He rubbed his head. “In fact, if you can stop worrying altogether, I’d really appreciate it.”

Snape stood up too, more slowly. “If you would prefer to stay in today, I can have Poppy excuse you for medical reasons.” He must have seen the panic in Harry’s eyes, because he added, “Without her examining you.”

“You can do that? How?” Malfoy demanded. “You’ve never offered to do that for me!”

Snape ignored him, dark eyes steady on Harry. Harry imagined staying in the room all day, fighting off nightmares, and barely restrained a shudder. Night was quite soon enough for that. “No, thank you. I’ll go to class.”

“Very well.” Now Snape did draw his wand. Harry flinched, but all that happened was several potions bottles zooming into the loo. “Those should help you continue to heal. Instructions for use are on the labels.”

“Thank you,” Harry said, too bewildered to think of anything else to say.

“Come on,” Malfoy urged, tugging on Snape’s hand. “I’m going to be late enough for Charms as it is, since I have to go to the Potions classroom with you first.”

“If you insist on making yourself ridiculous, Dragon, I-” The door closing cut off the rest of Snape’s reply.

Harry sat still, pulse still throbbing hard enough to hurt. He wasn’t sure what had just happened, or what it would mean for later. And as the adrenaline wore off, he couldn’t keep his mind on trying to figure it out.

He wished that he had time to run through the dance once before class. That always cleared his head. But he was going to be late for History of Magic if he didn’t hurry.

He gathered up his books, then set his bag down. It wasn’t like Binns could do anything if he was late.

He took up the first stance and raised his wand, forcing his arm not to tremble from fatigue. Just once, and then he could handle class.

* * *

Severus dug his nails into his palms when Draco pushed through his door as soon as it opened to release the Ravenclaws from their detention. His arm was itching furiously; he’d only managed a few opportunities to use his spell during the past two days, with the way Draco was insisting on shadowing him, and going without it was like a bone-deep ache. It was a good thing he’d cultivated his teacher persona to cover any amount of pain he might be in; his students might grumble that he was in a worse mood than usual, but no one would think anything of it.

Except Draco, who was smiling at him as if everything were perfectly fine. Severus forced his mind down the familiar pathways of Occlumency, breathing carefully and attempting to use the pattern of breath to reinforce his shields. He was not going to eviscerate Draco. He couldn’t afford to lose any allies right now.

Apparently he managed to keep his emotions under control enough that they didn’t trouble his mate, because Draco continued smiling the whole way across the room. “Come on, let’s go,” he urged.

Severus raised an eyebrow at him. “I have grading to do.”

“And I don’t want to sit around here while you do it.”

“Well, that is entirely your own choice, is it not? You are free to go off and pursue your own puerile amusements whenever you choose.”

Draco finally glared at him. Severus braced himself for whatever memory was about to swamp him, but to his surprise, there were only faint flickers of his childhood with Lily, easy enough to push aside. “Yes, well, when I’m certain you’re not going to be a danger to yourself or me, I’m sure I’ll find plenty of amusements to occupy me. Until then, I’m staying right here.”

“I am not a danger to anyone,” Severus said. There were far better ways he could have phrased that, he realized as soon as the words were out of his mouth, but he couldn’t be bothered at the moment.

“I believe that from you about as much as you believed it from Harry,” Draco said, and Severus didn’t need Magic to remind him of that terrifying time. “Less, actually; you seemed to trust Harry when he promised not to hurt himself for a week.”

Severus considered pointing out that he’d had a much stronger bargaining position with Harry than Draco would ever have with him, but it wasn’t worth it. Draco’s point had hit home, and he was going to make certain his use of the pain spell didn’t actually harm anyone. He should probably put the restrictions back on it, but since he could only use the spell in snatched bits of time when Draco wasn’t hovering, it didn’t matter much right now.

“So come on,” Draco urged. “It’s not your office hours, you don’t have to stay here. Let’s go up to our room. You can at least grade in comfort.”

Severus was still pushing aside childhood memories with Lily, and even though they weren’t overwhelming, they were still annoying. “Fine,” he said shortly, gathering up the assignments he needed to grade and moving them to his bag with a quick spell. He carefully appeared not to notice the way Draco watched his wand like a cat. He’d gotten plenty of practice at that over the last few days.

Draco walked beside him through the hall, chattering, while Severus ignored him and concentrated on trying to convince himself that the irritation in his arm was pain that would substitute for his spell as an anchor for Occlumency. It was no more effective than it had been earlier, and it was only with effort that he kept his breathing and pace steady.

Perhaps that was why he made it all the way to his desk and was unpacking his bag before Draco’s pointedly-cleared throat cued him to turn around and recognize the metal basin resting on the Transfigured coffee table.

He clamped his jaw shut to prevent anything he was thinking from slipping out, at least in the language he would have used at that moment. If you’re going to imprecate me, Lucius drawled in his memory, At least have the goodness to do so in a civilized tongue.

It took long enough for his brain to remember some decent Latin curses that the moment was lost. Instead he just looked at Draco with an eyebrow raised. “Surprise?” he said as sacractically as possible, since he knew his mate had been thinking about saying something that stupid.

Draco had the grace to flush, but he also bristled. “And was I supposed to think you would have come if I’d told you?”

Severus sighed and approached the table, which was now waist-high. “I agreed to this.” He wasn’t convinced it would work, but he had to try something. He had thought his spell was becoming ineffective, but going without it had been horrendous. With memories making classes and House duties almost impossible, even reliving his younger years sounded acceptable by comparison.

Draco caught him around the waist and gave him an affectionate squeeze, and Severus felt himself melt a little. With the amount of touching Draco had done lately - especially since he knew that it was purely for pragmatic reasons - he would have expected himself to be over that reaction. But even now, he felt the tension drain out of him and couldn’t resist standing still for a moment.

Draco turned away as casually as he’d reached out, and Severus ignored the sudden coolness where his warmth had been. Instead he sat in front of the Pensieve and stared at it, face twisted with distaste.

Firmly, he raised his wand to his temple and tried to concentrate on the memory he needed to extract. The silvery threads came out about halfway before his mind jumped to a different memory, and he swore and snapped them.

By the time the same thing had happened a dozen times, he was overheated and ready to knock over the table and stalk away. Draco must have recognized it, because, although he’d been sitting quietly this entire time, now he reached over and placed a hand on Severus’ wand hand, preventing him from trying again.

“What’s going wrong?” he asked. He was using the soothing tone he’d used on Harry, and it made Severus seethe inwardly. He tried to keep his voice calm as he answered.

“The wrong memories keep getting mixed up in what I’m pulling out,” he managed through gritted teeth. Not precisely calm, but he’d managed to keep a cultured accent, at least.

He hadn’t had to fall back on that as something to be proud of in decades.

Draco looked from him to the Pensieve and back. “Shouldn’t you be letting Magic pick the memories? Isn’t that the point?”

Severus growled, losing control at last. “I’m not letting fucking free association decide what hell I’m about to live through.”

Draco gave him one of Narcissa’s disbelieving looks. “And that’s not what’s happening to you whenever the gift gets hold of you?”

Damn it. He hated to admit that Draco might be right. Especially since if he were, he would have to let those memories stand. “These memories have nothing to do with the ones Magic has been shoving down my throat.”

The nightmarish memories were bad enough. If Magic made him relieve the tiny hints of hope that had been dashed every time, this process would be even worse than he’d anticipated.

“Right.” Now Draco was drawling like Lucius. It was annoying enough when Lucius himself did it; now he had to put up with it from his mate? “They have nothing to do with the soulmate gift memories, and yet whenever you think of those memories, these come up to. Logical.”

Severus flung himself out of his chair and paced away, clenching his fists again to prevent himself from drawing his wand. His memories of his last confrontation with Draco over the use of his spell were hazy, but he remembered clearly the bone-deep terror of the moment when he’d realized that if he let this “gift” drive him to suicide, he would kill Draco too. That fear was strong enough to push aside whatever Magic was trying to shove down his throat and keep him focused on what he was there to do.

Then Draco was there, hands on his shoulders, forehead resting against his. “Sev,” he said, and Severus absolutely wanted nothing to do with the memories drawn up by that tone of voice. “You can do this, OK? I know it’s going to be awful - I’ve gotten hints of it, and it’s got to be worse than what I’ve felt - but you’ll get through it. That was your gift to me, remember? Doing whatever it takes, no matter how I feel about it. It’s fucking incredible that you can do that. You’d have to drag me into that Pensieve, but you…” His breath caught, and he spoke more softly. “I don’t think you have any idea how amazing you are.”

For a long, long moment Severus let himself relax. He ignored his own good sense reminding him of the last time someone had used hollow compliments to control him, back in the dark days when he was a powerless teenager with nowhere to turn until a charismatic, powerful man took an interest in him. Ever since, he’d used the knowledge that that had been nothing but an attempt to manipulate him - and the bitter recollection of having fallen for it so easily - as armor against false praise.

But this was his Dragon, and even though Severus knew perfectly well what his motive was for saying those things, he couldn’t fully prevent his heart from softening. Draco had truly cared about him, once, before Severus had lashed out at him and fallen apart in front of him. And the best lies had a grain of truth about them. Perhaps this was - not real, but real enough to let it push him into what he knew he had to do.

Then Draco slid his hands down Severus’ back and pulled him into an embrace. “I’ll reward you afterward,” he whispered directly in his ear. Nibbles on his neck left no doubt of what he meant by that.

Severus stiffened in shock. They hadn’t been intimate since their fight a week ago, and even with all Draco’s touches, he hadn’t expected - hadn’t dreamed - that Draco would be interested in going to bed with him. Was this another manipulation tactic? Cautiously he reached out with the soulmate gift, but the memories were enough to get his body responding, and he quickly shied away from them.

Is it so unthinkable that I still care about you, even after all that?

Yes, he thought back flatly.

There was the sensation of a sigh. You are worth caring about. Losing control - not being perfect - doesn’t change that.

Severus firmly banished the voice of Draco’s soulmate gift from his mind and tried to think for himself.

Manipulation tactic or not, there was no doubt that Draco was sincere about his desire. That was abundantly clear as he pulled Severus into a deep kiss, one Severus couldn’t help responding to.

Draco was breathing fast when they broke apart. “We could take a little break before you try again,” he said, his hands sliding lower.

The memory of why they were there dampened Severus’ ardor quite effectively. “Better to get it done,” he said grimly. Draco sighed but pulled his hands out from under Severus’ robes.

“I suppose you’re right,” he said, sounding genuinely disappointed. Severus reminded himself firmly that Draco was only seventeen, and being swept away by desire didn’t necessarily mean anything to him.

You’re impossible.

Occlumency shields were useless against the voice, but he tried anyway as he returned to his seat. Then, with an inward sigh, he took them down again. If he was going to let Magic choose what memories he had to relive, he supposed that he couldn’t have any barriers up.

He closed his eyes, not wanting to see Draco seeing him like this, and let down as many of his barriers as he could. If they all fell, he would be curled up on the floor sobbing, which wouldn’t help anyone, but he forced himself to face the pain and the fury and the guilt that he usually kept away from himself.

He heard Draco make a strangled noise beside him, but he couldn’t spare a thought for how this was affecting his mate. With his hand shaking, he put the wand to his temple and focused, not on specific memories, but on the feel of Harry’s soulmate gift.

Memories spooled out, too fast for him to get more than glimpses. That was all right; he’d be seeing them in more than enough detail soon. He concentrated on being open to what Magic wanted him to experience and slowly drew out the strand of memories until finally, it stopped flowing.

Dexterously he snapped the connection and slid the accumulated memories into the basin. It immediately began to glow with an eerie silver light, mist dancing over its surface.He eyed it with distaste.

Draco reached over and squeezed his thigh. “Are you sure you don’t want me to go in with you?”

Try as he might, Severous couldn’t find any mockery in his voice, only a sincere desire to help somehow. Even the memories only brought back early, painless moments with Lily, easy enough to ignore but evidence that Draco wasn’t trying to hurt him. So he ignored his automatic response and simply shook his head.

Then he sat staring at the basing for longer than he wanted to admit, despising himself for his cowardice but unwilling to take that final step.

You’re not a coward. This is difficult.

He ignored the voice, wishing that he could use his spell to give himself a moment of clear thinking. He’d done harder things than this with less shilly-shallying. But with how beaten down he’d been lately, he couldn’t force himself to take this last step.

Draco shifted beside him, and Severus glanced over. Seeing him draw his wand with a smirk on his face made Severus tense, but the soulmate gift still brought him early memories of Lily. He took a breath and forced his hand away from his own wand.

Draco cast a mild compulsion charm on the basin, making anyone who saw it deeply drawn to look into it, and grinned at him. “Will that help?”

Severus glared back at him, though at this point he couldn’t muster any sort of heat. “You are ridiculous.”

Draco’s grin didn’t falter. “Hey, if it works.”He slid his wand away and took Severus’ hand in a firm grip. “I’m here.”

And the combination of both soulmate gifts rising up in response to that statement almost choked him.He couldn’t stop himself from squeezing Draco’s hand in return before turning back to the bowl.

Just as he started to lower his head, a frantic pounding came on the door. “Professor Snape! Professor!”

Both of them jumped to their feet, hands falling apart. Severus moved to stand in front of the Pensieve, Draco joining him an instant later, as he wandlessly opened the door.

A panting fifth year almost fell through it, barely catching himself on the doorframe. “Professor!” he gasped. “Hughes and Montague are duelling in the common room. Both the prefects are down, we can’t stop them-”

Severus didn’t even glance at Draco before breaking into a dead run, but his mate was right beside them. Both of them knew how explosive the feud between those two families was; Severus had been supervising official duels between them almost monthly for years, and at every one he had to stop multiple life-threatening Dark curses. They’d both tried two of the three Unforgivables on each other, and that was under his eye. Only bringing the full extent of his power as Head of House to bear had kept them from unauthorized duelling in the past (at least with magic; he didn’t care how often they landed each other in the Hospital Wing with physical violence, and they took full advantage of that). He’d thought he’d convinced them to wait a few months until they’d graduated to actually kill each other. Apparently not.

And while he was perfectly ready to let two idiots die, even if it would mean an investigation and a truly horrific amount of paperwork, they were going to hurt the other students in the common room. And that was completely unacceptable.

Hoping it wasn’t already too late, he ran faster.

* * *

Harry hesitated outside the door, wondering if either Snape or Malfoy was in there. He tried not to go into the room before curfew, but today’s meeting of Dumbledore’s Army had been absolutely brutal. He’d been demonstrating the benefits of footwork, and he’d ended up dodging spells from half the group at once, frantically throwing himself over and behind things and hitting the ground with every individual part of his body at least once. He was bruised all over and desperately needed a hot shower and more pain potions.

The other kids had been very impressed, though, he remembered with a smile. They’d stopped grumbling about the practice he was putting them through and actually worked. It had felt good, even though his body ached.

Steeling himself, he pushed through the door. Snape and Malfoy hadn’t done anything to him yet. Probably they’d let him get in the shower without trouble. Maybe.

But the room was empty. With a sigh of relief, he tucked the invisibility cloak away and set his bag down. He had been intending to head directly to the shower, but his eye was caught by a glowing silver basin standing on a table by the armchairs.

Cautiously, he went over for a closer look. Shimmering liquid swirled inside, and a sparkling mist rose from it, warm on his face. The motion of the liquid was almost hypnotic, pulling his attention down into the depths. It seemed much deeper than the bowl could possibly be, and something in there glowed. Was that what was making the patterns of light?

Without thinking about it, he leaned down, trying to get a better look at that elusive glimmer. He couldn’t quite see it… He was so close…

His nose brushed the soft liquid, and suddenly he was being sucked in, falling through silver light into darkness.

Chapter Text

Harry felt himself falling. Had the basin been a Portkey? Terror flooded through him; he yanked out his wand and, as the falling sensation abruptly stopped, dove to the side. He tried again to do the roll Narcissa hadn’t taught him yet; it wasn’t perfect, but it took him far enough down and to the side that he ought to be out of range of whoever had brought him here. He pushed himself up and leveled his wand on… nothing in particular.

He was in a church, he realized as he looked around at pews full of people. As his panting slowed, he was suddenly embarrassed for making a scene in public, but no one was looking at him. It was as if his sudden appearance had gone completely unnoticed.

He didn’t see any sign of wizards, or anyone even paying any attention to him. So why was he here?

Had he really been pulled into the basin? What was it? There had been runes on the outside; he’d glanced at them without really trying to read them. He’d seen a couple for truth, and something about the past; the combination had looked familiar, but he hadn’t taken the time to figure out where he’d seen them before.

He seemed to have time right now, though. With another look around to make sure no one was paying any attention to him, he racked his brains. It must have been in Runes, but although he’d memorized the runes independently, he hadn’t done complex combinations yet, not like the ones on the basin. No, wait. He’d seen them studying with Hermione. She’d started talking about something in her book, and he’d been so bored he’d listened. What had it been?

It was something about memories, that was it. She showed him a really complex rune combination from the back of her book and told him how it was used to make something that would let you see memories, and how she was going to make one someday. “Wouldn’t it be great to go back and watch what happened, even if you weren’t paying attention to it?”

So he was seeing a memory; that probably meant he was safe. You couldn’t get hurt in memories, right?

Cautiously, he reached a hand toward the wall beside him. It went straight through, without him feeling anything. All right, then. This wasn’t real. So whose memories was he seeing?

He looked around for any clues. Why would he be in a Muggle church like this? He scanned the people in the pews, searching for familiar faces.

His gaze stopped at the back of the church, arrested by a tall woman with silky black hair and a strong nose. She looked so much like Snape that he stiffened.

She and the burly man beside her were looking intently at the front of the church, and as he watched, she broke into a smile. Harry followed her gaze to where the choirboys were filing into the front of the church. The smallest one had the same glossy hair and tawny skin. He was obviously fighting to keep back an indecorous grin at his parents.

Harry stared. He’d never imagined Snape as a child. It was bizarre. And even stranger was seeing him happy. Now that he thought about it, he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Snape smile. He smirked, or maybe looked pleased - his face certainly softened when he was with Draco - but a genuine, unforced, happy smile, never.

For the first time, Harry wondered why that was.

As the music began, Harry started to lean back, then remembered that memory-walls weren’t solid and hurriedly stood up straight again. The music was nice, though. The Dursleys had always left him locked in his cupboard when they went to church, so he’d never known exactly what they did there. The sound was surprisingly relaxing, and he found himself enjoying it.

Suddenly everything around him blurred. Automatically he raised his wand again, trying to hear an attacker since he couldn’t see, but almost as soon as it began, everything snapped back into place. The music had stopped; there was no one at the front of the church at all. He looked over to the Snape-looking woman, and saw that the child-Snape had come up to her. Without the white robes of a choirboy, he was in clothes that were too short and obviously worn. Now that he was paying attention, he saw that both the man and the woman were wearing patched clothing as well.

The family walked out the large doors, and Harry was pulled after them. He supposed that made sense, if he was in Snape’s memories. He hurried up close so he could hear them talking.

“Did you hear me, Pa? Was it good?” Snape-the-kid was chattering. He was practically bouncing with excitement, and Harry could only wonder what had turned this cheerful child into the man he knew.

“Course I heard. I was sitting right there, wasn’t I?” the man growled, but it was affectionate. “And it was fine, even if it’s not a real Mass-”

“-If it isn’t in Latin.” The boy and the woman joined in so that they all chorused the words together. The man laughed and ruffled the boy’s hair.

Harry followed them in wonder. Snape’s family was clearly the kind of folks Aunt Petunia didn’t want to mix with: she sniffed and moved them across the road when they were out and met people dressed in worn-out clothes, the neighborhood they were walking towards was one she wouldn’t have been caught dead in, and the one time Harry had unconsciously said a few words with that accent had been one of his very first beatings.

But Harry thought he rather liked this family. For one thing, it had been kids from the rougher side of town, who looked and sounded like this, who had been willing to ignore Dudley and be sort of friendly toward him all through primary school. But beyond that, as he followed them through the dirty streets between houses that looked more and more run-down, he liked them for the way they talked to each other. Oh, the father was constantly sniping at things the other two said, but from the way they laughed, and the tentative sarcastic retorts the boy gave back, they all took it in good fun. Harry found he liked that.

The scene blurred again. They were inside a house now, a tiny kitchen without any of the modern appliances Aunt Petunia was so proud of. Something was on the stove, but it was sending up black smoke. Harry wrinkled his nose and reached toward it, as if there were something he could do to save the food, before he heard a thud and wheeled around.

The man had the boy pinned against the wall by his shoulders. Snape couldn’t have been more than a year or two older than in the last memory, and over his father’s shoulder Harry could see that his eyes were wide and frantic. “Please, no, Pa,” he was begging, and Harry shuddered at the familiar sound of it. “I didn’t- I wasn’t-”

“Tobias!” the woman screeched, lurching over to grab the man’s arm. Harry’s stomach clenched at the red of new bruises on her face.

The man shook her off, letting go of Snape in the process. He slid down the wall to huddle on the floor as the man turned on the woman.

“Witch!” he said with such utter loathing that Harry took a step back. “So you were lying to me all this time, were you? Devil, catching me in your toils to drag me down to your master.” He advanced on her slowly as she cringed back against the kitchen cupboards. “Is that what you wanted? Take me down to hell with you? Create more little devils to serve your master?” He gestured over his shoulder to Snape.

“It’s not the devil, Pa,” Snape said desperately. “It’s just magic. It’s not evil. Mam says -”

Tobias whirled on him. “Do you know what the Bible says about witches, boy? Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.” He reached for Snape’s throat. “You belong in hell. And I shouldn’t let you take me there with you.”

“Tobias!” the woman shrieked again, and Harry instinctively tried to pull the man off the child, but his hands went right through him.

Instead of strangling, however, Tobias grabbed something from right below Snape’s neck and yanked. Snape’s head jerked, and he cried out, but Tobias straightened up with a chain in his hand, the cross at the end of it twirling.

“God knows I should kill you,” he said, looking from the boy to the woman. “God knows I should.” They all stood frozen for a long moment, while Harry’s heart pounded and his throat tightened.

Then, with a snarl, the man threw the necklace as hard as he could. The woman flinched as it went by her and fell behind the icebox. The man stomped out the door, slamming it behind him.

The scene blurred again, and Harry forced himself to breathe. It was just a memory. He couldn’t do anything about it.

But somehow, as he closed his eyes against the nothingness around him, he thought that it was even worse to have someone love you and then rip that away when they found out what you were. At least he’d always known the Dursleys hated him, even before he started doing freaky things. It wasn’t like this.

His sight cleared to find the man and boy in a tiny closet, just barely big enough to stand in, with holes knocked high in the wall for light and ventilation. Snape was standing between his father and the wide shelf with a cauldron on it, with jars of ingredients and small containers of finished salves and tinctures ranged on shelves above and below.

“‘S just medicine, Pa,” the boy was pleading urgently. “Anybody can crush up herbs and make a medicine, right? And Mam makes good money from it. You can’t…”

“Get out of my way!” The man backhanded the boy, and his head slammed into the wall. Blood began flowing, but Snape struggled to his feet and grabbed his father’s arm before he could do more than make an abortive sweep at the jars.

“Please, Pa!”

With a snarl, the man turned on him. Without really thinking about it, Harry drew his wand. “Stupefy!” Nothing happened. “Petrificus Totalus!”

Feeling sick, he threw spells that did nothing as the man, face distended by rage, broke bones in his efforts to keep his son boy out of his way. Harry knelt beside the boy as he lay helplessly in the hall, clutching obviously broken ribs, and watched his father smash the jars and grind their contents under his boots. He wished there was something, anything, he could do to make this better, but he could only watch.

When the man stomped by without a glance and the door banged below, Snape dragged himself to his feet. Accidental magic must have already been at work healing him, as it had so often for Harry, because he was able to move, though he kept one arm on the wall and the other wrapped around his ribs.

He stumbled into a bedroom, where his mum sat in a straight-backed chair, staring at the wall. For the first time, the boy broke into sobs. “Mam!”

The woman turned her head, hesitated, then held out one hand. Snape stumbled to her and buried his face in her shoulder, but she remained stiff, barely resting her hand on his back and not speaking.

“M sorry, Mam,” he wept. “I tried to stop him, but I couldn’t.”

The woman opened her mouth as if to say something, but no words came out.

Snape seemed to realize something was wrong. He drew back. “Mam?”

She sighed and closed her eyes. Her hands fell back to her lap.

Harry swallowed hard, looking away from the emotion on the boy’s face. He heard footsteps, felt the magic tugging him as Snape left the room. Heartsick, he couldn’t even feel relieved when the surroundings blurred and freed him from that room.

Again the scene changed. This time Harry was outside, watching Snape walk down the road.

“Russ!” someone called, and Harry saw a group of boys across the way. “Ain’t seen you lately.”

Snape slowed down. “Been busy,” he said gruffly.

“Too busy for church?” another boy asked. “Bill had to sing your solo. Choirmaster wasn’t pleased you disappeared so close to the day.”

Harry was close enough to Snape to see his shoulders tense at that. “Tell him I’m sorry,” he said, not looking at his friends. “I can’t sing no more.”

“Why not?”

“Never mind why not,” Snape said sharply. Some of the tension in his shoulders relaxed as his eyes fell on something. “Here, you got a new jackknife? Where’d you get her?”

The boy grinned and spun the knife in his fingers. “Beauty, ain’t she? Gift from my godfather. See what I’m making.”

Snape came over to the fence, and Harry’s hands relaxed at last. Maybe he’d gotten through the worst of the memories and things would be fine now.

But the next scene was back in the kitchen.

“Wilson tells me you’ve been hanging around his son,” the man growled, leaning close to Snape’s face.

Snape gulped. “He’s my friend, Pa,” he said, his voice quavering just slightly.

“He thinks he’s your friend,” his father corrected, voice savage. “But that’s because he don’t know what you are, does he? He doesn’t know you’re a wolf in sheep’s clothing, looking to pull him down to hell.”

“No, Pa-” the boy started, only to double over in pain when the man hit him.

“You’re not to go around corrupting innocent folk with your deviltry,” Tobias snarled. “You hear me? I’m not having you showing what you are and letting people know I’m letting a monster live among them.”

Snape opened his mouth to say something, but another blow cut him off before he got anything out.

“You hear me?” the man shouted, hitting him again. “You’re not to hang around decent folk. Let him alone, devil-spawn.”

Snape pressed a hand to the side of his face and nodded. “Yes, sir,” he said softly.

The memories blurred after that, like watching a Muggle film on fast forward. Harry saw the way Snape ignored his friends, and how they told each other nasty stories about what was happening in his house and threw insults after him. The insults turned to rocks, and then something like Harry Hunting, and Harry again couldn’t keep himself from trying to intervene, but there was nothing he could do but watch the terrified boy trying to hide, or fight, or simply roll with the punches and survive.

When the memories slowed down and he was back in the kitchen, Harry immediately noticed the way Tobias avoided looking at his son as he stomped inside. Snape was obviously used to it by this point, from the way he tried to blend into the background, but he couldn’t hide the quick, furtive look he gave his father. Harry’s heart clenched. He’d been there. At Snape’s age - he guessed he was about eight, though as small for his age as Harry had always been - Harry hadn’t quite given up hope yet either. Maybe this time they won’t ignore me, maybe this time I’ll do it right and not earn another beating, maybe this time… Seeing the same hope and fear in someone else’s eyes was excruciating. Harry didn’t even care if it was Snape; no kid should feel like that.

As Snape tried to keep whatever was on the stove from burning without being in his father’s way, Tobias rummaged through the cupboards. Not finding what he was looking for, he straightened up with a grunt and grubbed around in his pocket. He threw something at Snape, who flinched and then had to scrabble on the floor for the coins that had bounced off him.

“Go get me something to drink,” Tobias said, still not looking at his son.

“Yes, sir.” Snape’s voice was soft, and he ducked his head and hunched his shoulders as he slid past his father toward the door.

Harry followed him along back alleys and over a couple of walls on the way to the pub. Apparently the route kept him away from his former friends; there were no stones hurled or insults shouted. Harry expected Snape to relax a bit when he got the pub doors, but instead he visibly braced himself before pushing the doors open and stepping through.

Harry had more or less gotten used to being able to walk through solid doors and walls to stay with Snape in this memory world. He no longer tried to crowd onto Snape’s heels, at least, to make it through the door before it shut. He did close his eyes, though.

Inside was full of noise and light. Even with ghost-eyes, Harry blinked to adjust. It took him a minute to find Snape, dodging between tables and standing men to get over to the counter, where he waited patiently for the barman to notice him.

He was evidently known here; bottles were passed over without Snape needing to say a word. The barman grinned and said something Harry couldn’t quite make out; Snape ducked his head and turned away.

“Toby’s been hitting the bottle hard lately,” one of the men near the bar said loudly. “Sent you here almost every night, hasn’t he, Russ?”

“You’d know, Bob,” another man said. “You’ve been here every hour they’re open.”

Under the wave of laughter, Snape made it almost to the door. He halted only a few steps away, when another man’s hand fell on his shoulder.

“Something’s up with old Toby,” he said softly, leaning down so that his face was close to Snape’s. From the way the boy’s nose wrinkled as the man’s breath hit him, Harry thought that he must already be drunk. “He left the church, he’s hitting the bottle, and he’s stopped bragging on his gorgeous wife and genius son. He only grunts when you’re mentioned now. What’s up with that, eh?”

Snape shook his head and tried to push past the man, but his grip tightened.

“Something’s going on at the Snapes’,” he said. “I aim to find out what. Toby don’t talk about you and your mum no more. Why might that be?”

Snape tried again to break free and failed. Harry wondered why he didn’t yell; surely some of the men in the bar would help him. But he stayed silent, and glancing around, Harry saw that everyone else seemed to find nothing wrong in the man leaning down to say a few words to the Snape boy.

“Your mum’s quite a looker,” the man said, and at that Snape finally seemed to have had enough. He kicked the man’s shin as hard as he could and, when that didn’t seem to be enough, whipped his head around and bit at the arm holding him. The man jerked back before his teeth could make contact. Harry was close enough to hear his teeth click together. Now free, Snape pelted out the door.

Harry felt sick as he ran along behind the boy. It was too close to Aunt Petunia’s worst insinuations about his mother: that she’d entrapped his father into marrying her, probably by getting pregnant with Harry and forcing him to take them both on. Aunt Petunia had hated and despised his father, but she seemed to think that even a wastrel like him wouldn’t have married her sister if she hadn’t been a bare-faced harlot.

Harry shoved back the memories and hurried to get alongside Snape. The boy had slowed down a bit, and he was scrubbing at his face with his free hand. Harry felt a little guilty at seeing him like this. He didn’t seem anything like Harry’s most hated professor, nor even the mostly silent man who he’d been living with for the last few months. It was hard to even think of him as Snape, when he looked just like Harry had when he’d huddled miserably in his cupboard and wished for some proof that what Aunt Petunia said wasn’t true. The words had hurt worse than the beatings, back then.

Half lost in his own thoughts, Harry followed the boy back into his house, where he silently set the beer at his father’s elbow and slipped away without acknowledgement. Then they climbed the rickety stairs, where Harry hadn’t yet been in these memories. The boy hesitated at a door, then softly pushed it open, glancing back at the stairs like he was afraid of his father hearing. “Mam?” he whispered through the crack in the door.

There was no answer, and with another glance back, he opened the door wide enough to slip in. Harry followed.

She was standing at the window, silhouetted against the dying light from the street. The boy went to her and gently put a hand on her arm. “Mam?”

She turned toward him at last. “Severus,” she said slowly. “What are you doing?”

“Just… Just come to see you, Mam,” he said, and Harry ached at the pain he could hear all too clearly in the young voice.

The woman apparently didn’t recognize it. “That’s nice,” she said dismissively, turning back to the window.

“Mam…” He hesitated, but she didn’t react. “You’re careful if you go out, right?”

There might have been a slight shrug. “I won’t.”

“I know. But… If you do, you’ll be careful, right?”

Totally forgetting once again that he was in a memory, Harry stepped over to the little boy, wanting to offer him some reassurance or help or something. But the hand he reached out went straight through him.

There might have been a murmur, or a sigh, or another slight shrug; Harry couldn’t be sure. But the boy’s shoulders slumped, and he turned away. Harry saw him give her one last look at the door and found himself swallowing hard, as the boy slipped around the door and was gone in the familiar blurring.

Back in the kitchen, Tobias was finally looking at his son: bending down eye to eye, hands gripping his arms hard enough to bruise. “Robertson says you’ve been causing trouble in the pub, boy. Fighting. Answering back.”

The boy’s face was white. “No, Pa! I just… He…”

The man threw him into the wall. “Take off your shirt,” he snarled, reaching for his belt buckle.

Harry could see that the boy knew what was coming, but he wasn’t yet as resigned as Harry had become once he started at Hogwarts. His fingers trembled on his buttons and he darted looks at his father as if hoping he would relent.

But Tobias just glared at him, and the boy finally shed his shirt and braced himself against the table. The belt whistled in the air and cracked against his skin; Harry turned his face away.

“You be polite to your betters,” Tobias growled as he swung the belt again and again. “You show respect. You ain’t going to bring shame on all of us in this town. You do right by your elders.”

“Yes, sir,” his son gasped out.

Harry ground his teeth together, trying to keep himself in place. He wanted, more than anything, to rip the belt out of the bastard’s hand, to draw his wand and hex him until he couldn’t move, to teach him to not even think of doing such a thing to his son. But he could do nothing but stand there until the memory blurred and took him away.

That fast-forward effect came up again, speeding Harry through days where the boy was alternately ignored and beaten by his father, and his mum never responded to anything he said about his pa, or magic - except to move away when he clumsily tried to apply some salve painstakingly scraped up from the destruction on the bruises that appeared on her face and arms. Harry never saw him use any on himself.

Over time, the mother began to leave her room, though she still seemed to stop responding whenever the boy tried to tell or show her anything unpleasant. The boy picked up on this and was very carefully cheerful around her, talking about commonplaces and helping her keep up with the chores around the house. Harry seemed to be the only one who saw the bitterness growing on his face, and he could do nothing but watch.

As the mother became more functional, the father seemed to calm a bit. There were actually conversations over the dinner table, though the boy spent them perched on the edge of his chair, tense as a hunted rabbit. Sometimes his father reached out to him not in anger, and Harry saw the mix of wariness and hunger in his eyes and ached for him. Was this worse than being unilaterally hated? He rather thought so. Because inevitably came the days when the father got into a rage. Sometimes he took it out on the mother, sometimes the son, sometimes both. Harry still tried to intervene, even though he knew it was fruitless; it was better than standing silent or turning away. Those, he only did when the memories showed him the aftermath, giving the boy what privacy he could.

The boy spent less and less time in the house. The neighborhood was no welcome place, with adults prying for gossip fodder and children attacking, so he tended to find out-of-the-way places: back alleys, dirty spots by the polluted river, bushes to hide in.

He was hiding in the bushes near a park on the slightly nicer side of town when the memories slowed again. Harry tensed, looking around for danger. All he saw was two girls playing on a swing set.

The redhead was pumping higher and higher, and the black haired one called out, “Lily! Mum says you mustn’t!”

Lily? Harry’s heart jumped. A red-haired girl named Lily - had Snape possibly known his mum?

The girl on the swing stuck out her tongue. "Mummy's Pet - Pet - Pet," she chanted as she swung. "Always follow Mummy, Pet."

She slid her elbows through the chains as she swung forward and launched herself into the air at the top of her swing. Harry lurched forward, a cry no one could hear on his lips.

But the girl floated, hanging in midair as she cackled at her sister's horrified expression. She started drifting downward, slow and controlled, and landed on her toes to twirl like a ballerina before posing and grinning at her sister.

Harry heard the sharp intake of breath beside him and glanced over to see the boy coming out of the bushes and heading for the girls. His clothes had gotten less and less well-fitting as the memories had progressed, and Harry couldn't exactly be surprised when the dark haired girl looked at him with distaste.

“Who are you?” the younger girl asked forthrightly. She wasn’t looking at his clothes like the other girl was, but her posture was defensive; Harry could imagine her raising her fists in an instant she needed to.

“It’s that awful Snape boy from Spinners End,” the older girl said with a sniff. “You stay away from us.”

The boy didn’t even acknowledge her; his attention was fully on the other girl. “You did magic.”

Now her fists did come up. “What’s it to you if I did?”

“She did not!” the dark-haired girl exclaimed at the same time.

His voice was low, and he glanced furtively around before saying, “I can, too.”

The older girl gasped in shock and stepped away, but neither of the other two paid her any attention.

“Really?” Now the redhead did look at him like she was measuring him up. “What can you do?”

The boy looked around, then bent and pulled up a dandelion plant. The buds on it were tight-furled and green. He cupped it in his hands and bent his head over it. Harry watched in surprise as the buds burst open, yellow tips expanding in seconds until the flowers were fully open in fuzzy yellow disks. He held the plant out, his fingers trembling slightly.

The girl took the dandelion with a delighted grin. She reached down to the center of the plant, pulling free one of the flowers from the base. She held it up with a grin. “Mummy had a baby and its head popped off!” On the last word, she flicked the top of the flower with her thumb and it flew off, hitting the boy in the face.

He winced, then covered it with a shy smile as she laughed.

“Can you fly?” she demanded.

The boy looked toward the swings. “Dunno.”

“C’mon then!”

As they pumped their way higher on the swings, she called over. “What’s your name?”

He visibly hesitated, not answering as he swung back. On the next forward swing, he said, “Severus. You?”

“Lily. Lily Evans.” Harry stumbled forward, but of course she didn’t react. She pumped for another few swings, then said, “This’s high enough. You ready?”

Severus awkwardly maneuvered his arms in front of the chains. “Yeah.”

“On three! One, two.” They came to the height of their swings. “Three!”

They pushed off in unison. Lily hung in the air again and floated to the ground, laughing.

Severus dropped like a ton of bricks.

Lily landed beside him, still laughing. “You can’t fly, can you?” she crowed.

Severus slowly dragged himself up, and Lily’s laughter died. “You’re hurt!”

Harry saw the blood on Severus’ arm and the way he gingerly moved a leg.

“Tuney!” Lily shouted. “Severus is hurt!”

“Serves him right,” the older girl grumbled as she came over. “You know you’re not supposed to do that.”

“Petunia Evans,” Lily snapped, stomping a foot. “You help him right now or I’ll tell Mum you weren’t taking good care of me!”

Petunia sniffed. “Like she’d believe you.” But she was already reaching for Severus’ hand.

He drew back. “It’s fine.”

“You’re bleeding,” Petunia said impatiently. “Don’t be a dunderhead. I’ll fix it.”

Severus’ eyes darted warily between the sisters as he tucked his injured arm against his body. “I’ll just go home then.”

“No!” Lily said immediately. “I wanna do more magic.”

“Lily…” her sister said warningly, but Lily ignored her.

“And you’ve gotta come and tell Mum and Dad that you can do it too. They don’t know what to do with me. They’re all confused and worried.”

“No, they’re not.” Petunia glared at her.

“You’re not the only one who listens when we’re supposed to be in bed,” Lily said.

Harry watched Severus’ eyes darting back and forth between them. He couldn’t blame him. It had taken him a long time to get used to the way Ron talked to his brothers.

And the idea of his Mum and Aunt Petunia being in any way similar to the Weasleys was unthinkable.

“So come on,” Lily urged, putting a hand on Severus’ back to shove him in the proper direction. He stiffened, and Harry winced in sympathetic pain. He knew how it felt to hide how much pain he was in after a beating. “We’ll go to our house and wash it out, and Tuney will put some of that awful-smelling glop on it, and then you can tell me more about magic while we wait for Mum and Dad to get home. Are there more people like us? How do we find them? What’s the coolest thing you’ve ever done?”

Harry saw the moment Severus acquiesced to her urging. The questions about magic made him straighten up, and he stopped pulling away and started to walk with her. “I can tell you all about magic. I-”

“Not where people can hear!” Petunia glanced around as they left the park. “Honestly. Wait until we’re home to talk about-” her voice dropped. “That kind of stuff.”

Lily rolled her eyes. “Come on, Tuney,” she whined. “It’s not like anyone’s going to hear us and get upset.”

But Severus echoed Petunia’s gesture, checking for watchers. “Let’s wait,” he said in a low voice. “Your house is close, right?”

Lily sighed. “Fine,” she said, sounding very put-upon. “We’ll wait. But hurry up!” She grabbed Severus’ uninjured arm. “Come on, Sev!”

Severus stopped dead. “Sev?”

Lily looked back at him. “Yeah? Does that bug you?”

“No.” He shook his head slightly and started walking again. “Sev’s fine.”

The scene blurred, and Harry cried out involuntarily, not wanting to let the sight of his mother go. But to his relief, they didn’t stop entirely. Instead, the scenes started to flicker like flipping through his wizarding photo album, except all these pictures were his mum as a kid, with her best friend.

Lily and Sev fighting with sticks, laughing fit to burst. Lily and Sev racing down the road, Lily deliberately tripping him when he looked likely to win. Lily forcing a grumbling Sev into any number of stupid, dangerous stunts. Lily cheering Sev up when he sulked, teasing him until he broke down and gave a small smile. Sev stealing his parents’ cigarettes and sharing them with Lily. Petunia destroying the cigarettes and threatening to never let them see each other again if she caught Lily smelling like smoke ever again. The two of them experimenting with magic: setting things on fire, creating potions that poisoned small animals, trying to fly out of trees and walk on water and lift huge rocks, summoning ghosts (Harry still wasn’t sure whether they’d succeeded or not in that one), and so many explosions. (Seeing Aunt Petunia patching them up and scolding them - and occasionally getting pulled into their exploits and making them even crazier - was… uncomfortable.) Sev dragging Lily into the more dangerous parts of town; Lily grinning at him and putting them both in the most dangerous situations she could find, while he swore and then got her out of them. Years of small memories, and Harry drank them in, feeling like he could never get enough.

Of course, they were interspersed with darker moments. Tobias finding Sev with one of his mum’s old books and ordering him to bring them all out back to be burned (Sev managed to smuggle most of them out to hide at Lily’s house). Tobias railing against Sev for any number of reasons, or none at all. Sev hiding bruises and worse under a heavy coat, even in summer, and turning off Lily’s questions with a skill at lying that was frankly unsettling in so small a child. Sev’s mum and Pa fighting while he hid under the blankets with his fingers in his ears. His mum still not being there when anything went wrong for Sev, until he stopped even looking to her for support and just ignored her.

Those memories were awful, but at least Sev and Harry both had the moments with Lily to look forward to. For years, even if they were subjectively only minutes for Harry, it seemed to be enough.

The rapid memories slowed, and Harry was standing beside where Snape and Lily were lying side by side on the top of the riverbank. Lily was pointing at the sky. “See the lion?”

Severus made a face. “Gryffindor.”

Lily pushed herself up on her elbows. “Tell me more about Hogwarts. Which one’s Gryffindor again?”

“Mam says they’re the daredevils who jump in without thinking. If they lose points for it, they don’t care, because sometimes it works and they get the points back and more.”

“Jumping in without thinking - Tuney would say we both belong there.”

Severus snorted and elbowed her; she elbowed him back.

“Where do you want to go again? Slytherin?”

He nodded. “It was my mam’s House. She says it’s for people who want to do great things.”

“What are you gonna do that’s so great, then?”

Severus flopped back down. “I’m gonna invent things. Spells, potions… I wanna learn how to heal people, like Mam did with her salves, but more. And how to fight.”

“I’m gonna learn how to fly for real,” Lily said.

“Ain’t no spell for that. You need magic brooms.”

“Well, then, you’ll just have to invent one for me, won’t you?” Lily said matter-of-factly, then rolled over and jumped up. “C’mon, I’ll race you to the river. I wanna see if there’s any dead fish today.”

For just a short moment the scene flickered, and Harry saw an adult Snape - much younger than when Harry knew him, but not a child anymore - leap off the ground and soar gracefully across the room to land next to a desk. He sat down and wrote a short line in the book in front of him. Then abruptly he buried his head in his hands, shoulders shaking.

Harry felt cold. Somehow seeing all these memories didn’t really feel like Snape to him. This one… Seeing him crying was wrong. Knowing what he was crying about was even worse. He suddenly wished he could leave.

But the memories carried him onward, back to the swingset. This time the two were a few years older, and they were sitting still instead of pumping.

“Tomorrow,” Lily said, looking at the red sunset. “You ever scared, Sev?”

“No.” Severus kicked his feet into the ground to start himself swinging. “I’da left years ago if I coulda.”

“Tomorrow night we’ll be in our dorms,” Lily mused, almost to herself. “Wonder where.” She twisted to face Severus. “Tell me again?”

“Slytherin if you wanna be great,” Severus half-chanted as he swung. “Hufflepuff if you’re a good friend. Ravenclaw if all you wanna do is learn. Gryffindor if you wanna do something big and flashy and look good.”

Lily sighed. “I don’t think I’m any of those.”

“Hat’ll find somewhere to put you.” Severus had gotten the swing to the height of the bar. “Think I can do it this time?”

“Sev!” Lily was laughing. “Even I can’t anymore. No more accidental magic. And Tuney won’t fix you up again; she said so.”

Severus hooked his elbows through the chains, grinning at her. Then he shifted his grip and dragged his feet along the ground to slow himself. “You’ll be all right,” he told her. “Hat could put you anywhere; you’ve got all the traits.”

“Really?”

“Less they’ve made a new house that’s just for you since Mam was there. One for people who are smart enough to come up with brilliant schemes that get your friends in deep shit but then get them out by being a good liar and looking innocent.”

Lily laughed again. “Well, if they have, you’ll be in there with me, so that’ll be all right.” She sobered. “I’m glad I’m not going alone.”

Severus finally looked straight at her before he looked down. He scruffed a toe in the dirt. “Yeah. Me too.”

Chapter Text

Harry had expected the next memory to be at Hogwarts, but he found himself in a compartment on the train, where Severus and Lily were curled up on the seats and chatting.

Immediately the door opened, and someone walked directly through Harry, something that still gave him the creeps. He shivered and moved aside before really looking at the newcomers.

His heart almost stopped. It was like looking at himself, and yet so very different. He’d studied himself in the bathroom mirror the night before going to Hogwarts, after stuffing towels in the cracks around the door to prevent the light from waking the Dursleys. This boy had the same messy black hair, the same glasses, even the same shape of face.

But where Harry had been carefully inspecting himself to make sure no bruises showed and that no one would notice how thin he was, this boy walked with the total confidence of someone who had never imagined missing a meal or being struck for any reason. Was this how Harry would have looked if his parents had lived and he’d had a family that loved him?

The boys threw themselves into seats, and Harry noticed that their luggage was there; they must’ve been in this compartment all along. From the wary glances Severus was throwing them, they hadn’t been making an effort to set their companions at ease.

Severus made a show of ignoring them, even though Harry could see his tense shoulders, and continued talking to Lily. “Just come to Slytherin. Problem solved.”

“Slytherin, honestly?” Harry’s father said. “I think I’d leave, wouldn’t you?”

The words were so much like Malfoy’s that Harry flinched.

Severus determinedly kept talking to Lily about things they’d read in their school books, but Harry could see that half his attention was on the other boys. Harry looked over at them again when the other boy introduced himself as Sirius Black. That made sense, he supposed; if the man was his godfather, he must have been friends with his parents.

Sirius said something about how his family was traditionally Slytherin but he wasn’t planning on going there. James grinned at him, and Harry swallowed. Seeing that smile in pictures just wasn’t the same. He was fairly certain that his face had never looked like that: carefree and joyous. He was both happy and suddenly, intensely, jealous.

Then, as James said that he was going to Gryffindor, Severus made a scoffing sound. James rounded on him. “Have you got a problem with that?”

“Nah.” Severus waved a hand. “M sure you’ll fit right in. Don’ need brains in Gryffindor, after all. Just brawn.”

“And you’ve got neither, so where does that put you?” Sirius said, looking down his nose at Severus. Harry was again reminded uncomfortably of Malfoy.

Lily jumped to her feet. “C’mon, Severus, let’s find a new compartment.”

“Buh-bye, Snivellus,” Sirius sang out as the door closed behind them.

In the hall, Severus turned on Lily. “What the hell was that about? We coulda taken them.”

Lily looked down. “Mum said to be careful at school. To make friends with the powerful people.” She put her hands on her hips and her voice became higher. “Or at least don’t antagonize them, Lily Evans! This is your chance and don’t you waste it!” She sighed. “You saw their clothes. You heard their accents. They’re spoiled rich prats, but…”

Severus huffed in annoyance. “Be easier to fight them.”

Lily shrugged, still looking down. Severus put an arm around her shoulders and gave her an awkward hug.

“Look. No need to worry about them two for a while. Let’s find a place where we can see what magic we can do now we’ve got wands.”

Harry just saw Lily’s face light up with the look she got when she was about to do her worst mischief before the scene blurred.

Harry only caught glimpses of the Sorting:

“Evans, Lily!”

“Gryffindor!”

Her face was set when the Hat was lifted off her head; she walked toward the table with her chin up and a determined stride. But when her new Housemates clapped and smiled, she relaxed a bit and smiled back.

“Potter, James!”

“Gryffindor!”

Harry watched uncomfortably as his dad tried to sit by his mum and she deliberately turned her back on him.

“Snape, Severus!”

“Slytherin!”

Severus and Lily shared a look before he moved across the room. Harry had to close his eyes and take a deep breath. He was pretty sure his mum had been happy in Gryffindor - but now that he thought about it, he had no real proof of that. The only things he knew about her, beyond her eye color and that she’d died for him, were what he’d seen in Snape’s memories: that she and Sev had been inseparable for years. If he’d been moved into a different House during third year, away from Ron and Hermione… He’d’ve been miserable. He hoped his mum wasn’t.

When he opened his eyes again, he was in the Slytherin Common Room. He glanced around; it didn’t seem to have changed much since the time he and Ron had snuck in second year.

The new first years were standing in a line, the older students looking them over appraisingly. Severus was at the end, visibly smaller, more unkempt, and in poorer clothes than the others.

One of the prefects stepped in front of him. “Snape, was it? Not a familiar name.”

Severus glared back. “No,” he said flatly. “But Mam was a Prince.”

There were a few snorts from the onlookers. The prefect raised an eyebrow. “Indeed? How the mighty have fallen.”

Severus opened his mouth but closed it again without saying anything. Standing behind him, Harry could see his clenched fists.

A swift blur, and then Harry was in a dorm room separated into five areas by wardrobes and high-back desks. Four of the personal spaces were lavishly decorated; the last was bare wood. Severus sat on his bed, nose buried in a book, as the other four boys in their year reminisced about home and family. Harry remembered his own feelings of confusion and envy his first few days in the Gryffindor dorms and had a sudden, irrational wish to be a Slytherin in Severus’ year just so he wouldn’t be so alone.

The next scene change moved him somewhere else in the Slytherin dorms, by the green and silver color scheme. Severus was awkwardly perched on the edge of his chair, across from a tall Slytherin with long blond hair and a silver prefect's badge. The young man lounged gracefully in his seat and smiled at Severus, who responded with a glower and hands clenched tightly in his lap.

"So you've a talent for potions," the prefect said.

Severus seemed to be speaking through gritted teeth. "How many points, sir?"

The prefect held up a hand. "Now, now. I told you that was negotiable, didn't I?"

Severus' eyes flickered over him assessingly. "Not saying I'll do it, but... What d'you want, then?"

There was a weary sigh. "Always so hostile. It must make fitting in so difficult for you." A sharp glance. "Not that it was ever going to be easy for you."

"What. Do. You. Want?"

The prefect leaned forward. "Why, to help you, of course. Isn't that my duty as your prefect?" He smiled. "And if, as I help you, a few potions find their way my way, well, that would be convenient, wouldn't it?"

Severus looked down and opened his hands, deliberately stretching his fingers. It looked like it took a lot of effort. "I don't know what you mean."

The prefect shook his head. "You're getting eaten alive here, and we both know it," he said bluntly, and Severus' head snapped up. The prefect held up a hand to stop him from speaking. "If you're doing this kind of advanced potions work at your age-" he held up a bottle "-then you might be useful to me. But only if you survive."

Severus leaned back slightly. "I'm surviving."

The prefect rolled his eyes. "Not in the way most of us think of it. You need help. I'm willing to accept a payment you can afford. You're in Slytherin, you can't be stupid enough to refuse a deal like that."

Severus still looked wary. "What exactly are we talking here?"

"Lessons," the blond said instantly. "I'll rid you of those atrocious speech habits, train you how to move properly, teach you the Latin and French you lack... Basically, get you ready for polite society." He looked at Severus and gave a theatrical shudder. "Instead of looking like something the cat dragged in. In return, you'll brew for me. I'll provide the ingredients, you create the masterpieces I need. Is that acceptable?"

Severus studied his face carefully. "Nothin else?"

The young man closed his eyes. "First lesson. Doubt everyone, of course, but for Merlin's sake don't say it outright. Not to someone with more power than you have. Think, you idiot! I could turn you in to Slughorn for illicit brewing at any moment. I could take points and leave it at that. I'm offering an ongoing relationship with benefits to both of us instead of merely demanding that you brew for me in return for my silence. What can you possibly gain by insulting me by suggesting to my face that you think I'm lying?"

Severus shrugged and considered for a long moment. Finally he nodded jerkily. "All right. I'm in."

"Good," the young man answered. "I really can't have Slytherin House being associated with a complete fool. Now. Your first assignment."

The memory faded, and Harry shivered. He was glad that Severus was getting some help, of course, but the cold-blooded transaction struck him as wrong. Shouldn't someone help just because Severus needed it?

Like people have helped you? some bitter part of him wondered.

He shook off the thought as the world reformed yet again.

"I can't be having with this," Severus was saying in an affected tone, head high and arrogant.

Lily was laughing hysterically. "You sound just like the prats!" she said through giggles.

Severus ducked his head and grinned at her. "You've been working on your accent too, I notice."

She made a face. "Mum insists. All her letters are checking whether I'm making the proper friends and fitting in and such." She shrugged. "It's not that hard."

Severus' face twisted briefly, but the expression was gone before Lily looked at him again. "Annoying," was all he said.

Lily sighed. "Sure is. It's good to be with you and forget all that junk." She stretched and rummaged in her bag. "So. Transfiguration next?"

Everything blurred, and they were in the Transfiguration classroom. Severus was sitting on the back row. Sirius was next to him and was whispering something to him as they attempted to transfigure buttons.

“-can’t imagine what a Prince woman was thinking, marrying a Muggle,” Sirius was saying as Harry leaned closer to hear. “She really couldn’t find anyone of our kind to marry her? Merlin.” He whistled. “How ugly do you have to be that not even social climbers who want your family name will take you?”

Severus’ hand was white-knuckled where it gripped his wand, and as he turned toward Sirius Harry tried futilely to intervene.

“Class is dismissed!” McGonagall called from the front of the room. “Don’t forget to read Chapter 4 before next week.”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Severus jammed his things into his bag, face tight, while Sirius leisurely packed his. Severus practically ran out the door, but Harry, hurrying to keep up, overshot him when he stopped right outside, down the hall just enough to be out of sight.

Oh, shit.

Harry watched in horror as Sirius sauntered out of the classroom and Severus launched himself at him like a small battering ram, head down to slam into Sirius’ chest and knock him to the floor. Sirius didn’t even have a chance to defend himself. They went down in a heap and both scrambled for a position that would let them do damage.

Severus easily ended up on top, but before he could do anything more to Sirius, the bigger boy managed to get his wand up. “Tenaci wibbly!”

Severus’ grip slipped and Sirius pulled away, grabbing Severus’ wand as he did. He smirked. “You ought to do something about that grease, Snivellous.”

Before he said more, Snape lunged at him and bit him savagely on the arm. Sirius screamed and dropped both wands, frantically beating at Severus with his free hand.

Just then McGonagall made it out of the classroom. Harry saw her expression change from shock to fury before a blast from her wand separated the two. Severus started to charge back toward Sirius, but McGonagall stepped toward him. One look at her face was enough to stop him in her tracks.

“Miss Brown, escort Mr. Black to the Hospital Wing,” she said without taking her eyes off Severus. When Sirius’ whining about the pain he was in and how he couldn’t believe it began to die off into the distance, she went on. “Mr. Snape, this behavior is completely unacceptable. Backstreet brawling is not allowed here at Hogwarts, whatever you may be accustomed to. Thirty points from Slytherin, and a week’s detention with Mr. Filch. And I will be speaking with your Head of House.”

They were suddenly back in the room where Severus met with his prefect. The blond young man was glaring at him. “Brawling in the halls like a Muggle delinquent? Truly?” He shook his head. “Why do I even bother with you?”

“You don’t have to,” Severus snapped. He turned away and headed for the door.

“If you take one more step,” the prefect said, his voice suddenly ice, “our agreement is off. No more potions ingredients, no more protection from your roommates or the upper years. Do you really want that?”

Severus froze but refused to turn around.

“Come back here.” The prefect had taken out his wand and was running his hand along its length. “Now.”

Severus took a deep breath and slowly returned to where he’d been standing, tension in every line of his body. He refused to look at the prefect.

“Good.” He smiled, an expression that had nothing to do with happiness. “Now, Professor Slughorn has asked me to see to your punishment for disgracing the House with your Muggle fighting. It seems to me that the best way to do that is to make sure you know how to fight as a wizard.” He leveled his wand at Severus. “Use whatever spells you know. When you get in a hit on me, I’ll stop.” He waited while Severus, eyes wide, scrambled for his wand. “Oh, and Snape?”

Severus finally met his eyes.

“If you use those Muggle tactics on me, you will heartily regret it.”

He waited for Severus’ jerky nod before saying, “Begin.”

After only a minute, Harry had to look away, gritting his teeth. This was no duel, no lesson. This was a beating like any Tobias dealt out, only with magic.

The prefect only used basic classroom spells, but they knocked Severus around enough to leave bruises. Severus tried to get out one of the few offensive spells he knew, but the prefect simply interrupted him with a jinx before he managed to complete any of them.

It seemed to go on for far too long as Harry waited helplessly. Severus went quiet except for loud attempts to get enough breath into his lungs, but the prefect’s spells didn’t let up.Harry turned back to see if there was any hope of it ending without Severus dropping unconscious when Severus abruptly stopped, allowing a Stinging Hex to hit him without even attempting to dodge or counter it.

The next instant, the prefect took a sudden step back, shaking his hand as if to brush off a sudden pain. He looked at Severus with something almost like respect. “Nonverbal? Maybe I’m not completely wasting my time with you, Snape.”

Severus was panting too hard to reply, but he glared.

The prefect stepped over to ruffle Severus’ hair. “Hey, don’t take it so hard. I’m helping you, after all.”

Harry wanted to hit the bastard’s hand away from Sev. By the abortive movement of his arm, Severus was thinking the same, but he held himself back.

The prefect noticed, and his smile widened. “Good boy. It seems you’ve learned that lesson. No more brawling.” His hand dropped, and his voice sharpened. “Or what you just got will seem like being knocked into a Cushioning Charm. Do you understand me?”

Severus lowered his head. “Yes, sir.”

Another scene shift. Harry looked around, wondering where he was. It was dark, and crowded - was Severus in a cupboard?

Looking down, he finally saw him, huddled in a ball in a corner. The look on his face had Harry whipping out his wand and turning in a circle, looking for danger. But there was nothing there. There was no room for anything else. Even Harry was halfway through a wall.

Then he picked up the sound of footsteps outside, slowing from a run to a walk. "Where'd the coward go?" a voice asked.

"Little snake's fast," another voice agreed, and Harry's heart clenched.

"Oi, Snivelly!" the second voice called, and Harry couldn't help sticking his head through the door. His last hope that he'd somehow been mistaken was dashed when he saw his dad and Sirius at the end of the hall. "Better stay in your rat hole forever! If you come out, we'll find you."

Harry pulled his head back in and turned back to Severus, who was pulled into a tighter ball. Knowing he couldn't feel it, he still knelt and put a hand on the boy's shoulder, watching it shiver hard enough to pass back and forth through Harry's ghost hand.

In the next memory, Lily was dragging Severus by the hand. “Come on,” she insisted. “It’s fun!”

They got to the shore of the lake before Severus managed to pull free. “I dunno, Lils,” he said, surveying the water dubiously.

“Susan says this is one of the warm spots,” Lily said impatiently. “And it’s fun!”

Severus was still hesitating.

“It’s dead useful, Sev,” Lily insisted, coming back to stand beside him. “Who knows when someone might fall in? Or-” she grinned. “Now we have these highfalutin accents, maybe our posh friends will invite us to summer by the sea or something.”

Severus snorted, but he yielded to her insistent pressure and stepped out into the water. Harry focused on his mom’s delighted grin for as long as he could before the memory was lost entirely.

There were a few quick scenes next, all of which made Harry clench his fists. A fat, balding professor - who looked enough like Uncle Vernon to make Harry take a step back - looked at Severus across a cluttered desk and sighed. “I keep getting reports that you’re getting into trouble, Snape. Why?”

“They keep attacking me four to one,” Severus said desperately. “Sir. I don’t-”

The professor held up a hand. “I know Potter and Black can get rather mischievous.” He smiled reminiscently. “Why, in my own class, they- but that’s not the point. When you overreact, it just makes them think teasing you is more fun. Ignore them and they’ll stop.”

“But-”

“That’s enough, Snape. No more fighting, do you hear? They’ll get bored and leave you alone soon enough.”

Then they were back in the Slytherin dorms, and Severus was trying frantically to avoid jinxes from the blond prefect’s wand. “Sluggy is not pleased, Snape,” he said casually in between spells. “He expects me to- Ah!” He jumped back as a Stinging Hex hit him. “Well done.” He raised his wand again. “You’re improving. Get in three hits before we stop.”

Harry dove in front of Severus, who was frozen in shock at having the punishment resume when he’d thought it was done. Of course, his intervention did no good, and the curse spun Severus around and knocked him face-first into the wall. Harry let fury take him and tried his best to punch the prefect in the face, feeling his hand go right through him before the scene faded.

To Harry’s relief, the next part of the memories was obviously summer vacation, and if Tobias was still a bastard, Severus and Lily mostly resumed their normal activities. Harry savored every moment and tried not to think about the next year at Hogwarts.

It was worse than he’d expected.

Severus was in an empty classroom when Lily snuck in with obvious worry that someone would notice. Sev shot to his feet. “Someone following you?”

LIly dropped her bag with a sigh and shook her head. “Nah. It’s just getting harder. They don’t want me seeing you.”

“The toerags?”

She shook her head. “I ignore them. No, it’s, like, the whole house. There’s so much hatred of Slytherins…” She looked at him worriedly. “Is it really full of Dark Wizards? Ones who want to get rid of Muggles and Muggleborns?”

Severus looked down. “I don’t exactly socialize with them much,” he said awkwardly. “I don’t really know.”

Lily bit her lip. “It’s just getting really hard to avoid all the study sessions and things they keep inviting me to.”

Severus gave a shrug that only slightly hid his hurt. “Yeah, you need to spend time with them. Maybe we’d better stop studying together.”

Lily darted in and gave him a quick hug. “We’ll still meet sometimes. Just, not every day, right? And we’ll have our summers.”

Severus smiled for her, and Harry hurt for him.

As Lily turned toward the door, he called after her in his heaviest Cokesworth accent, “Don forget ta walk posh, Lils!”

She turned and stuck her tongue out at him, but Harry noticed how her posture changed as she stepped through the door. She looked like a pureblood girl, all determination and pride, and he didn’t like it. He missed the dirty mischief-maker young Lily he’d had so much fun watching in Cokesworth.

And then there were the memories of his father.

James hexing someone from behind in the hall, snickering when the younger girl’s legs gave out mid-step and two other students fell over her. James sending a Confounding Curse at someone just as McGonagall asked him a question and falling out of his seat laughing at the confused stuttering of his response. James cursing half of the Hufflepuff table with an itchy rash in the middle of dinner and high-fiving Sirius when they were lead off to Madam Pomfrey, some of them crying with pain.

Then, of course, there were all the memories involving Severus. He seemed to be James and Sirius’ favorite target, and Harry started to close his eyes after a rapid succession of him getting sent to the Hospital Wing regularly to get his teeth grown back or his skin fixed from peeling off all over his body, or sneaking back to the Slytherin dorms trying to hide his wounds.

He started to see the student body separating whenever James Potter and his posse were around. The victims, like Severus, tried to hide on the fringes or sneak around corners. Others banded together in groups and kept their heads down. A few followed them around, laughing at the pranks in the evident hope that they wouldn’t turn on their admirers. And some, like Lily, made a show of finding them either boring or annoying.

Harry couldn’t blame his mum for wanting nothing to do with James Potter. But surely he’d grown up later? After all, his mum had changed her mind and married him.

It was their fifth year, judging by the shiny new prefect’s badge his mum was wearing on the train, that he found out how wrong he was.

Severus was curled up in the corner of a compartment reading after Lily had finished gushing about being a prefect and had headed off to do her rounds on the train. Suddenly the door slid open. Severus looked up sharply, but there was no one there. After a moment’s hesitation, he gripped his wand and went slowly to the door, looking out.

No one appeared. Harry saw his shoulders relax as he reached out to pull the door shut again.

“Snivellus,” a voice whispered out of nowhere.

Severus jumped and spun around, wand raised, but there was no one to be seen.

The voice spoke again. “I’m watching you. You’re not alone.”

Severus was still looking around frantically, but Harry knew what was happening. He saw the flash of the edge of a shoe near the floor, almost instantly hidden, and felt sick. So his dad had the invisibility cloak at school, and apparently used it to torment his classmates.

Then his face flushed hot enough that he was glad to be invisible, because hadn’t he done the same thing to Malfoy? He tried to tell himself that it wasn’t the same, that Malfoy was never as vulnerable as Snape - but he could remember all too well the fear on Malfoy’s face, and the glee that he’d felt at putting it there.

Just like your father, Snape’s voice sneered in his memory. Harry had always defiantly taken the obvious insult as a compliment, but after seeing these memories, he had to wonder if he really wanted to be like his dad. And was he?

He heard a muffled laugh and saw the glimpse of shoe again, this time in the doorway. Severus was still looking around frantically; Harry wished he could reassure them that they’d gone. But it was a long time before he sank into his seat again.

The next scene was at Hogwarts, back in a closet Harry knew all too well. Severus had been hiding here since first year when bullies were on his tail. No one ever found him, and Severus relaxed in his corner and waited for the pursuit to die down.

But this time, footsteps came right up to the door of the closet. “Oh, Snivelly,” a voice called in a mocking sing-song. “We’ve found you. Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

As Severus stiffened, the door of the closet swung open to reveal James and some friends. Harry drew back from the malicious grin on his father’s face as he raised his wand.

The scene changed then, but it brought Harry no relief. He jumped from memory to memory of Severus finding more and more unlikely places to hide. He watched the painful hope on Severus’ face whenever he found an out-of-the-way, unused corner to cram himself into.

But every time, no matter how carefully he hid himself away, it was never long before James Potter and his band walked in, total confidence in their entrance, as if they’d known all along.

And they did know, Harry realized the second or third time. The Marauder’s Map - Professor Lupin had told him that his father had created it while they were at Hogwarts. They always knew exactly where Severus was.

The thought made him want to sick up, but apparently you couldn’t vomit in someone else’s memories. Instead, he was forced to watch as they gave Severus tentacles, or fastened his legs together so he had to crawl, or Vanished his robes and left him to make his way back to his dorm in his underwear.

And when he made it there, the other Slytherns’ reactions were changing from bored annoyance to anger. “What a disgrace,” they started to mutter, and then say aloud. “He shouldn’t be allowed to shame our house this way.”

Apparently some of them agreed with the blond prefect of Severus’ first year about the best way to teach someone to stop getting targeted by bullies.

The fat professor called Severus into his office again. “I thought we got over this nonsense years ago. Why are you antagonizing them again?”

“I’m not, sir,” Severus said through clenched teeth. “I used to be hiding from them, but now they can find me wherever I go. They must be using some sort of illegal charm-”

“Nonsense!” the professor cut in. “They’re good students, certainly, but not good enough to do anything like that. If you’ve just been needling them and running away, you can’t blame them for getting fed up and coming after you.”

“I’m not!” Severus repeated, and his voice was rising and his eyes were wild. “They come after me for no reason - sometimes I can’t even see them, they’re Disillusioned or something and they come up on me when there’s no way they should know where I am-”

“Stop being ridiculous, Snape,” the professor huffed. “That’s impossible, as you well know, and it’s a downright stupid attempt to get them in trouble.”

“IT’S THE TRUTH!” Severus hollered, clearly at the end of his rope.

The professor stood up. “Now, then, calm down, boy. I don’t know if you’re just trying to get them in trouble or if you’re imagining things, but you had better go. If you keep thinking that invisible enemies are following you around, you’d better see Madam Pomfrey.” He walked to the door and held it open.

Harry could only watch, helpless, as Severus hurried out of the room, head down. But Harry hadn’t missed the tracks of tears on his cheeks.

Back in the Slytherin common room, Severus walked over to another Slytherin Harry had seen in his classes. The young man was scribbling an essay with almost as much crossing-out as actual words and looked frustrated. Severus dropped a parchment in front of him without a word.

The writer glanced at it, then looked up with a glare. “What are you doing copying my writing?”

“Your homework,” Severus said with apparent indifference, though his eyes were scanning the room warily. “Read it.”

He skimmed over the parchment, then looked back up. “What’s the price?”

Severus didn’t stop looking for danger. “Let’s just say… your favorable opinion of me.”

The other young man looked around the room too. “I can see that,” he said slowly. Then he looked back at Severus. “Potions and Herbology. Every week.”

Severus nodded. “Night before they’re due.”

Next they were in a hallway. A bloodied and battered Severus was walking alongside McGonagall.

“What did you do this time, Mr. Snape?” she demanded tartly. “This is the third time I’ve had to escort you to the Hospital Wing this week!”

Harry almost cheered when the next memory resolved to show Lily meeting Severus at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

“This had better be important,” she grumbled. “You have no idea how hard it was to get away. And what are you doing spending time with Avery and Mulciber? I can’t keep defending you when you’re obviously friends with Dark Wizards!”

“They’re not dark, Lily,” Severus said dismissively.

“You heard what they did to Mary!”

“It was a joke.” He saw the look in her eyes and quickly added, “A bad one, of course, but Potter does worse every day and you don’t say anything to him.”

“At least he’s not using Dark Magic!”

Severus sighed. “Can we not fight? Please? I’m making progress, and I want to show you.”

“All right.” Lily folded her arms. “What’ve you got?”

Severus raised his wand and concentrated. After a moment, Lily shot into the air and flipped upside down. She instantly dropped back to the ground, cutting off her shriek. Severus ran over to kneel beside her, hands fluttering helplessly. “God, Lily, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know - I haven’t been able to practice on anyone else, and I thought… Dammit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”

Lily pushed her robes into place and shoved her hair out of her face to reveal a grin. “What on earth did you think you were doing, you big dork?”

Severus visibly relaxed. “I’m trying to make that spell for you.”

She looked at him blankly.

“You know. To let you fly.”

Lily suddenly reached forward and hugged him. “Severus! That’s so cool!”

He ducked his head as she pulled away. “Yeah, well, obviously it’s not working as well as I thought.”

“But it’s a start,” Lily said. “What’ve you got so far?”

Harry’s attention was drawn away from the intense discussion of magical theory by the sound of a twig snapping. He jerked around - this was the Forbidden Forest, after all - but saw no one. But then, just as he was about to turn back, he saw a branch move aside for no reason.

His heart went cold. Automatically he glanced at the ground. There was no telltale shoe, but the leaves on the forest floor were being crushed and shifted as someone stepped on them.

The scene changed before Harry could give in to the temptation to punch his father in the face.

It was dark, and Severus was moving along at a determined pace. It took Harry a minute to recognize where he was. When he did, he stopped in his tracks.

The tunnel to the Shrieking Shack!

He hurried to up to Severus, trying to grab his arm, to yell at him to stop. What was he thinking, going in here? Was it the full moon? What the hell?

Severus slowed down as he approached the trap door leading to the shack. There was light bleeding around the edges - not much, but it was visible in the total darkness of the tunnel. Harry heard Severus suck in a breath before he reached out and pushed the door open. There was a moment of silence, and Severus stepped through the door.

Suddenly the doorway was filled with grey fur and flashing teeth. Severus stumbled back, but the creature stayed right with him, snarling.

Then someone plunged directly through Harry and grabbed Severus around the waist, throwing him backward as he rushed for the door. His shoulder hit the werewolf in the chest, driving him back a pace as he pulled the heavy door shut.

The two boys’ panting echoed in the dark tunnel. Harry had just enough time to recognize his father before Severus lunged at him. In an attack that looked disconcertingly like the werewolf’s, he threw himself on James Potter with a shriek.

“Oi!” James exclaimed, hiding behind his arms. “I saved you!”

Severus’ only answer was to attempt to bite him.

Harry suddenly found himself in Dumbledore’s office, with Severus, James, and Sirius. Severus was ranting.

“They tried to kill me!” he said, flecks of spit flying from his mouth. “He may have gotten cold feet at the last minute, but it was still attempted murder!” Any upperclass accent or posture he’d learned was gone; he was screaming like he had in the earliest memories Harry had seen, completely out of control.

“That’s enough,” Dumbledore said sternly, and Severus snapped his mouth shut, panting and looking around the room angrily. “Mr. Black, I hope you realize what the consequences of your actions might have been.”

Sirius looked down and muttered something.

“Mr. Potter, your intervention was most timely,” Dumbledore went on. “I’m sure that, with time, Mr. Snape will appreciate it.” He gave Severus an admonishing look, and Harry watched him choke down his fury enough to stay silent. He didn’t think it would last long, though.

“Now. You boys can go. I will be in touch with your Head of House, so please go directly to the Tower.”

Severus’ hands were opening and closing into fists as the Gryffindors hurried out of the room.

“Mr. Snape,” Dumbledore said, and waited until Severus was glaring directly at him. “Have a seat.”

Warily, Severus sat across the desk from the Headmaster.

Dumbledore folded his hands. “As I’m sure you realize, Mr. Lupin’s condition is a secret kept in the strictest confidence. If anyone were to realize what he is, he would not be permitted to study here, and that would be a tragedy.” Severus opened his mouth; Dumbledore raised a hand to stop him. “So, of course, the truth of this prank must not be-”

“Prank?” Severus demanded in a voice that cracked. “Those motherfuckers tried to kill me and-”

“Language, Mr. Snape,” Dumbledore said. “Mr. Lupin is in no way culpable, and we are speaking of him right now. I need you to sign this agreement.” He placed a piece of parchment in front of Severus.

Severus’ face was completely white. He looked from the Headmaster to the parchment and back again, his mouth opening and closing without any words coming out.

Abruptly, his eyes went so blank and dead that Harry took an involuntary step back. It took him a moment to realize that this was the way he was used to Severus looking as an adult. He’d gotten used to a more expressive Severus in these memories, and it was a shock to see it all drain away, his shoulders slumping and his face becoming as still as stone.

Without a word, he picked up a quill and signed the parchment with jerky letters. The scene dissolved as he pushed himself out of his chair and turned toward the door.

The next scene was back in daylight, on the edge of the lake, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. It took him a few glances to find Severus; a whole lot of students were out, and it was only after searching for a bit that he found Severus lying half-under a bush, with a book and a piece of parchment in front of him.

There was a stir in the crowd, and Harry looked up to see James Potter and Sirius Black walking toward the lake. A few others tagged after him; more people drifted to the back of the crowd or even left, while the majority became apparently interested in their own conversations, belied by their sidelong glances at the young men in the center of the group.

“Come on, James. I’m bored,” Sirius whined.

Harry watched his dad glance around, and flinched when his eyes landed on Severus, still buried in his book.

“Hey, Snivelly,” he called tauntingly. “Come out and play!”

Severus’ head snapped up, and he lurched to his feet, dropping his book in his haste.

Sirius tsked. “Clumsy,” he scolded. “You should learn to be more careful, Snivellus.”

“Shut the fuck up, Black,” Severus snarled, bending down for his stuff.

Sirius and James exchanged looks. “Such language!” James said in mock-horror. “Didn’t your mum ever teach you better?”

Before Severus could respond, James flicked his wand lazily. “Scourgify!”

Bubbles started foaming from Severus’ mouth. He gagged, dropping his book again, and clawed at his mouth, eyes streaming.

“Stop it!”

Harry spun around to see Lily stepping forward out of the crowd, glaring. “Leave him alone.”

James grinned at her. “Anything for you, Lily-flower.” He waved his wand lazily, and Severus stopped choking and started spitting out soap.

“Don’t call me that!” she snapped.

James started to answer, but Severus scrambled for his bag and drew his wand, leveling it at James.

“Sectumsempra!” he whispered, and a red line appeared on James’ cheek.

Putting a hand to the bleeding cut, James spun around. “Levicorpus!”

Severus instantly flipped upside down, robes falling to cover his face. Harry looked away from the greying pants that were revealed, feeling too acutely the embarrassment of having people see his worn-out clothes.

Laughter came from the surrounding students; Harry saw some of them leaning forward, enjoying the spectacle of someone else being the butt of one of their jokes and others obviously looking awkward, trying to blend in and not attract any attention. Already the crowd was half the size it had been at the beginning of the memory.

“Let him down.” Lily’s voice was shaking slightly, but she continued to glare at James. “What’s he done to you?”

“Well,” James said slowly, as if he were considering. “It’s sort of just him existing, you know. I mean, you can’t expect us to put up with having something like that around.”

“Let him down,” Lily repeated.

“Fine, fine.” James turned back to Severus, and he dropped to the ground. “You’re lucky she feels sorry for you, Snivellus.”

Severus was dragging himself up on his hands and knees. “I don’t need help from a filthy little Mudblood like her,” he spat.

Harry recoiled as if he’d been slapped. There was a beat of complete silence from the crowd, and Harry saw Severus’ face go absolutely white again. He opened his mouth, but Lily cut him off.

“Then I won’t bother in the future. Go wash your pants, Snivellus.” She turned on her heel and stalked off through the crowd.

Harry looked between them uncertainly. Hearing Severus call his mother that made him want to hit him, but seeing him on the ground, robes in disarray and soap still trailing out of his mouth, he also couldn’t believe that his mum was walking away from a friend in that condition. Hermione would have cursed him bloody herself, if he’d said that, but she’d have thrown James Potter into the lake long before it got to that point. What was wrong with both of them?

“You heard her, Snivelly,” James said, and Harry blinked and focused on him again. He’d turned Severus upside down again. “Your underwear needs washing. We’ll rinse it in the lake.” He glanced at Sirius. “Want to see me take Snivellus’ pants off?”

No. No, no, no. Harry was not watching his father strip someone in front of a crowd. Not after watching his mum have the most horrible fight he could imagine with someone he’d thought was her best friend, and then leave him in the hands of a bully. How could these be his parents?

No! he thought desperately. Get me out!

And with a rushing sound, he found himself back in the bedroom, standing over a table with a silver basin still glowing on it.

Chapter Text

Harry stumbled back, unable to take his eyes from the rune for truth shining from the edge of the basin. He swayed on his feet until his hand found the back of an armchair. He felt his fingers trembling as he gripped the fabric.

The truth rune seemed to fill his entire field of vision. There it was, what he’d wanted for so long. He finally knew the truth about his parents.

James Potter. Lily Evans Potter. He’d been so happy to learn their names, to see photographs of them, to know that they were heroes. He’d built up a whole fantasy in his mind: they had been wonderful students, they’d had a fairytale romance, they’d loved him more than anything, they’d died to protect him. He hadn’t realized how much he’d been relying on that picture until it was torn away from him.

All year he’d been realizing that no one loved him. That somehow he poisoned relationships until the only thing for it was to make him suffer. That Magic itself knew he didn’t deserve anything better.

But under all of it, apparently he’d been holding on to the belief that something else was possible, because his parents had loved him. He had pieces of them in him: he looked like his father, he had his mother’s eyes, he’d inherited his father’s skill with a broom, he’d gone to Gryffindor like his parents… He’d thought that surely that meant he wasn’t all bad.

And now he knew the truth. He knew what kind of people his parents were, what legacy he’d inherited. Severus had told him, hadn’t he? Just like your father.

He fought to separate himself from the knowledge, to fall into the numbness that had let him survive long hours with Blaise and Theo. The numbness stopped the pain sometimes; why couldn’t he reach it now? But he couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d seen, about who they were.

He wasn’t bound this time, though. He could move. If he couldn’t numb away the truth, maybe he could escape it. He jerked the door open, ignoring the fact that someone might see the tears streaming down his face, and ran.

He ran hard enough that his breath was coming hard and fast and his pulse was pounding in his ears, hard enough that if anyone saw him and tried to say anything, he completely missed it.

It didn’t stop his thoughts, though. What would life have been like if his parents had lived? Nothing like the fantasy he’d created in his mind. His mum had abandoned her friend. How long would she have put up with him? And his dad was nothing but a bully, and he knew what kind of parent bullies made. He might have been like Tobias, and as soon as Harry wasn’t good enough, he’d have been treated like Severus. Or maybe he’d have been like Dudley, spoiled until he was rotten. Would he have tormented people at school and then bragged to his dad about his pranks over the holidays?

Maybe Magic had had to put him with families who despised him, to keep him from turning out like that.

He couldn’t handle that thought. He’d reached the entrance hall without realizing it; he shoved the great double doors open and lunged outside.

He stumbled on the stairs, trying to take them too fast, and half-jumped, half-fell the last few, landing on his knees on the path below. The pain jolted him into some awareness of his surroundings.

The sun was setting, and the red light seared directly into his eyes. He stared into it, facing the pain of the light just like he had to face the pain of knowing what his family truly was. What he truly was.

He picked himself up and started moving again, at a slower pace as he attempted to get enough air into aching lungs. He didn’t pay any attention to where he wandered. He was too busy trying to fight off the pain of the realization that his parents were as awful as the Dursleys had always said.

Bad blood, Aunt Marge had pronounced. It’s all in the breeding. Harry had defended them, those two perfect Gryffindors he’d heard stories about and thought he’d known. They weren’t bad blood; they were heroes! He’d been defending himself, too: I’m not as bad as you all think I am!

Except that they were, and he was. He was bad blood. No wonder everyone who was supposed to love him hated him. No wonder Magic placed him in relationships with people who despised him. The Chosen One couldn’t grow up into a horrible human being like his parents. He had to be kept down, beaten down, to keep him from becoming like them.

His feet were suddenly cold, and he looked down to see that he’d walked directly into the Black Lake.

Maybe I can just wash all this away…

It was completely irrational and he knew it, but that didn’t stop him from wading out knee-deep in the water. It was icy cold, so painful that he bit his lip, but he didn’t stop. He was hurting already. He deserved to hurt. The pain was the only thing preventing him from becoming like them.

And as he stepped farther into the water, the pain was replaced with blessed, blessed numbness. Maybe if he could get his whole body numb, his mind would follow. He wouldn’t have to think, or feel, or anything. He could just let it all go.

The thought made him plunge deeper as fast as he could. He gasped as the cold water reached his chest, but didn’t stop. The thought of being entirely numb was driving him on.

Suddenly, the bottom disappeared beneath his foot. His mouth filled with water as he tried to catch a breath too late and his head went under. He thrashed wildly, trying to break the surface, and felt a surprisingly strong jet of even colder water pulling on his foot, then his leg.

Then the current caught him, and he was dragged down and away.

* * *

“Is that quite understood?” Severus demanded, glaring at the assembled Slytherins. It hadn’t been easy, delivering one of his diatribes when the soulmate gift was forcing memories down his throat, but his own fear and rage had provided something of a buffer.

“Yes, Professor,” his snakes chorused. They looked appropriately cowed. Of course, they were capable of appearing cowed with no real effect on their feelings or behavior, but Severus had spent enough years as Head of Slytherin House to be fairly certain that they were actually going to make an effort for the next few weeks.

He had to admit, privately, that it wasn’t entirely the House’s fault that things had gotten so out of hand. He had been neglecting his snakes for the past five years, and it had only gotten worse lately. Without a firm hand on the reins, Slytherins were apt to run amok. And he had almost none of the old guard, who had learned firsthand how House Slytherin ought to behave, left to pass on their knowledge.

But even if he was expecting too much of them, it was an ideal opportunity to reinforce their responsibilities as the chosen children of Salazar Slytherin. And perhaps it would keep them out of his hair a little longer while he worked out a way to end this war before anyone tried to recruit them.

He focused his glare on the seventh-year prefects. “You are responsible for making certain that Hughes and Montague stay in their rooms until I have discussed the matter with the Headmaster. Do you think you are capable of that, at least?”

They were already standing straight and proud, hiding their feelings, but they managed to straighten a bit more at that. “Yes, Professor.”

They had only gotten a few years of having a proper Head of House before the war had made everything go to hell, but they’d been mentored by older prefects. He trusted them, and they knew him well enough to look beyond the biting tone and recognize the trust that they were being given.

“As for the rest of you,” he began, but he was cut off.

There were scattered gasps, a small shriek, and all eyes snapped from him to the window behind him. He spun around, drawing his wand.

The light spells that allowed them to see what was on the other side of the windows even when it was dark outside turned the water an eerie shade of green. He blamed the odd light for the long moment he spent staring, unable to process what his eyes were telling him.

Then the body tumbling in the current turned toward the window. For an instant, he got a glimpse of glasses knocked askew, and a very familiar scar.

Then the current swept it away.

Severus had had far too much practice not panicking in dire situations to fall apart now - but it was a near thing. He had to draw on reserves he hadn’t used since the night the Dark Lord returned to turn off the terror that wanted to swamp him and move logically.

Where the hell was the Giant Squid? The merfolk? This was their job! He whipped his wand around and set it against the window, sending out an alarm that was as much a shockwave through the water as sound. The windows bowed under the pressure, but the spells reinforcing them held. Harry was out of sight; with any luck, the shockwave had pushed him out of the current so that he would stop being dragged along and rise toward the surface, but Severus had not survived this long by relying on luck.

Undoing the spells that prevent any magic designed from letting a person pass through the windows would take longer than climbing up to the caves, the part of his mind responsible for such calculations reported. He bolted for the passage, pushing students out of his way with both magic and physical force.

There were a wide variety of spells that could help a person move more quickly through the tunnels, and he used them all, emerging at the cliff face in only a fraction of the time it would take the students running behind him. He had to assume that they would be sensible enough not to kill themselves in a rescue attempt, because he didn’t have time to stop them.

Instead, he ran directly off the cliff and into the air. Flight wasn’t as fast as running on the ground, but it was better than climbing along the cliff face. He lowered himself to just above the water and followed the current to the point above the windows, where he would start his search.

There was a screech from nearer the shore, and he shot toward it, some of the fear leaking back through. Harry had been found, but in what condition, Severus had no idea. He needed to stay calm until the entire crisis was over.

He reached the shore at the same time as the merman tossed Harry there. Severus ignored the merman’s attempt to sign something to him - he had eyes only for his mate. Releasing the flight spell hurriedly left him stumbling, and he allowed the momentum to drop him to his knees, not even wincing at the pain of the sharp rocks on this bit of beach. His wand was already moving in the familiar pattern of diagnostic spells.

Then he aborted the spell with frustration at his own stupidity. He knew what needed to be done first! A quick twist of his wrist, and a spell forced Harry to expel the water in his stomach and lungs.

Unfortunately, despite all his work with Poppy on medical matters, medical life-saving spells were still a closely-guarded secret. Poppy might agree with his ranting that this was idiotic, but she wouldn’t jeopardize her certification to teach them to him.

However, when he’d found his mother dead, he’d learned the Muggle methods of preventing brain death. They would have to do until Poppy arrived.

He positioned Harry on his back, arm out of the way, and knelt beside him. 15 compressions, 2 breaths. He let the rhythm fill him, envisioning what each motion was supposed to do: squeezing the heart to push the blood around the body, breathing oxygen into the lungs to be carried by the blood, keeping the tissue alive. Sometimes even adult magic responded to deeply-held desires and clear visualization; Severus refused to let his mind wander away from the vision of life-giving air moving through Harry’s body. 15 compressions, 2 breaths.

It was a timeless set of repetitions before he became aware of Draco by his side. “Fetch - 14 - Pomfrey - 15,” he forced out between pumps, then moved to Harry’s head to breathe for him.

“Done,” Draco said tersely. “On her way. Can I-?”

Severus shook his head, moving back into position for more compressions. “Keep them back,” he said with a jerk of his head toward the other Slytherins who were coming up to them.

Draco probably protested, but Severus tuned him out, sinking back into the trance-like state he’d managed to induce in himself. 15 compressions, 2 breaths.

It was Poppy’s voice that interrupted him next, as he lifted his hands from Harry’s chest for the next set of breaths. “Very good, Severus. I’ll take it from here.”

He slumped backwards, more exhausted than he cared to admit, as a spell took over the work of filling the blood with oxygen and forcing it to move. Poppy was casting more complex diagnostics as Harry’s body rose to hover above the ground.

“No sign of brain damage,” she murmured, half to him, half to herself. “He should recover soon.”

With those words, the last of Severus’ control broke. The terror and fury and all the other emotions he hadn’t allowed himself to feel poured over him in a torrent. He shook, from the force of the emotions themselves and the energy required to keep them under wraps. He was not showing this to anyone.

Then Draco was there, pulling him to his feet and wrapping an arm around him. Fighting his emotions for supremacy, he allowed Draco to say something he didn’t follow and lead him off.

* * *

Draco ignored the way he felt and focused on putting one foot in front of the other. Madam Pomfrey had forbidden anyone from coming near Harry for an hour so that she could get him in a stable condition, so there was nothing he could do for him. Right now he had to focus on Sev, and that meant getting him out of the center of the crowd before the emotions he was feeling tore him apart.

At least Severus was following him without argument. Of course, he wasn't entirely sure Sev could argue at the moment. He seemed completely disoriented; he was even stumbling, and Draco had never seen him move less than gracefully.

All in all, it seemed wisest to get him somewhere private before anyone commented, and the closest place Draco could think of was the Forbidden Forest. He steeled himself and stepped over the boundary between lawn and forest.

Sev stumbled along blindly beside him as Draco did his best to steer them toward one of the fire circles where students came to hang out at night. He knew Sev knew about them, because he'd heard stories from older students about their professor showing up to hand out detentions and fight off monsters in the same breath. Draco wasn't sure how he knew when the monsters were about to show up, but he hoped the system was working right now and would keep them safe.

He shoved Sev down to sit on a fallen log and watched him blink and look around as if suddenly coming to himself. With a sigh, Draco flopped down beside him.

"The Forest?" Sev asked, his voice strange.

Draco shrugged, affecting nonchalance. "It was the closest private place. Besides, you have all sorts of choices: light fires, fight monsters, gather ingredients... Something has to sound good."

Severus closed his eyes and Draco felt him shaking. Carefully he reached an arm around him, and his mate melted into his side, the shaking more pronounced now. Draco couldn't make out what he was feeling through the confused mess of sickness that was hitting him, but he figured a hug couldn't hurt.

The silence left him with too much time to think, though, and he needed reassurance himself. "Did he-" he swallowed. "Do you think he did it on purpose? Again?"

Severus didn't answer.

Draco was not much good at patience. "What are we going to do, Sev?" he demanded, shifting so that he could try and see his mate's face. "He can't keep doing this!"

Severus' face was set and hard. That was not a good sign. Draco realized that he was missing something important.

"What is it?" he demanded sharply. "Severus!"

Finally Severus turned to fully face him, and his eyes were glittering in a way Draco knew meant danger. "What do you think set him off?" he spat.

Draco was getting an overwhelming amount of anger, even hatred, from him. But that made no sense.

He tried his best to sound reasonable; it came out rather snappish. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking," Sev snarled, "about the fact that there was a Pensieve full of memories unattended in our room - memories that Harry Potter, of all people, should never know anything about - and the next thing we know, he is attempting to escape something so heinous that he prefers death."

Draco stared at him. "You can't mean that he looked at your memories. He wouldn't have."

"Wouldn't he?" Severus surged to his feet and started to pace. "Potter has no respect for authority; we've seen that over and over in his years here. Why would we assume that he has any respect for others' possessions, or privacy?"

"Does he even know what a Pensieve is?" Draco demanded. "Why would he go sticking his head into a... Oh."

Severus wheeled around to glare at him. "Perhaps because some absolute imbecile put a compulsion charm on it?"

Draco shot to his feet. "I wasn't the one too afraid of my own memories to go near them without being forced!"

"No, you're only the one who decided that you knew better than anyone else what they need and are willing to force them into whatever you choose in an attempt to get your comfortable life back. Too used to being pampered and considered the only one of importance to think about others, just about your own comfort.”

Draco stepped closer, deliberately crowding him. "Oh, right, I forgot. It was my inability to handle these gifts - the gifts Magic thinks will help us more than anything - that nearly killed all three of us and forced my mates into trying to intervene. I'm clearly the problem here." He shoved Sev hard in the shoulder. "I'm the only one of us who's not on the verge of going stark raving mad here, and I'm doing my best to keep the two of you together - and it's a hell of a job! I don't want to be stuck with it, you know! If I had any other options, do you think I'd still be here doing this?"

Severus abruptly turned away, wrapping his robes around himself. "I'm sure I don't know why you bother," he sneered. "We've seen that sleeping in the same room is enough to satisfy the bond; you don't need to spend any more time with us. I invite you to take advantage of that knowledge."

"And drop dead with no warning when you or Harry can't take it anymore?" Draco scoffed. "I'm a Slytherin; I prefer to live, thanks very much."

Severus' posture grew more stiff. "I'm certain Madam Pomfrey will handle Harry's recovery, and as for myself-"

Draco laughed outright at that. "What the hell are you talking about? You know perfectly well that she did nothing for Harry last time - she made it worse, in fact. You were the one who managed to convince him not to die the first week, and then I got him talking, and Mother has been helping too, but you really think I'm stupid enough to pull all that away and trust that Pomfrey will handle it? And that leaves aside the fact that you're falling apart too."

"I can assure you that I'm capable of dealing with the situation on my own." Severus’ voice was flat. "Go on. Leave. Find some other way to amuse yourself. I will undertake to ensure that neither Harry nor I does you any harm."

“Severus!” Draco threw up his hands in frustration. “Will you stop being a fucking moron?”

“You wish to leave. I am perfectly happy to oblige,” Severus snapped.

“The headache I’ve got says otherwise,” Draco shot back. Severus looked away. “What about you? Are you really feeling that I want to risk breaking our bond?”

There was no response other than Severus turning farther away from him.

“What’s the point of having this godawful soulmate gift if you’re not going to pay any attention to it?” Draco demanded. “Tell me, damn it! What memories is it finding for you?’”

Finally Severus whirled to face him. “Memories of people who left!” he yelled directly in Draco’s face. “Everyone leaves!”

There was a moment of complete silence.

Then Severus turned away, pulling his robes tightly around himself again. "Just go, Draco," he said softly. His voice was exhausted.

Draco reached out and set a hand on his shoulder, not sure what to say or do but sure that he couldn't leave the situation like this. "Sev..."

He felt Severus' shudder under his hand. "Go!" he snapped, but there was no bite to it. "Leave me alone!"

And this whole conversation was bringing back echoes of others they'd had, and Draco didn't like it. He tightened his grip. "I've told you before: I'm not leaving."

"Your stubbornness is legendary, of course," Severus sneered, "But you are only hurting yourself. You deserve a life free of the burdens of dysfunctional mates. I’ve certainly had enough of your high-handedness. So we are in agreement. Refusing to move on because you don't want me to tell you what to do is a trifle childish, don’t you agree?"

And if Draco hadn't felt as if his heart was being carved out of his chest, he might have believed him. Maybe.

As it was, he stepped around Severus, not releasing his grip, and faced him. Severus immediately looked down and away, though his muscles got even tenser under Draco's hand.

"Would you actually listen to me, for once, instead of assuming you know what I'm thinking or what I want?" he demanded. Shades of Aunt Andromeda's advice rose in the back of his mind. "So I don't want to have to handle my mates completely falling apart. That doesn't mean I want to not have you anymore, for Merlin's sake! You're my mate. Mine. That means it's my job to help you and make you happy, right? So right now it's a sucky job. That doesn't mean that I don't want you to be happy. I just wish I were getting some help around here!"

He stopped, panting a bit. His voice had risen to almost a yell, he realized belatedly. His mother would not approve. He tried to modulate it.

"I want you to be happy. And alive. And with me. Is that so hard to believe?"

* * *

Is that so hard to believe? Draco’s gift set the words echoing over and over in his head.

Of course it was. Who had ever cared about his happiness?

There were plenty of people who found his life more convenient and useful than his death. And Lily had, as a child, enjoyed his company, and even preferred it when he was happy. But worried about his happiness? No. No one cared.

He dimly remembered Narcissa saying something similar about Harry, how he’d never had anyone who cared for his happiness either. But the Malfoys needed Harry’s goodwill. It made sense to make an effort for him. Not for Severus.

“Since you are directly contradicting yourself? Yes, I find it difficult to believe,” he said, trying to keep up the derisive tone. “You said yourself that this relationship was ‘a hell of a job’ and you wished you had other options. I provided them. Why backpedal now?”

Draco released him and stepped back, shaking his head. “You’re not listening to a word I say, are you?” he said in disgust.

Severus felt his fingers tightening in his robes, pulling them comfortingly close around him.

“Fine, then,” Draco continued. “If you don’t want to hear what I want, go ahead and tell me what you want.”

That was unexpected enough that Severus glanced up in confusion. What he wanted? Were they in a negotiation? What did he have that Draco would be interested in negotiating for?

Oh, of course. “I told you,” he repeated with strained patience, “I am not about to follow Harry’s example. There is no need-”

“Merlin, will you shut up about that already?” Draco snapped. “You’re not planning to kill yourself. You’re not letting Harry kill himself. Wonderful. I’m sure we’re all very pleased. But I want you alive, and happy, and with me. What do you want?”

The soulmate gift, which had been shoving memories of arguments with Lily down his throat for most of this conversation, was abruptly silent. Severus felt like he was physically off-balance by its lack. Didn’t he have any memories that matched what Draco was feeling right now? He hadn’t had much success in using the memories, but why did they have to desert him just when he was confused enough to actually reach out?

Well, there was a simple enough answer he could give. It was probably even the truth. “I want you to be alive and happy.”

“And with you?”

And now the damned gift brought back memories of Lily walking off, leaving him alone and desolate. As if that were helpful. He did his best to speak logically despite them.

“I’m making you miserable.”

“I’m fucking miserable because you’re being a fucking moron!” Draco shouted. Severus flinched back. “I’m miserable because you keep hurting yourself and thinking it’s OK! Im terrified that you’re going to end up dead, and you won’t even talk to me! I’m miserable because I think I’m going to fucking lose you! So how the hell would leaving you and deliberately making that come true help?”

The sound of his shouts echoed back from the still forest. Draco was angry, obviously. What else could prompt an outburst like that? But his empathy clearly disagreed, and as hard as he fought, he couldn’t stop himself from being dragged into the memory he most wanted to avoid.

She stepped through the portrait hole and immediately turned her glare on him. He swallowed down his terror and forced himself to speak.

”Please, Lily, I’m so sorry.” God, he was begging. “I didn’t- I couldn’t-”

Merlin and Salazar, he was not reliving this. He bit down on his tongue until the pain anchored him back to reality. Back to his soulmate, who was standing there begging him not to leave. God, he felt as cold as ice.

Was it possible that Draco meant it? All the comments, all the touches, all the help he’d offered… Was it not just because he was trying to keep Severus alive to preserve his own life?

But Draco didn’t need him. He was rich, handsome, pureblooded, powerful, beloved… He had no need of someone like Severus.

Lily was poor, Muggleborn, and a Gryffindor, Draco’s gift whispered. What did she have to offer that you needed her so badly?

I had no one else, he snarled back. Draco has many friends-

And you are his soulmate, was the inexorable reply. There is no one who can fill your place with him. Look at him. Look at his eyes.

Severus kept his gaze obstinately on the ground, but it was hard to out-stubborn a magical voice in his brain. Finally, he looked up.

Empathy struck him like a lightning bolt. It wasn’t a flashback; he knew exactly where he was, and that the emotions he was feeling were Draco’s. But the terror-fueled desperation, the pain of guilt, the howling emptiness of life without the one person who made it worth living - these were emotions from his own memory. And it didn’t matter if Draco would be better off without him; he could not let his Dragon suffer feelings that had driven him, as a sixteen year old, to his first attempt at suicide.

Very, very slowly, he forced himself to release the hold on his robes. It took almost a superhuman effort to step toward Draco and reach out. His arm was shaking when he tentatively placed it around Draco’s shoulders.

“All right.” Merlin, his voice was shaking too. “All right.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Draco snapped.

He took a deep breath. “I’m not leaving.”

Now Draco looked at him, wariness and hope mingled in his gaze. “And you’ll stop trying to make me leave?”

“Yes.” It was getting a little easier to speak. “I…” He swallowed and tried again. “Alive, happy, and with you. I’ll… All right.”

Draco turned and wrapped his own arms around Severus. “Forever,” he demanded.

He wanted to temporize. Forever was impossible, after all. But this wasn’t the time. “Forever,” he agreed.

Chapter Text

Harry drifted in a sea of warmth. Sometimes he wondered if the Black Lake had swept him into a warm current; sometimes he wondered if this was what it felt like to be dead. Mostly he just drifted. It was warm and it was comfortable and he didn’t want to think. He really, really didn’t want to think.

But every so often sensations and sounds intruded. Pomfrey, mostly, saying things he had no intention of listening to. Whatever she said, it was usually accompanied by the feeling of pins and needles all over, and being poked and prodded. Not infrequently, a jab to the heart left him gasping and reeling. But always, sooner or later, she left him alone and he was back to drifting.

But he couldn’t drift forever. He realized that he was in a bed, and the knowing of that fact wouldn’t go away no matter how much he tried to ignore it. He understood the voices now, too, and that wouldn’t go away either.

“It’s been so long, Madam Pomfrey. Are you sure…”

“This is a challenging case, Mr. Malfoy. He will wake up, I can assure you of that. And his brain appears to be unharmed. But I cannot tell you how long it will take.”

So the first voice was Draco. Harry resolutely plunged back into dreams. He didn’t want to see Draco.

There were other voices, too.

“Madam, I will be informed at once of any change in my son-in-law’s condition.”

“Of course, Mrs. Malfoy.”

That was Narcissa! Harry stirred, almost wanting to wake up so that he could see her - but no, he’d forgotten. She hated him now. He didn’t want to hear her denounce him as the whore he was. He drifted disconsolately back to sleep.

It was getting harder and harder to stay that way, but he clung stubbornly to sleep, not wanting to face any of them, until a new voice coincided with one of his waking moments.

“Oh, Madam Pomfrey, he will wake up, won’t he?”

He didn’t hear the reply, because that was Hermione, and she sounded like she was crying. He didn’t want her to cry.

It had been so long since he’d tried to leave his warm sleep. It was much harder than he’d expected. It took long enough to figure out where his eyes were that he was afraid she’d gone, but when he stopped to rest a moment, he heard Ron’s voice. They were still there! Galvanized by that knowledge, he struggled against eyelids that felt like sandbags and forced them to open a crack before they slammed back shut.

There was a gasp. “Did you see that? His eyes fluttered! Harry?”

He tried again and managed to crack one eye open. It immediately started blinking against the light, and it was too blurry to see anything, but it was enough. He felt someone grab his hand.

“Harry! You’re awake!”

The pins and needles sensation was suddenly back. At least the jabs didn’t hurt so much this time.

“Well, welcome back to the land of the living, Mr. Potter,” Pomfrrey said in a satisfied voice. “You’ve had a lot of people very worried about you. Speaking of which, Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, I can give you two minutes with him, but then you need to leave. There are a number of people who need to see that Mr. Potter is well, and I can’t have a crowd around him.”

“We have Charms in a few minutes anyway,” Hermione said. Harry could hear the smile in her voice, even though he still couldn’t seem to focus enough to see more than blurs. “Oh, Harry!”

“We’re glad to have you back, mate,” Ron said. “You scared us.”

“Not now, Ron,” Hermione hissed. “Harry, can you talk at all?”

Harry tried, but if his eyelids felt like sandbags, his mouth felt like it had been fused shut. The best he managed was a sound somewhere between a grunt and a groan.

“Oh…” Hermione said uncertainly.

But Ron laughed. “That’s the way he always sounds in the morning. Can you really still be sleepy, though, after days in that bed?”

Harry managed to move his head slightly in what was intended as a nod. They obviously got it, because they both laughed. Harry relaxed at the sound. He was going to be okay.

So, of course, Madam Pofrrey ruined it. “All right, Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, head to class. Mr. Potter’s mates are on their way, and I really can’t have so many visitors at a time.”

Hermione sighed. “We’ll be back soon, Harry,” she said.

But Harry wasn’t listening anymore. His mates. He’d forgotten, for a moment, that he wasn’t just Ron and Hermione’s friend anymore. He had other people with ties to him - and he wanted nothing to do with them.

He let his eyes sink closed as Madam Pomfrey chivied Ron and Hermione out the door and tried to reclaim the warm nothingness of sleep. It didn’t want to come, but he stubbornly forced himself to drift away. It helped that he still couldn’t feel his body properly. It was easy enough to lose track of it. But his mind was awake now, and there was no shutting it up. Every time he tried, a new thought intruded.

Would they think he’d gone into the lake on purpose? Probably. He hadn’t exactly, but fat chance he had of explaining that. And if they thought he’d tried to kill himself, the agreement they’d had was over. That protection was gone now.

He tried to concentrate on nothingness, but the phrase had set his mind on another track. He’d lost Draco’s protection, so Blaise and Theo could get at him now. Was Pomfrey calling them? No, she knew about the change in mates, didn’t she? It was hard to remember.

Remember… Those were Severus’ memories he’d seen. Things he couldn’t possibly want Harry to know. Severus Snape, son of a Muggle? The target of bullies at school? No, there was no way Snape wanted anyone to know any of that.

Harry wished he didn’t know it. He wanted to go back to his comfortable ideas of his parents. He didn’t want to know they’d been-

Abruptly he shoved his mind back into nothingness. He wasn’t going to think about that. Not any of it. He was going to think about the warmth, the heaviness, the feeling that nothing could touch him…

He heard voices, and did his best to avoid listening to them. It was hard when they kept saying his name, but he tried, and only caught snippets of the conversation.

“Half-asleep,” someone was saying; he ignored the part of his brain that wanted to identify the voice as Pomfrey. “He might hear you, but he probably won’t remember it.”

No, I won’t, Harry thought fiercely. He had no intention of remembering any of this.

“How long...” another voice was saying, and Harry shivered and forced himself to concentrate on the floaty feeling he was getting. Words didn’t matter. Floating did. It was better than a broom; he didn’t have to try, he could just lie there and float away from everything.

Slowly the voices receded, and he was able to float in peace. But even as he drifted, he knew he couldn’t avoid his mates forever.

* * *

“Harry!”

The whisper brought him out of an uneasy sleep, and he felt his body startle. So much for pretending. He forced his eyes to stay closed, though.

“Harry, it’s us!”

This time he recognized the voice, and he opened his eyes with relief. “Ron?”

At first he saw nothing in the dim light Pomfrey left in the infirmary at night. Then a rustling sound made him roll his head farther to the side and he saw two sets of eyes peeking over the edge of the bed.

“What’re you doing down there?” he asked, feeling like his mouth was full of mush.

“Trying to keep Pomfrey from noticing us,” Ron said softly.

Harry finally took in the significance of the dimness. “You snuck into the Hospital Wing at night?”

“Had to ask Fred and George for help,” Ron admitted. “They sent us some of their new stuff - it’s great, you-”

“Ron!” Hermione’s hiss cut him off midword. He gave Harry an apologetic look but shut up. “Harry, are you all right?”

“I think so,” he said, confused. “You’d know better than me, you’ve talked to Pomfrey…”

”That’s not what I mean.” Hermione bit her lip. “It’s… well, you’ve been in the Hospital Wing for reasons no one will explain three times in less than two months.”

Three times? Harry wondered, startled. It took him a minute to realize that that was how they must have passed off the time with Blaise and Theo over the weekend.

Hermione was still talking. “-and Ron says it’s impossible, but I don’t see why, and it’s not like they seem, well, very nice to you...”

“Hermione!” Ron said in clear exasperation. “They’re his soulmates, of course he’s happy with them!”

“So maybe it’s something else,” Hermione said stubbornly. “I don’t know how this soulmate thing works, but they can’t be helping, not enough, and we’re your best friends. You can tell us.”

Harry’s head was starting to ache. “I don’t get it,” he admitted.

Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “You’ve seemed unhappy a lot, lately, and now, with this…”

“She thinks you’ve been trying to off yourself,” Ron said bluntly. He tried to act like he thought the idea was absurd, but his eyes were sharp as he studied Harry’s face..

Harry stared back at them blankly. He couldn’t think how to respond.

Apparently not responding was enough of an answer.

With a gasp, Hermione grabbed his hand. “What - Harry. what were you thinking? What’s so bad that…” She trailed off.

Ron was looking horrified. “But you have soulmates,” he said in tones of disbelief. “You shouldn’t- They should-”

Harry wanted, so badly, to tell them everything. He needed someone to talk to about all the craziness, to try and help him figure out what to do next - but he couldn’t. Dumbledore’s spell would stop him.

“It’s complicated,” he said quietly, trying to think what to say. “That’s not the only reason I’ve been in here, so don’t-”

“If you’re about to tell me not to worry, Harry James Potter,” Hermione started, and broke off when she saw his wince. “What?”

The sound of his father’s name decided him. He’d ask for their help with that, at least.

“Look, there’s something,” he said urgently, glancing toward Madam Pomfrey’s office door to make sure it remained dark. “I can’t tell you all of it, but I need your help.”

Hermione’s eyes were glittering with tears, and Ron still looked stunned, but they leaned closer.

“I can’t tell you why, OK? But I need to find out about my dad. About what he was like when he was in school.”

Hermione glared at him. “Don’t change the subject, Harry.”

“I’m not!” he protested. “I swear! It’s not exactly what you think, I’ve been in here for a couple of reasons, and this time - I didn’t go into the lake on purpose, I promise. I was just so confused by what I’d heard about my dad - I wasn’t thinking straight, I walked into the water without even knowing it - I have to find out the truth!” He looked at them pleadingly. “Please. I need to know, and I can’t figure it out myself. I need your help.”

There was a long moment of silence. Finally, Ron nodded.

“If that’s what you need, we’ll help you.”

“But are you sure?” Hermione asked. “Honestly, if you’re… doing things like this…”

“I told you, it was an accident. And last time, it wasn’t my fault. I can’t tell you what happened, Dumbledore won’t let me, but it wasn’t me.” Sort of true.

“And a few months ago?” Hermione looked at him sharply. “When you disappeared for days, and there were rumors about all kinds of things - Aurors and Ministry officials and everything?”

Harry grimaced. “Dumbledore won’t let me tell you about that one either. It’s not like the rumors. But-” he steeled himself, but the next words came out in a tiny voice. “Well, you’re not entirely wrong about that one.”

Hermione suddenly wrapped her arms around him. Harry tried to relax; it was easier with Hermione than with Draco, anyway. “Oh, Harry! Why?”

“I can’t tell you,” he said wretchedly. “Dumbledore-”

“The hell with Dumbledore,” Ron growled. “We’re your best friends! We’ve been in on this fight from the beginning. Where does he get off telling us we can’t know?”

“Look, I really can’t tell you,” Harry protested. “He put a spell on me.”

Hermione released him. “What kind of spell?”

“Not an Unbreakable Vow?” Ron demanded, looking horrified.

“No, no,” he assured them. “It’s something he made up himself, I think.” He hadn’t been listening that well, but he remembered that line. “Anyway, if Voldemort finds out, I’m really, really dead - more than usual, I mean, seriously dead-in-an-instant type of stuff - so it’s a secret. But…” He faltered. He should tell them that things were getting better, reassure them, but he wasn’t sure he could lie that well. “But this thing about my father, I can talk about that. And I need to know.”

“Will it help?” Ron demanded. “Will knowing help stop you from…”

Harry nodded vigorously. “Yes. Even if it’s bad, I just have to know. It’s really important.”

“If it’s bad?” Hermione repeated. “What is it you want to know, anyway?”

Harry closed his eyes. “I heard my dad… He was, well, a-” the word felt like it was going to choke him. He forced it out. “A bully when he was in school.”

“Oh, Harry.” Hermione touched his hand gently. “But, you know, sometimes kids in school are - kind of dumb.”

“Yeah, it might not mean he was always like that,” Ron added.

Harry shook his head. “It was - I think it was bad. Like…” He tried to think of a way to describe the scenes he could still see if he closed his eyes. “Like Fred and George, but as mean as Malfoy. Pranks all the time, but…”

Hermione looked thoughtful, but Ron’s lips pressed against in a thin line, and he gave Harry a nod. “OK, I can see that. And why you’d be upset. But what are we going to do about it?”

“I need to know if it’s true,” Harry repeated earnestly. The rune for truth still shone in his memory, but he ignored it. He had to know. If it were possible that thing was wrong… He had to be sure.

“But how can we find that out?”

“A lot of our classmates had parents who went to school with Harry’s parents,” Hermione said in that slow way she had when she was figuring something out as she spoke. “Well, not the Muggleborns. And -” She stopped, glancing at Ron.

His mouth twisted like he tasted something sour. “I know, my parents are weird.” He winced. “Sorry, Harry.”

“Anyway,” Hermione said quickly, “We could ask them, but since we haven’t heard anything, I think either they don’t know, or they don’t want to say it to Harry. And they know telling us is the same as telling Harry.”

Rong frowned. “Then how does that help us?”

Hermione glanced at Harry. “I - I don’t think it can.”

But Harry recognized the signs of Hermione struggling with an idea that she knew would work but that she didn’t want to share, usually because it would get them in trouble. “Spit it out, Hermione.”

She sighed. “Well, I was just thinking that if you and I had a really bad fight - you know, so that everyone knew I was furious at you, and with good reason - then if I said you were turning out like your dad, well, if people did know anything about him, they’d tell me.”

“That would probably work,” Ron said.

“Yes, but- but I would have to not speak to Harry for a while, and, oh, I can’t do that! Not right now, when…” she faltered and broke off.

Harry swallowed. He didn’t want to fight with Hermione - and the thought of a big, public fight was bringing back memories of Severus and his mum - but it made sense. “I think we should do it.”

Hermione shook her head. “We can’t, Harry.” She was tearing up again. “I haven’t been the best friend to you, but I’m going to do better. I’m going to help. And I can’t do that if we’re fighting, even if it’s fake.”

“But you have to, Hermione!” The stubborn look on her face was not encouraging. “Please! It’s the thing that will help me most - I have to know, for sure, even if it’s bad. The not-knowing is going to drive me insane.”

“Well, why can’t you find out more from wherever you got this idea?” Hermione demanded. “Whoever told you that must be able to tell you something.”

Harry shuddered at the thought. “No,” he said quickly. “No, I can’t. I can’t tell you how I found out, and I can’t possibly ask, but I need to know, and this is the only way we’ve come up with.”

“I can write Bill and Charlie,” Ron said abruptly.

Both of them turned to look at him.

“They’re not that old, are they?” Hermione asked.

“No, I don’t think so.” Ron’s brow furrowed. “Let’s see, Bill started Hogwarts the year I was born - or maybe the year Ginny was born, I can’t remember. Anyway, it was too late to know Harry’s parents. But he might’ve had friends who did, or he might work with people who were at school then. It’s worth a try.”

“Sure,” Harry agreed. “That’s a good idea, Ron. But, Hermione…”

She sighed. “You’re not going to give this up, are you?”

He shook his head. “Not even if I have to pick a fight without you wanting me to.” He tried to imagine himself in the Great Hall, yelling at Hermione - but again, the thought of him saying something as awful as Severus had intruded, and he closed his eyes and shook his head hard to dislodge it.

“I don’t like it,” she said. “I need to be able to talk to you, Harry. I can’t just-”

“We’ll get detention together,” he said suddenly as the idea struck him. “I’m sure we could get Se-Snape to give us a week of detention.”

Ron snorted. “Shouldn’t be hard. He’s always itching to give Harry detention. Just got to drag Hermione into it. If you’re fighting in his classroom, that ought to do it.”

Harry had, for a moment, been thinking of telling him the whole story. It made him want to shake his head again. Just because he’d felt like the Severus in his memories was almost a friend, someone from the same background, didn’t mean the adult Snape would hate him any less. The contrary, in fact, since he would figure out that Harry had seen all that and then probably try to kill him. Harry supposed he was lucky to have been unconscious for so long; surely by now Snape had remembered that he couldn’t murder Harry outright. Of course, it also meant that he’d had time to come up with something else…

“That might work,” Hermione said slowly, cutting off his thoughts. “I can ask him about it on Sunday. I’m sure he’ll help.”

Ron snorted. “He never helps anyone. Although maybe he’ll do it because it lets him be a bastard to Harry.”

“You don’t have to set it up with him,” Harry added, suddenly worried that Snape would refuse to give them detention if he knew that Harry wanted it.

“Yes, I do,” Hermione said stubbornly. “I’m not doing this unless I know it’ll work. If he agrees, then we’ll have a fight on Thursday. I'll go crying to all the worst gossips and see what I can get, then in Potions on Friday we’ll start fighting and mess up our brewing and he’ll give us a week of detention together. I’ll pretend to still be mad at you but we can catch up during detention. And by the end of it, I can tell everyone that you apologized so much that I had to forgive you.” She nodded decisively. “That’ll work.”

Harry hesitated. “I-”

But he was cut off by the sound of movement behind the door and the sudden light illuminating the cracks. They shared frightened looks, and Harry gestured quickly to the next bed, closer to the door. Ron and Hermione quickly hid behind it, and Harry gave a theatrical moan of pain.

“Mr. Potter?” Pomfrey hurried across the room to him, and he stifled a sigh of relief when she didn’t even glance toward where the others were hiding. “Are you awake?”

“Ugh… my head…” he groaned, trying to make it believable.

The familiar tingle of diagnostic spells ran over him. “You seem to be doing much better, Mr. Potter. I have several people who will be very happy to hear that.”

He didn’t have to fake his groan at that.

“Hmm. I’ll get you a headache reliever, and then you should try to sleep. I’m sure you’ll be having lots of visitors come morning.”

She walked away to get the potion, and out of the corner of his eye he saw the main door swing open and then close softly. He gave a sigh of relief. At least his friends were safe.

Then Pomfrey was back with a small vial. “Drink it quickly, and then try to rest some more,” she ordered. “Do you need some water?”

Headache reliever certainly wasn’t the nastiest potion Harry had been given here, but it wasn’t great either. “Yes, please,” he said, taking care to make his voice sound weak.

Pomfrey gave him a glass. “There. Drink that and then lie back down, Mr. Potter. You’ve had an ordeal and your body needs rest.”

Harry obediently drank and handed her back the glass, letting himself slide back down on his pillows and under the covers.

“That’s right,” Pomfrey said. “Get some rest. Your mates will be here in the morning.”

And with that utterly un-reassuring statement, she left him to lie awake worrying for the rest of the night.

Chapter Text

It was at some point during the interminable night that Harry suddenly remembered that he had a piece of Voldemort in him too. His whole body flinched as if he’d been struck by a physical blow at the thought, and he shoved his fist into his mouth and bit down to stop himself from crying out.

He had no idea how he’d managed to forget the fact for the last week. Somehow the fight with Malfoy had driven it out of his mind - and then there had been Blaise and Theo, and then seeing those memories - but still. Having a piece of the most evil wizard ever stuck in his soul wasn’t the sort of thing he should be able to forget.

And when it was combined with having a total douchebag for a father…

He pulled his hand away. It scraped against his teeth, bringing the taste of blood to his mouth, but the pain hardly mattered. Nothing mattered, really. There was no point in thinking things over again and again. It wouldn’t change the facts. With that kind of an inheritance, Harry was beyond hope.

He was done with thinking. It didn’t matter anyway. He looked around, but there were no school books by his bed, no gifts or cards from anyone to look at. Well, that wasn’t surprising. Who would send something to someone like him?

He shouldn’t need his books to study. It was his sixth year; he ought to know some things he could practice without a book in front of him.

And he might as well start with his worst class.

He tried to remember how to make the Draught of Living Death - that sounded pretty good right now - but all he could remember was that it involved asphodel and wormwood. He could almost hear Snape sneering at him: Have six years of magical education been utterly wasted on you, Potter?

But that was no good, because it brought back memories of Severus sneering at his mum when she messed up whatever they were working on, and her sassing him back, and them both laughing.

Which of course led to memories of them tearing each other to shreds, in public, while his father waited to bully Severus some more.

Harry gritted his teeth. Wit-Sharpening Potion, he thought firmly. They’d learned that years ago and were just reviewing it; surely he could remember that!

Mix in Ginger Root until lime green.

Mix Armadillo Bile until blue.

Mix Ground Scarab Beetles until red…

“Blood-red, Potter, not pink like the love notes you get from your adoring fans!”

Red like Severus’ blood, when James Potter and his friends ganged up on him.

Red like the blood from Malfoy’s nose when Harry, Fred, and George all jumped him at once.

Harry shook his head hard and started again.

Ginger Root until lime green. Armadillo Bile until blue. Scarab Beetle. Armadillo Bile again until… until…

If there was no way to avoid his heritage, what was the point? Magic knew he wasn’t to be trusted on his own. That’s why he had to have this soulmate bond. He couldn’t get away from them, so he couldn’t go off and do anything dreadful Snape would certainly make sure he didn’t turn out like either his father or Voldemort. He hated both of them, so of course he hated Harry, and Magic knew that’s what he deserved. It’s what would keep him from living up to his legacy.

He forced his mind back to the list. Ginger Root until lime green. Armadillo Bile until blue...

His whole body ached with tension when Madam Pomfrey finally came to see if he was awake.

“Mr. Potter,” she said sternly, as soon as she’d finished the diagnostic spells. “I need you to tell me exactly how you ended up in this condition.”

Harry stared at her blankly for a long moment before it clicked. Automatically he moved his arms, pushed himself up a bit in bed, just to prove to himself that he wasn’t strapped down this time.

Now he just had to keep it that way.

“I went for a run,” he said slowly, trying to figure out how to look sincere. Should he look her in the eye? Or act embarrassed by what had happened? “I got really hot, and the lake was right there - it was cold and that felt really good, but then I slipped…”

Every part of that was true, he thought fervently as the silence lingered. Surely that was enough.

Finally she nodded. “Very well, Mr. Potter. But you need to discuss this incident with your counsellor. I will make certain that Mrs. Malfoy is aware.”

Harry did his best to hide his wince. He still didn’t know what Narcissa was going to do about him cheating on her son. Adding this couldn’t help.

But there was nothing he could do about that, and he wasn’t being tied down, so he forced a smile. “And can I go to class today?” He had to get out of that bad. If he stayed there, if he kept thinking the way he had all night… He couldn’t do it. He had to get out.

Pomfrey frowned. “After such a long period of unconsciousness -”

“But that’s just it!” Desperate, Harry did his best to sound like Hermione. “I’ve missed so much class! I’m preparing for my NEWTs, Madam Pomfrey, I have to get back to work, I’ll be so far behind…”

“Well, getting worked up right now won’t help,” Pomfrey said sharply. She looked Harry over and sighed. “I’ll talk to Severus. If he’s confident that he can oversee the rest of your recovery, you can go.”

That was not exactly the response he’d been hoping for. Before he could decide what to say next, though, the door flew open to let Severus and Draco enter.

“Ah! Here they are,” Pomfrey said, and Harry tried to look calm - happy to see them was entirely impossible, but he had to keep Pomfrey from getting too suspicious.

Draco made a beeline for him, and Harry tried to remember what was going on between him and Draco at the moment. He’d been trying so hard to make Draco happy, but he wasn’t giving in on Draco’s bullying, so it probably didn’t matter anymore.

At least Snape met Pomfrey halfway across the room and started a low-voiced conversation. He really didn’t need her full attention on him right now.

“Harry! Merlin, I’m glad you’re all right.” Draco managed to look happy to see him - he was a much, much better liar than Harry would ever be.

James Potter looked up at McGonagall, eyes wide and innocent. “Snape just attacked us for no reason, Professor! Honest!”

Harry forced himself to smile at his mate. He had to keep Pomfrey fooled. Just like your father. “Hey.”

Draco grabbed his hand, and he did his best to conceal his reflexive flinch. They were playing happy families, after all.

“What happ-” Draco cut himself off and glanced over his shoulder. “We’ll talk about that later. When can you come home?”

“Um…” Harry couldn’t manage a response; he was too hung up on the word home. Did he even have one? Draco’s room wasn’t his home, of course, but neither was the Dursleys’. Up until this year he’d have said the Gryffindor dorms, but that wasn’t his anymore either. Would he ever have one? He imagined he’d have a cupboard to be shoved into in whatever house Snape and Draco ended up in after Hogwarts, but that didn’t sound like much of a home either.

Luckily, Madam Pomfrey came over right then. “Severus and I have agreed that you can go to classes, Mr. Potter,” she said. “But you need to stay near him outside of class, so that he can make sure you’re not overexerting yourself. I’ll see you back here twice a week until I’m sure you’ve completely recovered.”

Harry’s heart sank. This was going to be hell, wasn’t it?

It’s better than going evil, he reminded himself. And after what my dad did to him, it’s probably fair. He managed to smile at Pomfrey. “Thanks.”

He sat up and started to swing his legs out of bed, only to realize that at some point he’d been changed into a nightshirt. He hesitated.

“Oh!” Draco said abruptly. “I brought your stuff.” He held up Harry’s school bag and another bag, which gaped open enough for Harry to see a robe inside. “I wasn’t sure how long you’d be stuck here, so I brought some of everything.” He set the clothes bag on the bedside table and the bookbag on the ground.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Pomfrey called. “I need to talk to you about some things to watch out for during Mr. Potter’s recovery.”

Relieved, Harry drew the curtains around the bed to get changed. He didn’t want to display his scars any more than he had to.

By the time he was done, their consultation had finished as well, and all three of them were standing around waiting for him. Awkwardly he picked up the bags and walked over to them. Snape swept out the doors without a word, so Harry gave Pomfrey a hurried nod and followed.

As soon as they were in the hallway, Draco spoke. “We can have breakfast in our room,” he said. “We have a lot to discuss.”

Discuss. Harry’s stomach dropped. Not that it really mattered what they did to him - and the darkness in him needed to be kept back, after all.

Still… “Ron and Hermione will be expecting to see me,” he pointed out cautiously. “I’m not sure…” He trailed off. He couldn’t exactly say “I’m not sure how much damage I’ll be able to pass off as due to being in bed so long, so could you be a little restrained” right outside the Hospital Wing. The last thing he needed was getting in trouble for siccing Pomfrey on them on top of everything else.

“Granger and Weasley are NOT-” Draco started, but cut off when Snape’s hand landed on his shoulder.

“Go have breakfast with your friends,” he said, his voice unreadable. Harry wasn’t risking looking directly at him to see if his face gave anything away. “We can talk at dinner.”

Harry blinked - he hadn’t expected that - but nodded. Evening was a much better time. With a halfway decent night’s sleep and a hot bath in the morning, he could hide just about anything they did to him.

Severus knew that, of course.

“Um, I’ll see you then?” he said, taking a hesitant step back.

Snape nodded, and he took off down the corridor as quickly as he thought he reasonably could. But as he walked away, he heard Draco finally speak up. “What the hell, Severus?”

And Snape’s reply: “How often has Harry asked you for anything, Dragon?”

There was silence until he turned the corner, so he wasn’t sure what Snape was talking about. He mentally shrugged it off and focused on preparing for a Hermione who was not only worried about him, but who would at any moment realize how much time he’d lost from NEWT prep. That was going to be enough for one morning.

* * *

By dinner, Harry was almost glad enough to get away from Ron and Hermione not to care what they were going to do to him.

Hermione was constantly watching him. She was worrying, and it showed in every look on her face, every too-careful question, every attempt to fix things where he was behind in his schoolwork.

Ron was only slightly better. He didn’t hover the way Hermione did, but it was still obvious that he’d set himself to run interference for Harry with everyone who might ask him what had happened this time to get him sent to the Hospital Wing. He almost punched Seamus for joking that Harry was taking over the position of “most often sent to Madam Pomfrey” from Neville.

So when he explained to them that he and his mates were having dinner in their room, he managed to make it sound like a good thing. “I have to spend some time with them,” he pointed out. “They were worrying.”

Worrying about whether he was going to kill them all, maybe. But he did his best to act like he thought they cared about him.

It took some bargaining and several firm refusals to let them walk him there, but he finally shook them off. With a sigh of relief, he headed for the soul dorms. Maybe he could run through the dance a few times before they showed up. He hated to think how out of practice he’d gotten during his time in the infirmary.

But when he reached the room, Snape was already there, transfiguring the furniture into a dining set.

Harry froze for just a second, wondering if he should let the door close and walk away. Then Snape looked over his shoulder, and he sighed and stepped inside, pulling off the invisibility cloak and stowing it in his bag with numb fingers.

But after that brief glance, Snape turned away and continued his transfiguration with meticulous care.

Well, that gave Harry the chance to say something he’d been wanting to say.

“I’m really sorry that I saw all that.” His voice sounded odd, breaking the silence. “I shouldn’t have been snooping around, and I’m sorry. I swear, I won’t say a thing to anyone.” He didn’t think Snape would believe him, but he meant that promise. It was the only thing he could do to make this whole situation any better.

Besides, it wasn’t like he wanted anyone to know the truth about his father.

Snape turned and gave him a long, appraising look. Harry kept his chin up, though he couldn’t quite manage to meet his eyes. Still, he did his best to let Severus know he was telling the truth.

Thinking of him as Severus made it a little easier. Even though he knew that the Severus in the memories would have despised him knowing all those things just as much as Snape did, he still felt a kinship with Severus. They both knew what it was like to grow up with people who hated you for something you couldn’t control.

He made himself meet Severus’ eyes. He’d often thought that Snape knew if he was lying when he looked at him; maybe it would work in reverse and Severus would know that Harry was telling the truth. “I really won’t tell anyone. I’m sorry.”

Severus turned away abruptly, robes snapping. “See that you don’t,” he said over his shoulder as he raised his wand and continued turning the armchairs into dining chairs.

Harry waited in confusion. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. The Severus of the memories would have blown up at him. The Snape he’d known as a professor would have raked him over the coals. Why was he just ignoring him?

The memories were harder to suppress in the silence. He needed something to distract him. Snape’s response was supposed to put him back on even footing. It would make sure he wasn’t going to go evil. And it would let him go back to hating and resenting Snape, instead of this weird mix of fear and sympathy he was feeling now.

He’d had enough of his world being turned upside down. He was going to get it back to normal. Even if it meant pain. At least that was normal.

“Well?” he challenged. He had a talent for pissing off people who had power over him; might as well put it to good use. “Isn’t this the part where you beat the shit out of me and then tell me that if I ever breathe a word of what I saw, you’ll make what I just got seem like a love tap?”

Snape didn’t even turn around. “No.”

Some part of Harry’s brain was screaming at him to stop, but he didn’t listen. It didn’t matter anymore. There was no point in being conciliatory or keeping up appearances. He was a monster, and the sooner everyone involved realized that, the better.

“Oh, yes, because you have so much self-control,” he said with as much sarcasm as he could muster. “And of course you haven’t been itching for an excuse to put me in my place for years now. How could I have gotten that idea? It’s not like you’ve ever been anything but kind and supportive.” He tried to stop and breathe, but the words kept tumbling out. “Now you’re going to pretend you’re too good to sully your hands with me? Don’t want to touch the golden boy of Gryffindor?” When he finally managed to get a breath, it was almost a sob. “I don’t blame you.”

Well, he had succeeded in making Snape mad, he realized as the man turned to face him. Really, really mad. He had a sudden impulse to try and take it all back. But this was what he deserved. He was hateful and nasty, and Snape knew it. What was the point of pretending?

“If I had no self-control,” Snape snarled, “do you really think you would still be standing here? I have spent my time and energy saving your miserable hide every year that you’ve been at this school, despite your insistence on risking your neck at every possible opportunity. You want kind and supportive? How about hauling your ass out of the fire every single time, when none of your ‘kind’ teachers could be bothered? And after I’ve sworn my life to protecting you, you still think I’m going to put that at risk. Do you ever bother to think, or do you rely on Granger to do that for you? How the hell would beating you half to death after you tried to kill yourself be helpful in keeping you alive? Can you even hear yourself? Fifteen years of being sworn to your defense, and-”

He suddenly cut off, his expression aghast for an instant before it shut down in the way Harry was used to.

But during that speech, Harry had seen the Severus of the memories, the one who couldn't stop himself from saying what was true even when no one believed him. And people were honest when they were that angry, he knew that from experience; that would tell him exactly what they really thought of him in ways that wouldn't say when they were calm for fear of how it would sound.

But that would mean that Severus was telling the truth, and that wasn't possible.

"You hate me," he argued over the pounding of his heart. "You can't possibly not want to hurt me, let alone be protecting me. You hate me."

"What's that got to do with it?" Snape grumbled, and Harry was thrown again by how much he sounded like Severus. "Salazar preserve me from Gryffindors and their idiotic idea that morality only applies to people they like. I hate everyone, Potter. If that meant I wouldn't try to save them, I wouldn't be here right now, let alone spying on an insane Dark Lord to try and prevent some of the damage."

"But why would you be protecting me?”

Snape suddenly focused all of his attention on Harry. “What did you see in that Pensieve?”

His voice was sharp enough that Harry flinched. But this was what he’d expected, after all. All he’d wanted was to set things back on a normal course. He’d managed that. The fact that now he was extremely confused shouldn’t matter.

“That my dad was a horrible excuse for a human being.” Saying the words aloud hurt, no matter that they’d been running through the back of his mind ever since he’d seen it. “And my mum was… not great either.”

Severus would probably have had worse things to say about his mum, but Harry couldn’t. Severus should never have called her what he did.

“And?” Snape’s voice was still whip-sharp.

Harry tried to think. What else had been in there? “Oh. Um, some of your family. Before Hogwarts.” He could feel Snape’s stare, so intense that he felt compelled to continue. “I stopped before… Well, when you and-and Lily had that fight and she walked away, before… whatever he did.” Crap, he should have kept his mouth shut about that whole situation. Snape was going to explode.

When the silence continued, he dared a glance at Snape. The man had sat down at some point and was not even looking at Harry. His hands were shaking. He didn’t seem angry anymore, which was definitely strange.

That thought reminded him of the other strangeness in Snape’s behavior. “What were you protecting me for, then? Now I know why you hate me; why would you care if I lived or died?” Then an explanation occurred to him. “To fight Voldemort? Dumbledore seems to have known I have to from the beginning; did you? Is that why?"

"To keep you alive," Severus growled. "I don't want to come face to face with your corpse ever again, is that enough for you?"

Harry tried to figure out the real meaning behind those words. "But you said you were doing all this before you knew I was your mate. So why did you care?” His voice was rising, but he couldn’t seem to stop it. He had to understand this. Understanding what people wanted was the only way to survive. “What do you want from me?"

"I want you to have a life," Severus snapped back. "Something other than trying to fight a dark wizard three times your age. Having a career and friends and… I don't know, what do you want to do after you get out of this festering cesspit of a school?"

Harry stared at him blankly. Life after Hogwarts - after Voldemort? He'd never really imagined it.

But wait. He had responsibilities.

"I-I'll be bearing your children," he said. "And raising them, I guess? Or taking care of the house?"

Snape was looking at him with an expression that made him stop speaking abruptly.

"You are not bearing for us," he finally said. His voice was hard. "And you are not going to be our house elf, either. Ignore the soulmate bond. What are you going to do for yourself?"

"I can't just ignore it," Harry protested. "I mean, we have to live together, and..."

"Whatever gave you that idea?" Snape rubbed his forehead. "Soulmate bones are unstable at first, so we have to live in the same room. But given that you've already proven that our bind can survive merely sleeping in the same room and having a conversation once a week, I have no doubt that the most we'll have to do is spend one night a week under the same roof and perhaps share a meal. The rest of the time, you can create whatever life you want for yourself. So what do you want?"

Harry tried to think, but his brain had stalled on the fact that he might not be stuck pregnant and living in a cupboard for the rest of his life. He couldn't seem to wrap his mind around the possibility of anything else.

"Surely you had a career path in mind at some point," Snape prompted, "Minerva must do some vestige of counseling with her house."

Harry vaguely remembered a discussion the year before. "I wanted to be an Auror."

"Of-bloody-course," Snake muttered. "All right," he said aloud. "Let's focus on getting you into the Auror program."

Harry hesitated. "But… I think I only wanted that because I was going to be fighting Voldemort anyway." And because his father had been one, and the idea of following in his father’s footsteps was now nauseating.

"Since that will be taken care of, what do you want to do?" When Harry couldn't come up with a reply, Snape summoned a quill and parchment. "What is your favorite class?"

"Defense," Harry said automatically.

"And what is your favorite part about Defense?”

Harry hesitated, not sure where this was going and not wanting to talk about Dumbledore’s Army or anything Narcissa wouldn’t want him to share. “I’m good at it. I help other kids with their technique when they’re having trouble.”

“Do you enjoy working with other students?” Snape’s voice was as calm as Harry had ever heard it. He’d certainly never heard this tone addressed to him.

“Yeah.” It was one of his favorite things, actually.

“Do you prefer working with individuals or groups?”

“Um…” What the hell was this? Why was Snape interrogating him on his likes and dislikes? It wasn’t like this was anything that could be used against him. So why did he care? “Both, I guess?”

Snape just raised an eyebrow and waited for him to continue.

“Well, I usua- when I work with a group of younger kids, I’ll have them all practice - what they learned in class, and then I’ll go around and help them individually, and then we’ll do something all together again.”

Snape made another note. “What else do you enjoy?”

“Narcissa has been, um, teaching me some things…” He trailed off, wondering what had possessed him to admit that.

“Duelling,” Snape said with a nod, writing it down. “You would like to continue with that?”

“Yes,” Harry said, relieved that he hadn’t let out any secrets. “It’s great.”

“Any other hobbies? Things you particularly enjoy, or would be unhappy to do without?”

Was that what this was all about? Harry shrugged, not wanting to give the man any more ammunition for whatever he was planning.

“Quidditch?” Snape asked, quill hovering over the parchment.

Harry shrugged again. “I haven’t been doing much of that lately.”

“And would you like it to be an important part of your life after Hogwarts?”

He couldn’t imagine it. Oliver and Ginny and others on the team had talked about going pro, but he’d never even considered it. He loved flying, and it was great to be on the team and help gain House points by catching the Snitch, but as a career? It just didn’t sound that great. “I guess not.”

Snape looked at him for a moment longer, then started writing quickly. “There are a few career paths that might appeal to you, then. You could work as a private defense instructor, or become a professor of defense. I would recommend against working here, but the post would certainly be open to you. You could join the duelling circuit on the continent, or study with a professional duellist. You could also do these sequentially: study, then join the duelling circuit, then become a private instructor with those to improve your resume for instance. However, with the Malfoy connections, you would not need to take that route. Do those sound like options you might be interested in?”

Harry blinked. Narcissa had mentioned that most Slytherins got private tutoring, but he hadn’t really thought about who was doing the teaching, or that it might be a job he could get. And he’d never even heard of the duelling circuit. The thought made his heart race like it did before a Quidditch match. That could be fun.

But why was Snape telling him all this? Did he expect Harry to go out and earn money for them? Well, if so, at least he was offering Harry the chance to do something he was interested in. That possibility was worth playing along.

“Yeah, I could see that,” he said. He didn’t want to sound too excited.

“Very well.” Snape started writing again. “Your scores in Defense are relatively good?”

“Outstanding,” Harry said a little sharply. Just because Snape was a rotten teacher didn’t mean he did that badly in every class.

“Good. Flitwick used to run a duelling club; talking to him and getting it restarted would be an excellent show of initiative and commitment. If you can organize an official Defence study group with McGonagall’s oversight, you can use that on your resume as well. The pureblood gossip circles are insular, so having some pureblood students from various houses will help you get an introduction if you go the private instructor route. Of course, you can rely on Narcissa to manage all of that, but recruiting the right students will give her more to work with.”

Apparently Snape had forgotten that Narcissa wasn’t going to want to help him anymore. Harry considered pointing this out, but refrained.

“There are some publications you can subscribe to that will give you a feel for the current duelling field and the experts. If you wish for an apprenticeship, you need to decide your top three masters this year and start following the reports on them, so that when you write to ask them for a position, you can talk about why you respect them and wish to work with them.”

Harry’s head was starting to spin. How was he supposed to do all of this?

“You don’t sound as interested in theory, but there are a few books on the different duelling styles and their benefits that would be useful. I’m not sure what Narcissa is teaching you, but eventually you will want to branch out and learn the basics of a few different styles; it will give you more options for clients if you can tailor your instruction to their family’s preference. Narcissa will tell you when you have a firm enough grasp on what she’s teaching you to branch out.”

Snape fell silent but continued writing frantically. Harry watched the moving quill and tried to imagine himself graduated and with a job. It seemed impossible.

“Here.” Snape passed the parchment across the table to him. Harry took it and scanned Snape’s spidery writing. The parchment was split into clear sections: Possible Careers at the top, then To Do, People to Contact, To Read, and Long-Term Actions, all with careful bullet points spelling out what exactly he needed to do.

He stared blankly at it, wondering what to think. This was the first time in his life that someone had asked him what he liked most, had suggested things that would make him happy, and had given him clear instructions as to how to get them. And it was Snape. The man who hated him. It made no sense at all.

“Is something wrong?” Snape was frowning at him. “If this is not a career path you’re interested in, you need to tell me some other things you enjoy.”

His voice was sharp again, a hint of “You’re doing it wrong and making more work for me.” But somehow Harry didn’t doubt that he would do this over again if Harry said he wanted to be a professional Quidditch player or an Auror after all.

I’ve protected you so that you could have a life. Forget the soulmate bond. What do you want?

He could hardly believe that it was Snape saying those things, let alone taking time to help him figure all this out. But Snape didn’t say things he didn’t mean, did he? He was nasty, but he didn’t hide it. So if he said he wanted Harry to have a life, and he made an effort to help him get it…

He’d said he wasn’t going to hurt Harry, and he hadn’t, even when Harry had almost killed him and cheated on him. Was that true too?

He remembered belatedly that Snape had asked him a question. “No, this- this is fine,” he managed to say, looking at the parchment again. It seemed like it might disappear if he didn’t keep his eyes on it, like this might be some sort of dream. It didn’t make sense, after all.

Just then the door burst open, making Harry jump. “Flitwick is such a bastard,” Draco groused as he dropped his bag by his desk and came to join them at the table. “I thought I’d never get out of there.”

Harry stuffed the parchment away, resolving to think more about it later.

Chapter Text

Harry dragged himself down to breakfast the next morning feeling like he hadn’t slept in a week. It didn’t seem possible that he could feel this exhausted when he’d just slept in his own bed for the first time in he-still-didn’t-know-how-long.

Of course, it hadn’t exactly been an evening that would give anyone a good night’s sleep. First he’d had to try to reassure Draco that he wasn’t actually trying to kill them all and attempt to answer his innumerable questions. When he’d refused to say what exactly he’d seen in the Pensieve that had driven him into the lake, the conversation devolved into a really nasty argument between Draco and Snape. The one good thing about that was that they’d done most of it in French, so at least he didn’t understand the words. The tone and the looks on their faces had been enough, though. They were both furious, and what he had understood was absolutely vicious. He’d huddled in his chair and tried to pretend he wasn’t there until Snape finally stalked out of the room.

And then he’d had to sit through yet another lecture from Draco on how he wasn’t going to hurt Harry and Harry really should trust him, only this one seemed more an excuse to insult Snape than an attempt to actually reassure Harry. Harry was pretty sure Draco was exaggerating Snape’s lack of self-control - after all, somehow his apology earlier had turned into career counselling, of all things, instead of the punishment he deserved - but still, he’d woken up at every sound, expecting one of them to have given up on their facade.

So the last thing he needed, as he came yawning over to the Gryffindor table, was to be met by Hermione’s and Ron’s worried expressions

“I’m fine,” he snapped before they could say anything. He had already gotten sick of this yesterday. They weren’t going to hover for the rest of the school year, were they? Just because things had gotten so bad with Blaise and Theo that he’d wanted a way out - things were better now.

His thoughts stumbled at that. How had his life gotten to the point that Snape and Malfoy were better?

But he had to admit that compared to Blaise and Theo, they were. They’d had him for two months and neither of them had laid a finger on him. Not even when he’d done far more awful things than he’d ever done with Blaise and Theo. He wasn’t counting on it lasting, of course, but it was still true that at the moment, things were better.

Well, he couldn’t tell Ron and Hermione about all that anyway, so there was no point in trying to explain. He sat down and served himself some eggs, trying to ignore Hermione’s stare.

It was hard to eat with her eyes boring into him, but he did his best. Just like the day before, the food wasn’t that appetizing, and he had to force down the last few bites. He refilled his cup and finally turned to Hermione. “What?” he demanded irritably.

She started to say something, then visibly changed her mind. “Are you sure you want to go through with this?” she asked instead, lowering her voice. “Finding out about your dad. You really think it will help?”

“Yes,” he said as forcefully as he could. “Absolutely. I have to know.”

“Even if you find out it’s all true?”

The thought made him feel sick. But still... “Then I need to know,” he said. “And I need to know why my mum married him. I-” He ducked his head. “I don’t know anything about them, not really, just the photo album and a couple of things people have said. I just need to know, all right?”

He stopped, unable to put it into words. He couldn’t explain even to himself exactly why this was so important to him, but he knew he wouldn’t let it go.

Hermione studied him for another minute, then nodded decisively. “All right. Then I’ll talk to Professor Snape today and set things up, and we can do it tomorrow.”

Harry stared for a second, startled that she’d come around so fast, but quickly covered it with gratitude. “Thanks, Hermione.” It seemed so inadequate. “Thanks a lot.”

She gave him a somewhat sad smile. “Just… Don’t let it make things worse, OK?”

“It won’t,” he assured her. He was prepared for whatever the answer might be. At least he would know for certain.

* * *

Hermione nodded to him as they sat down to dinner. “He said he’d do it.”

Harry felt a sudden chill down his back. “You didn’t tell him why, did you?” If Hermione had explained the whole thing, Snape would surely think he’d broken his promise not to tell anyone. Crap, why hadn’t he thought of that sooner?

Hermione looked at him oddly. “Just that I was worried about you and wanted an excuse to talk to you in private more often. With the whole-” she glanced around “-special topic we’ve been studying, he didn’t seem surprised. Why?”

Harry tried to keep his sigh of relief from being noticed. “No reason, I guess.”

Hermione did not look convinced, but she didn’t question him about it any more. “So. Tomorrow at dinner?”

“Yes.” Harry said it firmly.

“Should we plan out what we’re going to say?”

“Merlin’s beard, Hermione, you don’t have to plan every detail of everything you do!” Ron said. “Honestly. You’d think the world would end if you didn’t plan for the sun to rise on time every day.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “At least I’m prepared for things, unlike certain people who can’t even plan time to do their homework and are going to fail their NEWTs without my help.” She ostentatiously turned her back on him. “Speaking of which, I’ve made you a study schedule, Harry, to get you caught up after all the time you missed. Here.” She dug it out of her bag and handed it to him.

“Thanks,” Harry said, scanning it. “Oh- uh…”

“What is it? We can change things around. That’s one of the benefits of making a plan,” she added pointedly.

He pointed to the hour before dinner, labelled “Library with Hermione.”

“I- er- I’m busy then.”

Even if Narcissa wouldn’t teach him anymore, he had to keep up his practice. He was already feeling itchy all over from not having done it the past two days.

“We could move that to after dinner, if you don’t mind,” he went on quickly.

Hermione frowned at the paper. “I left that time for you to be with your mates…”

He seized on the excuse eagerly. “No, we usually, um, socialize and stuff right before dinner. It’s, like, our chance to wind down. Then after dinner if we have homework, or someone has detention, it doesn’t matter…”

He trailed off and looked at her hopefully, praying she wouldn’t realize that he was lying.

“Hmm.” She was fluttering the end of her quill back and forth as she studied the schedule. “Detention every night next week will interfere with that - but maybe I can quiz you while we’re scrubbing cauldrons.”

Ron made a loud gagging noise. “Trust you to find a way to make detention with Snape even worse.”

Hermione ignored him and quickly changed a few lines. “Here.” She shoved the completed schedule back to Harry. “Will this work?”

He nodded. “Thanks,” he said again. He’d never really worried about the NEWTs before - they’d seemed so far away - but in the last day he’d lost count of how many times he’d pulled out Snape’s parchment and looked at it. In a year and a half he would be on his own, and he’d need a job. Apparently he owed money to his mates, although he still wasn’t clear on how much, or why they wanted him to pay them instead of bearing their children. But still, if he was expected to support himself and have enough for their demands, he needed to prepare now. Especially if Snape was going to the effort of suggesting jobs he might like; he certainly didn't want to act like he wasn't grateful by not preparing as best he could.

She glanced over at Ron. “Well, at least you’ve gained the sense to appreciate what I do for you.”

Ron snorted.

Harry shook his head and focused on his dinner.

* * *

To his relief, he managed to avoid both Draco and Snape all the next day. He’d slipped into the room late and gotten straight into bed without even looking around; no one had spoken to him, so he figured he was safe. Sneaking out in the morning had been even easier.

And when he got back before dinner and found the room empty, the relief he felt was almost overwhelming.

Taking up the first position of the dance felt like coming home. He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring it, before taking the first step.

He was awful at it, of course. His body hardly seemed to remember the things he’d been drilling for so long, and by the fourth step he’d had to stop the wand movements entirely and focus on his body placement. And he was exhausted long before he reached halfway.

But even as he collapsed on the ground at the end, trying to drag air into throbbing lungs, he felt himself grinning. This was what he had needed. All the thoughts and fears and worries that had been plaguing him for the past few days disappeared. His body took all his attention when he pushed it beyond its limits. Even though it hurt, it was his choice, it was making him stronger, and he felt powerful. Even if everything else in his life was going to shit, he could do this. For a few minutes, he could be free of it all.

He dragged himself to his feet to begin again. His muscles were aching, but it was so much better than worrying. Maybe he’d exhaust himself enough to be able to sleep tonight.

Just as he took the first step, he heard the door open behind him. He whirled around, raising his wand automatically and just as quickly lowering it before he even saw who was there. No matter who it was, he didn’t want to seem like he was threatening them.

Then he recognized Narcissa.

His heart was already pounding from the dance, but now it felt like it was trying to climb out through his throat. He carefully tucked his wand away, waiting for whatever judgement she would impose on him.

She sat in Snape’s desk chair as if it were a throne and looked at him intently. He dropped his gaze so that he wouldn’t have to meet those piercing dark eyes.

“Our House has failed you, ” she said, and his eyes jerked up to her face. She was looking more serious than he had ever seen her, but without a trace of anger. She was - formal, he decided, feeling half-hysterical as he focused on finding the correct word. The way she was talking, the look, they were all very formal.

But what the hell did that mean for him?

“As the soulmate of my son, you are part of our family and our household and are entitled to our protection. Since your mate, the heir of our House, had failed in his responsibilities, we offer you these in reparation.”

Reparation? Harry wished that Hermione was there. She would know what the word meant.

Luckily, Narcissa didn’t wait for him to respond. Instead, she pulled out several boxes. They looked like larger versions of Aunt Petunia’s jewelry boxes.

“These,” she said, opening the larger one to reveal four colored stones nestled in a bed of white velvet, “are warding runestones. If you use them as the anchors for a warding spell, the spell’s power and duration will be magnified.”

Harry stared at the stones. They’d covered runestones briefly in Ancient Runes, but he’d never seen any up close like this. They were apparently extremely difficult to make. Most warding stones were set in the foundations of great buildings like Hogwarts. He’d never even heard of little, portable ones like these.

But why was she showing them to him? He debated whether or not to ask, but Narcissa opened the second box and continued.

“This armband was created for a Frankish chieftain, a distant ancestor.” The gold band, shaped like a large, flat bracelet, had intricate designs etched into it, embellished with small chips of what looked to be gemstones. “It will protect the wearer by absorbing or deflecting some of the power from attack spells. Ancient chieftains wore it into battle; since we have demonstrated our inability to keep you safe in this school, it is fitting that you have this to protect you in our stead.”

“H-Have it?” he stammered. She couldn’t mean what he thought she was saying, could she?

The two boxes floated over to hover just in front of him. Narcissa had explained the items in a slightly more normal tone of voice, but now she returned to the formality she had used earlier.

“Harry Potter, do you accept these reparations from the House of Malfoy, agreeing to set aside the wrong we have done you and resume our former relations?”

Harry realized that his mouth was hanging open and closed it abruptly. Before he could begin to come up with something to say, she held up a finger and spoke quickly. “At this point, you have the option of negotiating for different gifts, if there is something you think would be more useful or more valuable to you. You can also refuse them entirely, which will leave us in your debt. As soon as you touch the boxes, you have accepted the reparations, which means that you will not demand anything else of us as a result of Draco’s mistake and that you are willing to return to the way things were before. Take time to consider carefully. You may wish to hold off on your decision until you have spoken with someone you trust.”

Harry’s head was spinning. “But… Those things are much too valuable. You can’t just give them to me!”

Narcissa was sitting with perfect posture, as always, but she drew herself up. “You were hurt terribly by my son’s actions. That should never have happened, and it cannot be undone. These gifts merely acknowledge how badly we have failed you.”

“You didn’t,” he protested. “It wasn’t Draco’s fault that Blaise and Theo got me. I knew they would - I mean, they’d been saying they’d get back at me as soon as…”

He trailed off uncomfortably, but it was too late. Narcissa was studying him.

“As soon as my son was foolish enough to publicly fight with you? As soon as he let his petty childishness lead him to withdraw the protection his favor gave you? Yes, it was Draco’s fault, and it is our responsibility to make it right.”

“But these are - they must be family treasures,” he said desperately. “Heirlooms. You can’t give them to me.”

Narcissa nodded. “They have been in the family a long time, true. However,” she gave him a smile that made him relax a bit, despite everything. “If you do choose to formally join our family someday, they will still be Malfoy treasures and will return to our vaults eventually.”

“So… more like a loan, then.” That was still insane, but it made Harry feel slightly better.

“Mmm. It is letting a son of our House use the items he is most in need of, from those things we have stored away against a day of need. We know you are in danger here, and we have failed to protect you. Just as Draco or I take items from our vaults when we need them, you should have these to keep you safe.”

Harry’s throat tightened. Snape and Draco had both told him that what happened with Blaise and Theo hadn’t been his fault. They’d even apologized for letting it happen. He hadn’t believed a word of it. But when Narcissa said that she felt responsible and wanted to keep him safe…

She had never been anything but kind to him. She’d taken more time out of her schedule for him than anyone he’d ever known. And if she said she wanted to help him because she thought of him as part of her family - well, even he wasn’t stupid enough to reject the one unquestionably good thing this soulmate bond had brought him.

Carefully, he reached out and grasped the two boxes. They instantly regained their true weight, and he drew them close to his chest with hands that shook. He looked up at Narcissa. “I’ll take good care of them until it’s time to return them.”

She sighed in evident relief. “Thank you, Harry.” Then she stood and crossed the room in a few quick steps, wrapping her arms around him in a hug.

Harry froze. His hands were trapped between them, and the corner of one of the boxes dug into his ribs. It was a little like when Mrs. Weasley hugged him, and a little not, and he didn’t have any idea how to respond.

Luckily, it wasn’t long before she stepped back. “I am so sorry, dear,” she said in the tone he was used to hearing from her. He was struck by how warm it was; he’d somehow managed to get so used to it that he’d almost forgotten how strange it was for anyone to speak kindly to him. “Both that you were hurt so badly by those monsters, and that Severus was so careless as to let you be hurt again.” She shook her head. “I have had some sharp words with him, I can assure you. And as for my son…”

Harry swallowed. “Please - please don’t be mad at them. It wasn’t really their fault. I shouldn’t’ve…”

She smiled at him. “You are kinder than they deserve. They both know that I will not let anyone get away with hurting a member of my family.” Her voice, which had gone sharp, softened again. “But don’t worry. They have both experienced my displeasure before and lived to tell the tale."

Yes, but what will they do to me? But somehow, when Narcissa smiled at him and told him she thought of him as part of her family, he couldn’t worry about that.

“Now, when I came in you seemed to be practicing. Have you a few more minutes? After so long in bed, you will need some basic conditioning to get your body used to moving precisely again. I would be happy to show you some moves.”

Harry tried to contain his relief at hearing that. He’d been so sure that she would be too angry to teach him anything; having her offer made him swallow hard before he could answer. "That would be great!” Then he looked down at the boxes he held. “Um, what should I do with these?”

“Wear the armband whenever you leave this room,” she said authoritatively. “Use the wardstones if you feel unsafe. When you are not using them, keep them in their boxes; they are spelled against theft and damage. In fact, if I hadn’t added you to the spells, you would not even be able to see them.”

Harry nodded and took the boxes over to his trunk. When he turned back around, Narcissa was holding out a much smaller box.

“This is not part of the reparations, but something you should have received long ago,” she said. “I apologize for the delay.”

Cautiously Harry accepted the box and opened it. Inside was a plain silver ring.

“If you twist it a full turn around your finger, it will signal all of us that you are in distress and need help,” Narcissa explained. “Once you put it on, it is charmed not to come off. You will always be able to call on us for aid.”

Harry stared at the ring.

“Every member of the Malfoy family in the direct line wears one,” Narcissa said, holding out a hand. He saw a matching ring on her smallest finger.

Holding his breath, though he wasn’t really sure why, Harry pulled the ring from its case and slipped it onto the last finger of his left hand, just like Narcissa. It warmed for a second and tightened until it fit perfectly, then cooled to the temperature of his hand. He could barely tell it was there.

Narcissa smiled at him and took the empty box. “There! Now, are you ready to practice?”

Relieved not to have to think any more about what she’d said, Harry nodded. The things she’d given him were overwhelming. Having her teach him again was the only thing he really wanted.

* * *

It took several minutes of Hermione shifting nervously in her seat and looking at him and then away before Ron finally elbowed Harry. “Well?”

Harry jumped slightly, torn from thoughts of Narcissa, her gifts, and the new moves she’d taught him. “What?” He looked from Ron to Hermione in confusion. “Wha- Oh. Oh, yeah.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Yeah. You’re sure you want to do this?” He looked at Harry with poor-hidden worry. “Bill and Charlie both said they had people they could ask, you know. You don’t have to…”

“No, it’s a good idea,” Harry insisted. “Really. If everyone else here knows something and I don’t, I want to find out.”

Ron frowned. “But what if they don’t know anything?”

“Well, it won’t be that bad,” Harry said, hoping that he was right. “It’s only for a week.”

Hermione moved sharply, and Harry looked over at her to see her screw her eyes shut before opening them. “Let’s get this over with,” she muttered.

Harry barely had time to set down his fork before she jumped to her feet. “You are an ignorant, unfeeling lout, Harry Potter!” she shouted.

Heads began turning toward them, just as he’d wanted, and Harry felt his mind go blank. Crap, I really should have listened to Hermione and planned what I was going to say in advance.

He tried frantically to think how James Potter had responded to Lily shouting at him in the memories. Just like your father. At least it could be useful for once.

He leaned his elbows on the table and looked up at her, keeping his expression casual, a little amused. “Oh, really? Tell me, Hermione. What-”

To his relief, she cut him off. “If you keep acting like this, our friendship is over. I mean it. I’m not going to put up with this.”

Harry widened his eyes, looking at Ron in overdone confusion. “What is she talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. Both of you! And if you think I’m going to keep helping a couple of ungrateful, rude, stupid-”

This time he cut her off, since he had an idea of what his father would say. “Oh, yes. Threaten to take away your help, and your friendship. As if I can’t handle school without you to hold my hand. I’m not stupid, you know!”

“Aren’t you? You could’ve fooled me!”

He ignored her. “And what kind of friendship is it, that you would just walk away like this? Over one little thing.”

“It’s not one little thing!” Her voice was getting louder and louder. Harry tried not to cringe away from all the eyes on them. The instinct to apologize was almost overpowering, but he fought through it. He was pretty sure that James Potter never apologized. “If you don’t see that, if you don’t understand why I won’t keep putting up with being treated this way, I can’t explain it to you!”

“Fine.” He did his best to look indifferent. “Go find some new friends. Good luck; you’re going to need it.”

Just like your father. What else would James have said? “Haven’t you noticed? No one likes you. No one else will put up with a bossy, annoying know-it-all, an ugly bitch who-” He cut himself off. What the hell was he saying?

Hermione looked like she was about to cry, and he started to panic. This was not how it was supposed to go.

Before he could apologize, she slapped him. Hard. And then she ran out the door, leaving her bookbag behind.

Ron slid closer to Harry. “Boy. What’s got into her?” he said. His voice wavered a bit, but it was enough to remind Harry of what he was meant to be doing.

He swallowed hard and tried to pretend that everything was fine. Just like your father. “Dunno.” He stabbed something on his plate with a fork and stuck it in his mouth. “She’ll come around. Probably apologize in the morning. Um.” He tried frantically to think of something else to say. “Want to go flying after dinner?”

“Sure,” Ron said with a weak smile. Harry forced some more food into his mouth, even though his stomach was twisting. He hadn’t meant to say anything that would actually hurt Hermione. Where had he even come up with something so awful?

He swallowed hard, trying to get rid of the sick feeling in his throat. He really was turning into his father.

Chapter Text

Severus stalked down the hall, his glare causing students to scramble out of his way and cower against the walls. He paid them no attention. All he wanted to do right then was to attempt to shake some sense into Harry Potter, the bloody idiot.

It was almost worse than Harry looking in that Pensieve in the first place, to see him using that knowledge to make the same stupid mistakes that Severus had.

It was clear enough that they’d planned it between them. Miss Granger’s bizarre request for detention made perfect sense now. But it was also perfectly clear that Harry had gone too far. And after what he’d seen, he should have known better!

He stopped in the shadows at the end of the corridor, where he could see the front doors without being noticed, and forced himself to stand still and breathe. He wasn’t going to shake Harry, or scream at him, or rake him over the coals like he would have one of his Slytherins if they crossed a line so egregiously. He was going to be calm and try to help Harry fix this mess before it was too late.

He closed his eyes and concentrated on the empathy sense. He was getting better at using it since the Pensieve had bled the worst of the poison from the memories it had awoken. The process had been significantly more painful than any bloodletting, probably because he had not been anywhere near as prepared as he’d thought. He had expected Harry’s gift to drag him through his worst memories and force him to recognize that he had become exactly like those he’d hated. He could deal with that. Self-loathing as a personal motivation tactic was old hat by this point, after seventeen years with it as his constant companion. What he hadn’t anticipated was the way Draco’s gift would show up, nor how painful it would be.

He shook off the thought and focused on the feelings of the students in the halls. They were completely unaware of him and moving quickly, so the impressions were faint, only bits of emotions and flickers of memory. He lost himself in the deliberate practice necessary to master a new field.

His near-trance was abruptly broken when Potter and Weasley strode into the hall. They appeared to be chatting cheerfully, but empathy revealed their worry and guilt.

Still, they were clearly not feeling enough of either.

He swooped down on them out of the shadows. “Mr. Potter. A word.”

They both jumped, to his satisfaction. The fact that Harry was as much confused as frightened was surprising, but it helped him set aside his anger a little more. If all his efforts to not terrify his mate were paying off, he didn’t want to undo them.

They were still staring at him dumbly. “You may go, Mr. Weasley,” he said pointedly. “Potter, follow me.”

They walked in silence, even though they hardly saw anyone. It wasn’t safe to seem like anything but an irritable professor and his least favorite student, not when someone could come around a corner any minute.

Severus paused in the center of an empty corridor just before they reached the soul dorms, raising an eyebrow at Harry. He flushed and dug his invisibility cloak out of his bag. Severus wondered briefly if he would bolt once he had it on, but he didn’t. Severus could feel him close by as he turned down the hallway and entered their room.

As soon as the door was closed, though, and Harry emerged from the cloak looking bewildered and not at all upset at what he had just done, all of Severus’ hard-won calm flew directly out the window.

“What the hell did you think you were doing?”

* * *

Harry had been racking his brains all the way here, trying to figure out how he’d infuriated Snape this time. After all the things Harry had done, it wasn’t surprising he’d finally snapped, but what had triggered it?

“I’m sorry,” he offered, since it was generally a safe bet.

“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to!”

Had he said something wrong to Draco yesterday? Oh, no, was this about Narcissa blaming Draco for Blaise and Theo? He hadn’t even imagined that! How could he have prevented it? He bit his lip hard, trying to think of something he could possibly say.

“I didn’t mean for her to get upset,” he said. “I had no idea- It didn’t occur to me that she might…”

“That she might be upset by her friend spewing filthy insults at her in front of the entire student body?” Snape snapped when he hesitated, searching for words. “That she might expect basic decency out of you? You of all people should know that there are words from which a friendship can never recover - even if you had bothered to apologize, instead of going for a little fly-about with Weasley!”

Harry realized, belatedly, that his mouth had been hanging open for this entire speech. But really, how was he supposed to react? He had tried to kill Snape, cheated on him, looked at his private memories, and nearly killed him by accident when he’d specifically promised not to. Snape had been relatively calm through it all; when he had yelled, it had been to tell Harry off for assuming that he was about to be punished. The thing that finally set him off, ranting and raving the way Harry had expected all along, was that Harry had had a fight with Hermione?

He had to have misunderstood somehow. “What are you talking about?” he blurted out, then cringed at the way it had sounded.

Snape abruptly turned on his heel and strode to the other end of the room, where he stood with his back to Harry. He grabbed the edges of his cloak and pulled it tightly around himself with jerky movements.

“I’m talking,” he said in a tight voice, “about the fact that, out of all the students in this hellhole, I know that you know exactly how a public insult can shatter a friendship forever.”

Harry swallowed hard, mind flashing back to the memory: I don’t need help from a filthy little Mudblood like her, Severus had said. Was he saying what Harry thought he was saying?

“You- but you made up, right?” he asked. “You apologized, and it was okay again, wasn’t it?”

Severus’ shoulders hunched. “There are some wounds an apology can’t heal,” he snapped. “I hope, for all our sakes, that you have not been straining your friendship with Granger too badly with poor choices. Consorting with Death Eaters and future Death Eaters. Engaging in morally dubious research and activities. Letting her be ostracized and endangered by her friendship with you. Expecting her to put aside her own needs, her own safety, for your sake.”

The words lashed like a whip, and Harry took a step back, hitting his hip on the corner of a desk. The pain hardly registered. “You don’t understand,” he stammered. “We planned it! It was all fake, just part of the plan!”

Severus turned back to face him, looking ready to spit fire. “Did you plan to tell her she had no friends because she was too annoying? Did she give you permission to call her an ‘ugly little bitch’?” When Harry shook his head, unable to speak, Severus sneered at him. “Then let me assure you, in case you missed it, that making a plan does not absolve you of words like that.”

Harry felt like his world was crashing down again. He’d known his father was awful, but he’d loved seeing his mum as a kid. He’d hoped that she wasn’t so bad when she grew up, but… “You can’t be saying that- that she still wouldn’t accept your apology.” The words emerged as a croak.

Severus’ eyes were sharp and hard. “Did your plan include public reconciliation?”

Harry nodded frantically. “One week. We were just supposed to fight for a week - and we could talk in detention, it wouldn’t be real - and then I’d apologize and she’d forgive me.”

“And what precisely did you hope to gain from this asinine plot?”

Harry panicked. “I didn’t tell them anything, I swear!” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he closed his eyes and braced himself.

There was a moment of complete silence. Then Snape said, softly but with steel in his tone, “Your only option right now is to tell me exactly what you said.”

Harry kept his eyes squeezed shut. “I said I’d heard somewhere that my dad was an awful bully, and I needed to know if it was true. I swear, I didn’t tell them anything else! And Hermione said if any of my dad’s classmates had talked about him, other wizarding kids would know, except they obviously didn’t want to tell me. Or my friends. So…” He shrugged, leaving the word hanging.

The pressure inside him seemed to build with each moment of silence. Before long, his eyes popped open of their own accord.

Snape’s face was blank again, and Harry couldn’t begin to guess what he was thinking. Instinctively he shrank back into the wall beside the desk, as if they could protect him from the wrath that was sure to come.

Snape’s eyes finally focused on Harry again. He stared at him for a second before sighing. “Come sit down,” he said, gesturing toward the fireplace. “We’ll discuss what can be done to salvage this situation before it becomes a complete disaster.”

He turned away, and Harry hesitantly stepped out from his corner to follow him. Before he’d taken two steps, however, Snape suddenly bent forward with a hiss of pain, clutching his left arm. Harry froze, holding his breath.

An instant later, Snape turned back to face him, eyes wild.

“Stay in this room,” he said sharply. “As soon as Draco gets here, use the wardstones. Have him help you set the wards; he knows some you don’t. Do not leave until I return, understood?”

He didn’t wait for Harry’s reply, heading for the door at high speed. Harry watched the door swing slowly shut behind him, wondering what was going on now.

But he couldn’t worry about that. The story of his mum and Severus breaking off their friendship because he’d insulted her was filling his brain. If he’d hurt Hermione that badly…

He had to try to apologize, he realized. Right away, like Snape said he should have. It might already be too late.

He snatched the invisibility cloak from his bag and hurried toward Gryffindor Tower. Luckily, at this hour there were plenty of people going in and out, and it was easy enough to slip through the portrait hole after them.

Hermione was sitting in a corner with Lavender and Parvati. There was a large pile of used tissues nearby. Harry moved closer, careful not to run into anyone.

“My mum always said to be careful, too,” Lavender was saying. “That you couldn’t trust him, not the son of James Potter and Lily Evans.”

Hermione blew her nose. “I never knew!”

Lavender and Parvati exchanged looks. “We probably should have told you,” Lavender said guiltily. “Since you’re - you know - you couldn’t have known. But, well, we didn’t know for sure, not at first.”

“Not until Halloween,” Parvati said, nodding. “And after that, we didn’t think you’d listen.”

“What about Halloween?” Hermione asked sharply. Harry leaned closer, holding his breath.

“Well, he ran away from the prefects to track down a troll, and then everyone was saying how brave and heroic he was,” Parvati said matter-of-factly. “When I wrote home about it, Father said that’s just how James Potter was, too. Anything he did was automatically the right thing, the brave Gryffindor thing. No matter who got hurt.”

“We know he saved you and all,” Lavender said hastily, patting Hermione’s hand. “Of course you would feel grateful, so we didn’t want to say anything. But for the rest of us… Well, getting on the Quidditch team as a first year, after breaking the rules no less, that was bad enough.”

“Mum warned Padma and me,” Parvati agreed. “She said McGonagall let James Potter get away with murder. And when she saw the pictures of Harry in the Daily Prophet, looking just like his father, she warned us that if we were in Gryffindor, we couldn’t expect her to enforce the rules, not where he was concerned.”

“And then after the thing with the troll - we mostly knew it would be better to stay out of his way. People like that - the ones who’re important, the ones who are chosen or whatever - they don’t have to follow the same rules as the rest of us. It doesn’t matter what they do, they won’t get in trouble. And if you’re in their way, they’ll just run right over you.”

“But we never thought he’d turn on you!” Parvati put a hand on Hermione’s back. “I mean, you’re his friend-”

“Mum says Lily Evans only remembered that friends might need help about half the time,” Lavender grumbled. “The rest of the time she was too busy pretending to ignore Potter - when any fool could see she fancied him - to notice anything.”

Harry drew in a sharp breath. He didn’t want to believe it, but it matched what he’d learned from Severus too perfectly to ignore. His mum had just abandoned friends - not just Severus, who really had done something awful, but others too.

And I did something awful, too, he thought guiltily. Would she think Hermione should abandon me? Would she have, if she were here?

Hermione’s head came up sharply, and she looked like she was just barely stopping herself from looking around. “Actually,” she said casually, “I think we should go up to our room to talk.”

She urged the other girls toward the stairs, then turned back. “Oh, I should get rid of this…”

She drew her wand, glaring off to Harry’s right. ”Go away,” she hissed, then vanished the used tissues and went up the stairs.

Feeling numb, Harry slipped out of the portrait hole.

* * *

Draco was not panicking. Malfoys did not panic. Severus was just off to a Death Eater meeting. That was fine. It happened all the time. Well, not all the time, it hadn’t happened since they’d found out that Harry was their mate, but still. Severus had assured him that he could lie to the Dark Lord. Who was only the most powerful Legilimens ever. And in the same breath he had ordered Draco to barricade himself in the room with Harry, to not let anyone in including himself, and that he was asking Dumbledore to keep them safe.

If Severus was asking fucking Dumbledore for help, they were screwed.

And to top it all off, Harry was not in the room where Sev had said he’d left him.

So now Draco was running around the school - not frantically, Malfoys did not do panicked or frantic - trying to find someone invisible and hoping they didn’t both just drop dead in the middle of the corridor. They were betting on the Dark Lord’s apparent desire to kill Harry in person. If He found out. Which of course He wouldn’t.

They were fucking doomed.

Apparently he had some luck going for him, though, because as he hurried up toward the tower where the Gryffindor common room must have been located, he slammed directly into someone invisible.

“Harry?” he whispered, looking around. They seemed to be alone.

He heard a sort of noise in reply and didn’t wait for anything else. He grabbed Harry, shifted his grip until he found something that felt like an arm, and started to tow him down the hall. He really wanted to demand what he thought he was doing, but with his ears still stinging from his mother’s latest lecture, he decided to be prudent and wait until they got to their room.

Harry didn’t seem to be in any mood to talk, either. Draco did his best to lead them through less-used corridors, and tried to make the fact that he was holding onto something invisible less obvious whenever they passed someone. He wasn’t letting go of Harry, though. The idiot had decided to wander off where he had no protection from any Death Eaters sent to collect him, Draco wasn’t letting that happen again.

Once he got them back in their room, he sighed with relief. Then he turned to Harry, who was just pulling off his cloak. “Wardstones,” he demanded, holding out his hand imperiously.

Harry hesitated visibly.

“Oh, for Salazar’s sake,” Draco said impatiently. “You place them, then. One in each corner. And set the first ward, if that makes you feel better. But we need to do it now.”

Still moving much slower than Draco would have liked, Harry went to his trunk and pulled out the box of wardstones. Draco made a mental note to order a goblin-made safe for him and get Sev to hide it in one of the walls. Keeping something like that in a fucking school trunk - what the hell was wrong with him?

Harry shuffled from corner to corner while Draco did his best to compose himself and not display his agitation. He was pretty sure his mother would not have been impressed with his success.

“Put that one in the loo,” he snapped when Harry headed for that corner of the main room instead. “Otherwise we won’t be able to use it, and who knows how long this will last.”

Harry obediently ducked into the loo and came back out empty-handed.

“All right,” Draco said, still jittery with impatience. “Set your wards. I’ll reinforce them.”

Harry drew his wand and muttered a basic warding spell. The stones glowed very faintly.

Draco took a deep breath and refrained from rolling his eyes or saying anything about how they were now well-protected from mice and maybe even small rats. He needed to calm down if he was going to set any of the more advanced wards he’d been taught. They were tricky spells, and likely to fall apart if the wizard casting them wasn’t concentrating.

Carefully he started with the easiest and worked his way up. A few of them he had to cast multiple times, but eventually he got them all to take. When he finally dropped out of the concentration trance he’d needed for the last few, the wardstones were glowing white-hot.

He obscured them. It was remotely possible that they might be able to sleep that night, and they didn’t need the light keeping them awake on top of everything else. Then he dropped into his chair with a sigh.

Harry sat down too and stared at the floor. All Draco’s irritation, which had been pushed aside by the work of warding, came flooding back.

“What were you doing out there?” he demanded. “I thought you said you weren’t trying to get us all killed!”

“Sorry,” Harry mumbled, still not looking up.

He felt upset, but there wasn’t even a hint of fear of Draco in it, which was probably a first since this empathy gift had manifested. It was odd enough to throw Draco off his planned interrogation.

“Are you okay?” He tried to make it sound casual. From the way Harry’s eyes snapped up to his face and the headache he suddenly got, he hadn’t succeeded.

“I’m fine,” Harry said, much too quickly to sound truthful. Someday someone was going to have to give him a few lessons in basic social interactions. “Um. Why are we, uh, doing this?” He gestured vaguely at the wardstones.

Draco stared at him. “Because we don’t want the Dark Lord to kill us?” he said incredulously. Harry wasn’t stupid, he knew that even though he’d tried to deny it for years, so what was going on?

“Oh.” Harry darted a glance at him, then looked down at his hands.

Had he really ignored everything Severus had told him before he left? “Sev got summoned by the Dark Lord,” Draco explained. He probably sounded like he was talking to a four-year-old, but seriously. How else was he supposed to explain something this basic?

The sudden splitting pain in his head must have been Harry panicking. He gritted his teeth and tried to reassure him. “It’s fine! This happens all the time. Well, not all the time, this is the first time since we found out you were our mate, but… Well, he says he can lie to the Dark Lord about that.”

By the look on Harry’s face and the lack of reduction in his headache, Harry found that about as reassuring as Draco did.

“He’s really confident,” he said, trying to sound like he believed it. “And if the Dark Lord does find out, He seems to want to kill you in person. He usually has some sort of complicated plot, Sev says. This is just in case finding out we’re mates is so interesting to Him that He changes his mind and sends-” my father or our mate “-someone to pick us up. So we’ve got the wards up so that Dumbledore has time to get rid of anyone who gets sent to find us.” He kept his uncertainty about Dumbledore’s involvement to himself. Harry probably still had faith in Dumbledore - he was a Gryffindor, after all - and at this point, Draco would take anything that made Harry feel better. Otherwise, his head was going to be killing him the entire time they were left in here.

“How long do you think it will be?” Harry asked in a voice that shook slightly.

Draco shrugged. “Could be a couple hours, could be a day or so. Sev says the Dark Lord wants him to keep his job, so he doesn’t usually summon him when it will interfere with school. That means he’ll be back by tomorrow morning unless something’s… unusual.”

They both left the words Unless something goes wrong hanging unspoken.

“So,” Draco said, to break the uncomfortable silence. “You want to do something?”

The spike of pain that lanced through his head was definitely fear of him. He glowered at Harry. “I do have things I like to do other than sex, okay? And I’ve never even hinted that beating you up might be a fun pastime. So why the hell are you freaking out like this again? Haven’t we been over this enough times yet?”

The pain receded slightly. “Sorry,” Harry said, sounding embarrassed.

Draco closed his eyes to keep from rolling them. “I meant we could read a book or play a game or something.”

Harry shrugged without looking up.

“Fine.” Draco pushed himself out of his chair, not even caring how his headache got worse again. “I’m going to go do my homework. You do whatever you want.”

He stomped over to his desk and sat down with more force than was strictly necessary. Sev was trying to keep secrets from the Dark Lord, they could all die at any second, and he was stuck in here with a mate who was terrified of him. Great. Fucking great.

* * *

Severus sat on the bed and watched his hands shake with detached interest. Poppy had insisted he stay under her eye until the shaking stopped. It had conveniently given him time to reintegrate some of the memories he’d had to cut off in order to successfully Occlude from the Dark Lord. But as soon as he’d remembered the state he’d left his mates in, he’d known he had to get back to them as soon as possible.

Unfortunately, it seemed that standing outside the door with Dumbledore, attempting to convince Draco that he wasn’t under Polyjuice, Imperius, or any other mind- or body-altering substances, had been a bit too much exertion. He probably should have planned that a little better.

“Sev?” Draco’s voice was halfway to hysterical, and Severus winced. He desperately needed to sleep. Even an hour would finish the reintegration process and let him think, instead of being stuck fumbling between two states of mind.

“We’re safe enough for now.” He didn’t have to think. He had a report to deliver; he would deliver it. It was what he always did after a summoning.

Of course, usually he didn’t need to remember which parts he was going to share and which he wanted to keep to himself.

“His plans for Potter-” Harry, one section of his mind supplied. Call him Harry when you’re here. It’s important.

“Harry.” He looked around. Harry was huddled in his chair looking terrified, as usual. When did this become his bloody usual? “He’s trying to get into your mind. I think he knows about the Horcrux.” Damn it, he hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Sleep. He needed to sleep. “Occlumency should keep him out. I’ll teach you. And we’re getting close to finding the others. We have to hurry.”

“Are you trying to be reassuring or not?” Draco demanded, tone still on the verge of hysteria.

Severus grimaced. He was better than this. He was a triple agent, for God’s - Merlin’s - sake. Adding in tailoring what to say to his mates shouldn’t have pushed him over the edge.

He didn’t usually talk to anyone while halfway through adjusting his Occlumency barriers. They were good barriers. Both of his masters tore him apart trying to find the truth, and neither one ever got through. But somehow he’d decided it was safe to talk to his mates when they weren’t protecting him. Stupid, stupid decision.

“I’ll be reassuring in the morning,” he told Draco with his best attempt at his usual dryness. “Right now I need to sleep.”

He bent over to remove his shoes and stopped at the sudden rush of blood to his head. He really didn’t need to pass out right now. That would be even less reassuring than his words.

“Oh, Salazar’s balls,” he heard Draco mutter. Then hands on his shoulders pushed him backwards onto the bed. “I’ll do it.”

He was within an inch of drawing his wand. His instincts were still on edge, even if his thinking was impaired. But this was his Dragon. He was safe. He relaxed and let his mate take off his shoes and get him under the covers. His body melted into the warmth.

Draco sat down next to him and kissed him gently, careful of his sore body. “I’m glad you’re all right,” he said softly.

And the novelty of that concept carried him off to sleep.

Chapter Text

Hermione wasn’t in the Great Hall for breakfast. Harry held his breath as he sat beside Ron, hoping against hope that his friend would have good news for him - or at least something comforting.

Ron shook his head. “She isn’t speaking to me, either,” he said. He fiddled with his fork but didn’t start eating. “I’ve barely seen her; she’s always swept up in a gaggle of girls.”

Harry felt his shoulders droop. He looked with disinterest at the food on the table, wondering if it was even worth pretending to eat or if he should just go wander around and see if he could find Hermione. Maybe the library…

Ron nudged him. “I know it sucks.” He lowered his voice. “But this is your chance to find out what you wanted to know. Do you really want to waste all of it by giving up in the middle?”

What he wanted to know. Harry closed his eyes, trying not to think about what he’d overheard the night before. Hadn’t he gotten enough information just from that? They could end this whole thing now. All he had to do was go and find her and apologize.

But Hermione had gotten really good at hiding them when they needed to talk privately. If she was hiding from him now, he almost certainly wouldn’t be able to find her. The thought of being stuck on the outside of that bubble of privacy she created left him feeling cold and alone.

Ron dumped some food on his plate. “Keep acting,” he whispered, glancing around the table. “If she’s not furious, she will be if you mess up everything she’s been working at.”

That was true enough. Reluctantly, Harry began eating. His father had never looked upset when someone had been mad at him. He’d always brushed it off with a laugh. Just like your father.

* * *

Harry walked into Potions class eagerly, since here at least he was certain of seeing Hermione. They were supposed to pretend to fight some more so that they could get detention, but he’d already decided to forget that plan. They had enough information to go on - his dad was just as awful as Severus’ memories said he was - and all he wanted was to apologize.

But Hermione didn’t seem to be on the same page. She stood at one of the front tables, where Padma and Hannah worked, and chatted with the kids around them. She didn’t even glance at Harry as he came in and started arranging his supplies on their table in the back. Hannah gave him a couple of dirty looks over her shoulder, so she noticed him staring, but Hermione gave no sign that he was even there.

She only walked back to their table after Snape had closed the door and started talking about the potion they were about to brew. Harry tried to whisper to Hermione, but she shook her head sharply without even looking at him and paid rapt attention to Snape’s directions. Harry’s hands tightened on the edge of the workbench. Snape was already giving him pointed looks; he was just as nasty as ever in class, as he’d warned Harry he would be, and Harry knew he was about to start making remarks and taking points. That wouldn’t make Hermione any happier. Reluctantly, he subsided and merely watched Hermione as she organized her supplies.

Finally they were allowed to start brewing. Under the cover of all the noise of people gathering ingredients and discussing the directions with the people next to them, he whispered urgently, “Hermione, I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean…”

“Shut up,” she retorted without looking at him.

“Please, Hermione, just let me apologize!”

Now she looked up to glare at him. “I said, stop talking to me, Harry Potter!”

“Leave her alone,” someone else said, and Harry looked around to see that he had half the class glaring at him.

“She doesn’t want to talk to you,” Padma said sharply. “Stop bothering her.”

Before Harry could come up with a reply, Snape swooped down on them all. “Is there a reason you all prefer to chat instead of finishing your potions on time?” He looked at Harry with the hatred he’d always shown in class. “Mr. Potter, will you be so good as to disperse the fan club and get to work? Unless, of course, the great Harry Potter is too good for class work, in which case you are welcome to leave.”

Harry pushed past people to the supply cupboard, hoping no one saw how close to tears he was.

He waited until everyone was deep into brewing before trying again. The potion was supposed to sit over very low heat with only occasional stirring at this point, which made it the perfect time to talk.

“Hermione!”

She ignored him.

“Hermione, please!”

She shook her head without looking at him.

“Please, just let me-”

Finally she turned toward him. “Just stop it, Harry! I know what you want, and I’m not going to listen to a word you say!”

“But I’m just-”

She made a frustrated sound, grabbed a handful of something off the workbench, and threw it at him. About half of it ended up going into the flame under his cauldron instead, which flared up with a roar.

His potion instantly turned black and sent up a plume of foul-smelling smoke. Harry gagged as it hit him full in the face. He could dimly hear painful-sounding coughs throughout the room as he fought to keep from retching.

Then the air was clearing, and Snape was looming over them, looking absolutely furious. “Mr. Potter. Miss Granger,” he said, sounding like he was speaking through gritted teeth. “Bringing your lovers’ spat into my classroom is bad enough, but when you let it endanger your classmates, it is beyond the pale. Two weeks’ detention. Report here Monday at seven. And fifteen points from Gryffindor.”

Hermione sniffed and turned back to her own potion, which was the pastel pink the book said it should be at this point. Harry glared at the congealed lump in his own cauldron. They’d gotten their detention, but if Hermione still wouldn’t speak to him, what good would it do?

* * *

Severus looked up, somewhat startled by the knock on his door. It was the hour of Miss Granger’s weekly meeting, but from the way she’d been treating Harry, he had assumed she wouldn’t be coming.

“Enter.”

It was indeed Granger, but instead of coming confidently in and spreading out her notes, she hesitated near the door. She was both worried and determined.

He stifled a sigh. “Have you come to inform me that you are no longer interested in assisting Mr. Potter?”

That startled her. “What? No, of course not. I told you, I wanted detention so I could talk to him - I’m not really angry.”

Her feelings on the matter were simple and clear to his empathy. His own feelings were not. He cut off his reaction and shoved it behind Occlumency barriers while he waited for her to go on.

She took a deep breath. “Sir, do you know what’s wrong with Harry?”

Ah. She was getting suspicious, was she? That was all to the good, in his opinion; Harry needed someone he could talk to about the whole situation, and it was abundantly clear that Draco wasn’t going to fit the bill.

He wouldn’t tell her anything, of course, but he could subty guide her thinking.

“Miss Granger, I could write an entire treatise on what is wrong with Mr. Potter, but I fail to see how this is relevant.”

She glared at him but didn’t fire back a retort the way she usually did when he insulted Harry to her. “He’s different this year. He’s not… well.” She met his eyes, and her worry struck him almost like a blow. “Could the Horcrux be affecting him?”

That was not the direction he wanted her to go. He would handle that aspect of the problem - which reminded him that he needed to find a way to insist that Harry spend long enough in his presence for an Occlumency lesson. “If it could, wouldn’t it have been doing so his entire life?” he said in as bored a tone as he could manage. “It seems unlikely that you would see a marked difference right now just because you have recently become aware of the Horcrux.”

“No, you’re right. It makes more sense that something changed this year.” She finally moved into the room and sat down, but she didn’t pull out the sheaf of notes that always accompanied her to these meetings. “Sir, are soulmates always - good to each other?”

He raised an eyebrow. She was more perceptive than he’d given her credit for. “Surely your Head of House covered this in your fourth year, Miss Granger.”

“She gave us the Ministry-approved propaganda considered suitable for children,” she said dismissively. His surprise must have shown a bit too clearly, because she went on, “Fourth year was when I realized that I needed to stop regurgitating books and start thinking, sir. I worked on it over the summer, and then last year I got plenty of practice.”

That... explained rather a lot, actually.

“So, could soulmates make each other unhappy?” she pressed.

He sighed as if reluctant to waste time explaining. “There have been instances where soulmates were not happy together. Most sources claim madness as the cause; it certainly makes a convenient excuse. But no one really understands soul bonds. Soul magic is not something most wizards want to touch, and any attempt to study those bonds would involve manipulating them in some way. No one wants to do that.”

“Why not?”

“Think, Miss Granger.” He allowed himself to sneer. “Interfering with a soulmate bond is interfering with someone’s soul. What could happen to someone whose very soul was affected by meddling forces? Even if the intention was good.” He sat back in his chair. “If we are done with the digressions, may we return to the purpose of this meeting?”

“Of course.” As she finally pulled out her stack of notes, he could tell that she was still pondering what he had said. Good. At this point, he would take any allies he could get.

* * *

Harry hesitated outside of the Potions classroom door, trying to work up the nerve to go in. Now that he finally had the chance to talk to Hermione alone, he didn’t want to hear what she had to say. She’d refused to even listen to his apologies until he’d given up trying, and he’d been unable to stop thinking about the story of his mum refusing to speak to Severus ever again. If Hermione was about to do the same…

It was hard to believe that he’d never realized before what a rotten friend he was. He should have picked up on it. After all, he’d been imagining that Ron and Hermione weren’t really his friends when there’d been nothing they could do when Blaise and Theo had hin. Good friends didn’t decide their friends were false that easily. And he’d even been willing to give up their friendship if it meant Draco would keep protecting him. What was wrong with him, that he hadn’t even noticed how awful that was? Saying those things to Hermione had just been the last straw. He’d been horrible to them from the start.

It made sense. He couldn’t handle being part of a decent family. He was defective. Why had he ever thought that he could be a real friend? He didn’t deserve anything like that.

Still, he didn’t want to go in there and hear her tell him how he’d failed. He was too much of a coward.

The door swung open abruptly. “In,” Snape ordered. His tone was curt, but when Harry glanced at him, his expression was not as hard as usual. If Harry didn’t know better, he might have called it… sympathetic?

Shaking off the odd thought, he stepped through the door. He immediately stumbled backward as Hermione threw her arms around him.

“Harry!” Too confused to respond, Harry concentrated on not falling over or bumping into Snape. “It’s seemed so long - I should have asked Professor Snape for a Saturday detention - oh, thank you again, Professor.”

“Your gratitude would be better demonstrated by beginning the work you are here to do, Miss Granger,” Snape said coldly.

Hermione finally let go of Harry and stepped back. She kept her eyes on him even as she responded to Snape. “You weren’t just going to let us sit and talk out of the goodness of your heart?”

Harry recognized the tone of voice, but… She couldn’t be joking with Snape, could she? He would bite her head off.

“You filled my classroom with noxious fumes, Miss Granger,” Snape said in the same cold voice.

“If overheated at this stage, the potion will give off fumes that, despite their unpleasant odor and appearance, are not in fact harmful,” she recited in the voice she always used when quoting their textbooks. She smiled slightly, not looking away from Harry. “Sometimes being able to regurgitate books is still useful, Professor.”

“You are presuming that Mr. Potter’s potion had been formulated correctly up to that point and would react in a predictable manner.”

For the first time, Hermione’s gaze moved away from Harry; she glared at Snape over his head. “Harry brews perfectly well when he’s not being antagonized.”

Snape didn’t say anything. Harry ducked his head and tried to pretend he wasn’t there.

Hermione continued glaring for another moment before turning away. “Come on, we can talk while we scrub,” she said to Harry as she walked to the sinks at the back of the classroom.

Harry followed her, darting a quick glance at Snape out of the corner of his eye. The man watched Hermione inscrutably for a moment before heading toward his desk.

Harry rolled up his sleeves while Hermione briskly charmed the water to near-boiling and then charmed their hands to be impervious to the heat. He tried to figure out what to say to her. If she was willing to speak to him, he’d planned to apologize as much as he could, on the chance that she might forgive him. But she was acting like she’d already forgiven him. Was she still waiting for him to apologize, then? Or did she want to pretend the whole thing had never happened? Would she be more annoyed if he brought it up, or if he ignored it?

“It’s been awful, but it is working,” she said before he could decide. “I’m finding out the kind of thing you want to know. I think Ron’s getting some answers, too. I’ll organize everything for you and give it to you after we’re all officially speaking again, when I can get Ron’s letters.”

The tone was her ordinary bossy one, the one she used when handing around study schedules and making plans, but the look on her face was tentative. Harry couldn’t imagine why, but he knew he had to respond right. He fumbled, trying to get his brain and tongue lined up enough to say something that made sense.

“Yeah. Um, thanks. For organizing it, you know.” He tried to smile. “It would take me forever to make any sense of it, otherwise.”

She smiled back in obvious relief. “All right, then.” She focused on the cauldron she was cleaning for a few minutes before saying, “How was your weekend?”

Harry hesitated. I spent it terrified that you hated me would only bring up topics that they were both apparently ignoring, and he didn’t want to do that. “Fine, I guess. How about yours?”

“Fine.” There was another moment of silence. “Did you start to get caught up on your homework?”

He grasped at the conversational topic desperately. “Yes! I think I’m doing all right in Transfiguration, but the new chapter in Runes makes no sense. Could you…?”

“Of course.” She dived into a lecture on Ancient Runes that lasted most of detention. It was actually helpful, even though Harry had only meant it as a distraction from all the things he didn’t want to have to talk about.

After Snape dismissed them, though, Hermione paused in the hallway. Harry took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry!”

They both said it at the exact same time. Harry stared at her. “But I’m the one who- I called you-” He shook his head. “I should be apologizing, not you.”

“It was my plan,” Hermione pointed out. “I should never have come up with it - and since I did, I shouldn’t have gotten upset with you. You were just doing what I told you to, after all. I’m sorry. I should’ve found some way to apologize sooner, but I really was finding out good information, and you said it was important to you…”

She trailed off, looking at him hopefully. He didn’t know how to respond to all that, but he tried again. “I know I’m a rotten friend, but-”

“No!” The panic in her voice startled him into silence. “Harry, you promised! You promised you wouldn’t let it make things worse, remember?”

Harry frowned, trying to figure that out. He remembered that conversation and promising not to let learning about his father make him start behaving like he had. But the best way to stop that was to apologize, wasn’t it? “I’m not- I’m trying to fix it. I already made it worse, but-”

She leaned toward him, staring intently into his eyes. “No. You’re here, right? You didn’t do anything. I didn’t handle it well, and I’m sorry, but it’s okay now, right? You’re okay?”

Completely at sea, he went back to what he knew. “I really shouldn’t have said that, though.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said fiercely. “Just forget it. It was part of the plan. I’m sorry I overreacted.” She hesitated. “Do you want to come back to the Tower with me? Spend the night in Gryffindor?”

He looked at her in confusion. “I have mates, remember?”

Her face hardened briefly. “Leave them a note or something,” she said dismissively. “Ron said once in a while wouldn’t matter.”

Harry considered it for a moment. He’d gone back to avoiding them as best he could, but neither of them seemed happy about it. Disappearing for a night would almost certainly set them off again.

Besides, there were other problems with that idea. “We’re supposed to be fighting,” he pointed out. “You said it was working. I can’t just walk into theTower next to you and have people believe we’re in the middle of a feud.”

“I could wait in the hall while you go in and talk to Ron,” she suggested. “Then when I came in and saw you, I could immediately leave the common room.” Before he could protest, she got a thoughtful look and sighed. “No, that won’t work either.” Her hands fiddled with the strap of her bag. Finally she took a deep breath and looked at him. “You swear you’re okay? You’ll be safe tonight?”

Harry stared at her blankly. “Why wouldn’t I be safe?” Voldemort hadn’t done anything to him this year. Snape said his new plan was some sort of mind magic, which was creepy but didn’t sound like the sort of thing that would land him in the Hospital Wing…

Oh.

That’s what she’d been talking about.

Suddenly the conversation made a lot more sense.

He licked his lips and tried to figure out what to say next. “I’m fine, really,” he said as reassuringly as he could. “I’m not- I want to be a better friend to you, that’s all. I’m trying-”

“You are a wonderful friend,” she said sharply. “You don’t need to try harder, or feel bad about yourself, or anything. I- I’m lucky to be your friend, and…” Her voice started wobbling a bit, and she stopped mid-sentence.

After the fear that had consumed him all weekend, it felt good to hear her say that. He didn’t have to figure out how to beg her to give him another chance. They could just move on.

But it didn’t touch the cold knot deep inside him. She was pretending it was all right, but he knew it wasn’t. She couldn’t just forget words like that. She was worried about him killing himself right now, so she was ignoring what he’d done. How long could that last?

He’d already shown that he would hurt her. She couldn’t trust him not to do it again. She wouldn’t want to stay friends with someone like that. Why should she?

He had to do better. The thought of adding that task to everything he was carrying made him want to just lie down and give up, but he had to do it. He had to learn to be a better friend, to give more than he took, to stop burdening her and Ron and start helping them. Maybe if he got that right, they wouldn’t get sick of him.

He just needed to stop being so selfish. He had to figure out some way to accept the way his life was and suck it up and deal with it, instead of making everyone around him miserable by being stupid about it. Then maybe they’d keep putting up with him.

“I’m lucky to be your friend, too,” he said, trying to sound confident and reassuring. He steeled himself and stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her like she had done to him.

She drew in a sharp breath and he tensed, wondering if he had gotten this whole hugging thing wrong somehow. Please don’t let me have messed it all up already! But then she squeezed him back, leaning her head against his shoulder for just a moment.

“I’m here for you,” she whispered before releasing him and pulling away.

His eyes burned, but he held back the tears. She was here for him for now, which was more than he had any right to expect. He’d figure out how to be a better friend. He wouldn’t scare her anymore. Then she’d have no reason to leave.

Chapter Text

Chapter 14

Remember when Narcissa comes to Hogwarts and chews Draco out for alienating Harry by fighting with Gryffindors? I wrote some bits where she's talking to Severus before and after she talks to Draco. Here they are:

When Severus got back to his office after a Slytherin House meeting and saw Narcissa sitting there, he almost froze.

Breathe. You can do this. Keep walking.

She had Transfigured herself a throne-like armchair out of the uncomfortable seat he kept for students and had arranged herself regally. She was obviously out to intimidate. He kept his expression and posture carefully blank as he walked past her to his own seat.

“Good evening,” he said blandly, as if he had been expecting her to show up at Hogwarts at nine o’clock at night. And how did she get through a warded Floo? No. Don’t think about that now. Breathe.

“Severus,” she said with one of her charming smiles. This one was condescending, with just a hint of threat: I deign to favor you - for the moment. “The Headmaster was kind enough to set up a parent-teacher conference for me. I’m concerned about Draco’s performance.”

Had he missed another memo, or was she lying? It doesn’t matter right now. Keep going. “And what precisely concerns you?”

She leaned back and studied him, and he summoned Draco’s folder as if he thought she really wanted his school records, just to have something to do with his hands and an excuse to avoid looking at her.

“I had intended to ask about what happened with Harry, but now I think I need to check up on you as well. You look like death warmed over, Severus. What is wrong with you?”

This, at least, was easy. He gave her the look that made people want to hit him. “I wouldn’t expect you to recognize the fact that if the dunderheads are to pass their exams in June, they need to be working now, any more than they realize it. Attempting to force them to prepare properly is exhausting.”

“Mmm.” She said it lightly, as if he’d offered an opinion on something inconsequential and she disagreed with him but wasn’t going to make the effort to say so.

The silence grew heavy, but he was responsible for the majority of awkward silences in the staff room; he’d perfected the art of presenting a bland face and waiting it out.

Unfortunately, she had far more patience than Dumbledore.

He retreated into his own mind, into pathways so well-worn that the stress of the situation could not jolt him out of them. No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist Wolf’s-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine…

He focused on the depth of the fabric of her gown, the faint shimmer imparted by something in the weave that he couldn’t make out at this distance. His thumbs ran along the fabric of his own robes, hidden from view by the way he crossed his arms, small circles to recognize the familiar texture. His face stayed perfectly still.

Finally, she gave up on waiting him out and sighed. “Tell me about Harry, then.”

At least this he could answer. His mind released the poem and the texture and focused on what he knew about the situation. “Draco has, regrettably, never outgrown his habit of bullying Gryffindors. Despite my best efforts,” he added with a hint of bitterness; Salazar knew Gryffindors needed some opposition in a school that catered to their every whim, but he tried to teach his snakes subtlety, damn it all, and Draco’s attacks, from the reports he’d gathered, were anything but. The only subtlety he displayed was in keeping his actions secret from his Head of House and prefects, which was enough to make Severus want to shake some sense into him. “Harry walked in on three second-years, incapacitated and pleading their innocence, while Draco taunted them.” Mr. Goyle had been most forthcoming. “He has not spoken to anyone about what happened, but he is avoiding all contact with Draco. Pointedly.”

Narcissa leaned back in her chair, falsely relaxed. “Would you have my son fetched, Severus? I find I need to have some words with him.”

A moment alone in the corridor sounded perfect right then. Severus walked slowly back to the Common Room.

* * *

She swept toward the door without a backward glance at the huddled form of her son. “Severus,” she said peremptorily. “Accompany me.”

Obediently, Severus got up and followed her to the door. He had the fleeting thought that he ought to do something for Draco, but he didn’t have the ability right at that moment. So he passed by without a glance.

“Severus,” she said sharply as they headed up the hall. “I realize that you are struggling with something, and that you choose not to tell me about it at the moment. I don’t have the time or energy to drag it out of you right now. I just need to know this: are you able to emotionally connect with Harry during this time, or do I need to find alternate plans?”

He steepled his fingertips together as they walked, and mercifully, she respected the cue and kept quiet, even as they ascended staircases and crossed corridors.

On the one hand, the answer should have been easy. Of course he was not able to deal with Harry. He wasn’t even able to deal with himself at the moment. But that wasn’t the real question. What good would that do anyone? Keeping Harry alive and well was the one mode of atonement left to him of this whole mess of his creation. What else could he do but handle it, as had always been his task?

But he’d set things up so that Draco took on that task for him, so that he could avoid Harry - how could he change that believably? After all, it was the fruit of years of animosity between them.

Yet again he cursed himself for his dreadful mishandling of the situation. How had he thought he could keep his vow while despising the boy so thoroughly? Oh, he couldn’t have been kind to him - by the time he’d started school they’d had enough signs of the Dark Lord’s imminent return that he couldn’t have risked his cover like that - but he could have ignored him, rather than singled him out for sharp remarks.

But as a child, he had seemed so… well. There was nothing to indicate that Dumbledore’s assertions that he was well-cared-for and happy were untrue. No reason to think that being poisonous to him would do anything but deflate his head a bit.

What an impressive liar he must be, to have fooled everyone at eleven. McGonagall hadn’t noticed, not that she noticed much among her lions. He hadn’t noticed. Dumbledore… No. He couldn’t think about Dumbledore.

So was there anything he could do now to establish himself as someone who could be trusted? He’d decided that there wasn’t, when Harry first came to them, and had continued on that assumption for the past month. Perhaps it was time to examine the possibilities again.

He looked over at Narcissa and saw - not a smile, not exactly, but the slightest hint of a smug expression he recognized. It was one she wore when one of her manipulations had been successful.

He bristled automatically. “I sincerely doubt the matter will resolve to your satisfaction. I suggest you call in your reinforcements.”

Her expression didn’t change. “Of course, Severus.”

She had led them to the Hospital Wing. Narcissa paused outside the door. “I must speak with Pomfrey before I leave. Thank you for all your assistance today, Severus.”

There was nothing he could say to that. He merely bowed and left her.

This is basically what was said, but I wasn't sure exactly what I wanted to have going on in Severus's head right here. I was aiming for some mind-numbing tactics I use for anxiety (the poem) and some I don't (focusing on what he could see) and I didn't like how it turned out and didn't have time to edit it, so I just cut the whole thing.

Chapter 22

After Harry went into the lake, I first tried writing scenes with Draco and Severus before Harry woke up.

“Are you sure you’re OK to do this right now?” Draco asked, looking from Severus to the Pensieve apprehensively.

“I want it out of our rooms before anything else goes wrong,” Severus replied shortly.

Draco grabbed his hand as he moved toward the table. “That’s not what I asked.”

Severus sighed and ran his thumb over Draco’s knuckles. “I gave you my word, Dragon.”

Draco hadn’t realized how much he’d missed hearing Severus’ nickname for him until he melted a little at the sound of it. He took a deep breath and straightened, pulling his hand away before he completely embarrassed Severus by getting all mushy. “I could stay?”

“You need to go to Harry,” Severus said. “One of us needs to be with him, and I would prefer it not be me at the moment.”

For fear you might scream at him. Draco could read between the lines easily enough. Severus was distracting himself pretty well, but Draco knew he was absolutely seething about Harry seeing whatever-it-was. And both of them knew that he couldn’t actually lose it around Harry; Harry was falling apart at even the thought that they might be upset with him, so if Severus really yelled at him, who knew what he would do?

“I know. But I’d rather wait until you’re inside.”

Severus frowned at him. “And I would rather be fully warded before I begin.”

Draco had to admit he had a point. “You could give me a password,” he suggested hopefully. It would mean the wards weren’t as strong as they could possibly be, but really, what was Sev expecting to happen in their own room?

Severus drew his wand very slowly, “Very well,” he said at last, and began casting. Draco watched in fascination as runes he’d never noticed carved into the walls, the floor, and even the ceiling began to glow golden. He could feel the press of magic on his skin and shivered. This felt like some of the ancient vaults in Malfoy Manor, where the most powerful heirlooms were kept. The fact that Severus could do this kind of magic was amazing.

Eventually Severus pointed his wand at Draco and intoned something, gesturing between him and the door. Draco held very still until he lowered his wand.

“Your word is obligatio,” he said.

Draco frowned. It wasn’t exactly the connotation he wanted to put on this whole endeavor. But he supposed it didn’t matter that much.

He stepped forward to give Sev a quick hug. “Res secundae.”

“Fortuna te iuvet,” Severus replied.

He watched as Sev squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and lowered his head into the Pensieve. For a moment, he lingered, wondering what Sev was seeing in there. Then he sighed and turned toward the door. Pomfrey would be wondering why neither of them was there with Harry. He’d better hurry.

Madam Pomfrey was still standing over Harry’s bed, but she seemed to be done treating him, because she turned around as soon as Draco entered.

“How did he end up in this condition?” she asked with no preamble.

“Well, Severus and I were in the Slytherin Common Room, so I’m not sure,” he said carefully. The last thing they needed was her figuring out that Harry had tried to kill himself again

“Has he said anything to you recently that might imply that he was considering… a step like this?”

Well, let’s see. A week and a half ago, Sev told him that he had a piece of Voldemort in his head, and he blew up. Then he saw me fighting in the halls and decided that I’m Public Enemy Number One and refused to talk to me. Then he was abducted by those sadists who made him end up here in the first place, and after that he saw some memories of Sev’s that are apparently bad enough that Sev thinks that, out of all of this shit, they might have been the thing that drove him to suicide. But no, he hasn’t actually said anything to me, so I can answer you honestly.

“He hasn’t said a thing,” he said, widening his eyes innocently. “Are you sure? Maybe he was wading, or swimming- he’s not as accustomed to the Black Lake and its currents as we Slytherins are, he might’ve gotten caught...”

“I’m not sure of anything, Mr. Malfoy,” Pomfrey said, but she didn’t sound as stern. “He should be waking up a bit any minute now, and I’ll ask him. He will probably be a bit confused for a while, but hopefully we will get some coherent answers out of him.”

Draco sat down in the chair next to the bed and subtly crossed his fingers. Come on, Harry, he thought intently. We don’t want her chaining you down again, and I don’t know if Severus can argue her out of it this time. If she knows him well enough to recognize how he’s feeling, there’s not a chance.

It felt like a long time to be sitting there in silence, but he wasn’t about to start chatting. He concentrated instead on looking appropriately concerned. It wasn’t difficult.

Finally Harry’s eyes opened. He looked around in obvious confusion. Luckily, the first thing he focused on was Madam Pomfrey.

He grimaced. “Not again.”

“Mr. Potter,” she said, somehow managing to sound both gentle and implacable. “What do you remember of how you ended up here?”

Harry rubbed his forehead. “I was… running,” he said slowly. “Trying to stop thinking…”

“Exercise is an important part of his therapy,” Draco murmured, lying through his teeth in an attempt to spin this in a way that would get Harry out of there. “My mother may have mentioned it.”

“Hmm.” Pomfrey’s fingers tapped the bed frame for a moment. “She did.” She raised her voice. “Mr. Potter? What happened then?”

Harry appeared to struggle to remember. “I think… Water? It was cold… felt so good…”

Draco straightened in relief. “There, you see? He went for a run, got sweaty, tried to rinse his face in the lake, and fell in and got swept away by the current. An accident.”

“I fell,” Harry agreed, still in that dreamy tone. “I couldn’t get out. Couldn’t breathe!”

He was suddenly clutching at the blankets, struggling to raise himself up, his expression terrified. Madam Pomfrey quickly grabbed his shoulders.

“You’re safe now, Mr. Potter,” she said firmly, staring into his eyes. “You’re in the Hospital Wing. You can breathe. You are safe.”

Harry stared wildly at her for a moment before slumping back down in the bed. “Safe. Right,” he said, and Draco hoped that Pomfrey hadn’t caught the resigned sarcasm in his tone.

Apparently she hadn’t, because she released him and stepped back. His eyes closed again almost immediately.

She turned to Draco. “All right, it seems to have been nothing more than a nearly-tragic accident. I want him to stay here until he’s made a full recovery, probably until tomorrow evening. You’re staying?”

“Yes,” Draco assured her. He had no intention of letting Harry spill whatever he was really thinking to her.

“And Severus?”

“Handling a House emergency,” Draco said. “He’ll be here when he can.”

Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips. “Anything I need to know about?” she asked. “Off the record?”

Maybe Sev wasn’t lying about being able to get sick passes out of her. Draco shrugged. “I think Sev has it handled. It was Hughes and Montague.”

Her expression darkened. “Those two! Well, if it’s not life-threatening, they can deal with it on their own.”

“That’s what Severus said,” Draco agreed. “Cleanup’s going to take a while, though.” Might as well give Sev an alibi for as long as possible.

“I’m sure.” She stepped away from the bed. “Well, I’ll leave you with him for now. Call me if anything significant changes.”

“Of course,” Draco said with an insincere smile. He kept his sigh of relief strictly internal as she left.

Harry was shifting in the bed, and it wasn’t long before he opened his eyes again. This time he saw Draco.

Draco was very glad that Madam Pomfrey was gone, because the terror in Harry’s eyes was unmistakable. So was the way he glanced around wildly. Draco’s heart sank.

“Sev’s not here,” he said quietly, and Harry’s frantic movements ceased. “He had something to deal with back in our room.”

And when Harry’s face went dead white, he knew Sev had been correct about Harry seeing his memories. He shut his eyes momentarily. This was going to be bad.

A whisper from the bed pulled his attention back. “What did you say?” he asked, leaning closer.

“I’m so dead.” Harry was rolling his head from side to side on his pillow, eyes closed. “He’s going to kill me.”

Draco frowned. “Harry, really.”

Harry turned his head to look at him. “He’ll make me wish I was dead. Do you like that better? I don’t. At least when I’m dead, it’ll be over.”

OK, this needs to stop right now, before Pomfrey comes out. Draco cast a quick Muffliato. “He’s not going to hurt you,” he said firmly. He was pretty sure it was true. He’d seen Sev angry plenty of times, even furious, and he’d never even threatened to hurt anyone.

Harry gave a short, bitter laugh. “I tried to kill him last week, you know. He wanted the basilisk venom enough to not do anything that first day, but I’ve been avoiding him since then, so he hasn’t had a chance to get me for that. Then I cheated on him. I have punishments for both of those stacked up. I’m so dead.” He made a sound that was almost like a sob. “And I have a piece of Voldemort in me, and he hates Voldemort. No wonder he’s always hated me. Prob’ly can’t wait…” He closed his eyes in what looked like sudden pain. “No, I forgot. That’s not why he hates me. Too bad; he was going to get Voldemort out of me, and then maybe I wouldn’t have irritated him so bad. But this - you can’t get bad blood out.” He gave that mirthless laugh again. “I tried, you know? But no matter how much I bled, it didn’t help.”

Draco threw a look over his shoulder at Madam Pomfrey’s office. The door was still reassuringly closed. He leaned close to the bed. “Harry, you’ve got to stop talking like this,” he said urgently. “Remember what happened last time? You don’t want her to tie you down again. Don’t say that kind of thing.”

Harry looked him directly in the eye for the first time. “Shit, why am I saying this to you? You’re on his side.”

“It’s just the potions, Harry,” Draco said, wishing he believed it were true. “You’re saying things you don’t mean. Just keep quiet, OK? We don’t want Pomfrey to hear anything like this.”

But Harry wasn’t listening. “I guess it doesn’t matter. I fucked that up too, didn’t I? I was trying so hard to keep you happy with me.”

Draco got a sinking feeling. He didn’t like the sound of that at all.

“And it was working, you know? I was safe. But then, I couldn’t… I thought I could keep saying whatever you wanted to hear, but I just couldn’t. And so you stopped protecting me, and they got me.”

“That’s not…” Draco trailed off. Was it true? It had been only a few days after he and Harry had fought that those monsters had grabbed him. Had they known?

“I’m not going to be able to get it back, either.” His face twisted again. “I’m not like him! I’m not! I won’t stand by and let you treat people like that. So you’ll hate me, too. The two of you can go after me together.” He closed his eyes and turned his head away. “Fuck, I should’ve gone into that lake on purpose. Then I could’ve gotten out of it without hurting anyone. Probably doesn’t count if you accidentally kill yourself. I have to remember to make sure it’s on purpose next time.”

“Harry!” Draco had way too much to think about to respond to Harry’s accusations right now, but he knew he needed to shut him up. “Stop talking. Right now. Or you’re going to be in so much trouble.”

He’d meant from Pomfrey, of course, and it wasn’t until after Harry gave him that terrified look again that he’d realized how it could have sounded. Shit. I’m an idiot.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said frantically. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said all that- I was completely out of line, and I know it. Please-”

“Be quiet!” Draco hissed frantically, looking toward the door again. “Look. If you’ll just shut up- don’t say another word until we leave the Hospital Wing, and I’ll - I’ll overlook it this time, all right? I’ll forget you said any of it, if you’ll just be quiet.”

Harry nodded frantically, mouth tightly closed.

Draco sat back with a sigh of relief. “OK, good. That’s great.” A thought occurred to him. “If Pomfrey asks you a question, answer her, but don’t say anything about wanting to die or hurt yourself or anything. Or about us hurting you,” he added belatedly. “Just keep it simple, and we’ll all get out of here in one piece.” I hope.

Harry nodded again.

Draco really, really wanted to bury his face in his hands and just shut out the world for a moment, but his mother’s lessons were too deeply ingrained. He had to keep up the image of a perfect Malfoy, especially since Pomfrey might step out at any moment and he had to keep her from getting suspicious.

He canceled the Muffliato and leaned back in his chair, trying to look tired. “You should try to sleep,” he told Harry, who instantly closed his eyes.

Draco closed his own eyes for a moment, the closest he could come to what he really wanted to do. He couldn’t think about all the things Harry had said, not right now. He had to keep up the facade until they escaped from Pomfrey. Then… then he would talk to Sev, and they would figure something out.

He carefully ignored all the evidence to the contrary. They would handle this. Somehow. They didn’t have a choice.

The conversation before Severus went into the Pensieve may actually have happened. But since Severus still refuses to talk to me about being IN the Pensieve, I felt like leaving it there didn't help the story along any. The conversation between Draco and Harry I really liked, but I couldn't see write Harry's next scene with it having happened. I almost threw it in and just said that Harry didn't remember it because of the drugs, but then the conversation with Pomfrey didn't make sense. And anyway, Draco having this information would've changed how he reacted in the next few chapters, and I'm happy with them, so this never happened.

Chapter 25

When Severus gets back from the Death Eater meeting. This one is EXTREMELY rough - I cut it immediately after writing it. You have been warned.

Poppy had insisted that he stay under her eye until the shaking stopped - which had conveniently given him time to uncover and reintegrate the memories he had cut himself off from before appearing before the Dark Lord - but apparently standing outside with Dumbledore trying to persuade Draco that he was not under Polyjuice or Imperius or any other mind- or body-altering effects had taken too much out of him.

Draco pressed up against his side. “Well?” he demanded. His voice was already heading toward hysterical, and Severus winced. This was not going to go over well.

“We are safe enough for now,” he said, looking between Draco and Harry, who sat frozen across the room, eyes huge. “But the Dark Lord noticed more than we’d hoped for the first meeting.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Draco snapped, predictably. He had no patience, always wanting to know everything now.

If Severus had any mental or physical energy left, he would have lied. Or at least stalled. But reintegrating his mind after cutting it up to successfully Occlude from Him took too much out of him. Not to mention the torture. He should have stayed longer with Poppy, but once he’d remembered what he’d told his mates to do, he’d known he had to go reassure them.

Not that Draco was going to find this reassuring. He went ahead anyway. “We had hoped that He wouldn’t notice anything amiss at this first meeting. If he’s interested in something else, he doesn’t always spend his time and energy searching for hints of disloyalty. But his other plans must not have been going well.”

He refrained from looking at Harry. Whatever the Dark Lord’s plans were, they obviously involved him. Severus still wasn’t sure if the Dark Lord knew that Harry was a Horcrux or not - he still needed to revisit his memories with that possibility in mind - but He was certainly obsessed with him. He wanted to capture him and kill him in some public, ostentatious way (hence the absolute idiocy of his Goblet of Fire plot), and whatever he was planning this time, it wasn’t going well.

But Harry didn’t need to know all of that. He continued before Draco could insist on more specifics. “So tonight there were tests of loyalty. And He uncovered our first layer of safeguards already, which gives us less time than I’d hoped. We will have to step up our efforts to find and destroy Horcruxes.”

Draco didn’t take the bait. “First layer of safeguards?”

Severus sighed. “Do try to keep your screams of outrage to a reasonable level,” he suggested dryly. “It’s been enough of a day.”

“I still want to know,” Draco muttered, glaring at him.

“Fine.” His hands weren’t trembling quite as badly now. If he got to bed properly before he collapsed, he’d be able to get through teaching with fewer of his emergency potions than after some summonings. That would be nice. It was a pain to replace those. “Your father is not good enough at Occlumency to withstand the Dark Lord, so I removed his memories of Harry for him. We replaced them with other memories of why we'd been at the safehouse that weekend, and then Narcissa Obliviated him. We hoped that if the Dark Lord went deep into his mind, He would only uncover the Obliviate - that pushing through it would satisfy Him that He’d found the secret without noticing the other modifications. It worked.”

It worked, but it had been a damned close thing. Severus shuddered again at the realization at how close to death they’d all come.

Draco’s eyes narrowed. “What exactly did you do to Father’s memories?”

He bent down to pull off his shoes so he didn’t have to look at his mate while he talked. “We replaced memories of Harry with memories of him suspecting, and then finding evidence, that Narcissa and I were conducting an affair.”

There was a moment of blessed silence before Draco exploded. “You- Mother- that’s disgusting!” he said, sounding utterly revolted. “She’s my mother! And you’re my mate! How could- That’s just-”

Severus straightened with a wince. “The Dark Lord is interested in the disgusting and the unthinkable,” he reminded him. “It distracted him, just as we intended it to. He found it highly amusing, in fact.”

“Amusing!” Draco sounded like he might actually do himself an injury by the force of his rage. Severus supposed he should be concerned about that, but he simply didn’t have the energy. He lay back against the pillows instead, wondering if he had the ability to get beneath the blankets or if he should just go without.

This is still my best guess for their plan to prevent the Dark Lord from getting the truth out of Lucius. Narcissa has enough Occlumency to keep a secret, both because she's pretty good at Occlumency and because she's not a Death Eater and doesn't have her mind invaded by Voldemort too often. Lucius is the weak link, so Severus used a bunch of (highly illegal) memory manipulation charms to make his memories of Harry being their mate inaccessible. But that still leaves a mark that a skilled Legilimens can see, so they instead staged some other memories that they would want to hide and then Narcissa Obliviated him more clumsily, so that if Voldemort went poking around, that's what he would notice. So what happened before this scene is, Voldemort Legilimizes Lucius, finds that he's hiding something, finds that he's been Obliviated, breaks through the Obliviate, finds the whole thing absolutely hilarious, and makes Lucius and Severus duel for his amusement. I'm not sure that that's actually happened at this point in the story, though; it depends how long it takes me to get to the point where they defeat him.

Chapter 8

Here's something a little lighter, since that last one was kind of nasty. Way back when Draco gave Harry an anti-nausea draught and Harry had an adverse reaction, my original version had the drug making him a little loopy and turning off his filters. Sort of like the one in the Hospital Wing above; maybe I'll eventually write a scene like this that makes it into the story. I didn't like it as much as the version I finally used, but it was fun to write, so here you go:

Draco held out a potion vial toward him. Harry took it and drank. It didn’t taste like anything he’d had before.

“I was feeling sick before,” Draco commented. “I thought it was the Firewhiskey, but you only had a sip, so it must be something else.”

Harry nodded. His head felt like it was bouncing up and down on his neck, and he couldn’t figure out how to stop it. It was kind of a fun feeling though, so he didn’t try very hard.

“Harry? You have had an anti-nausea draught before, haven’t you?”

Harry switched to shaking his head. It flopped back and forth, back and forth.

“Oh, shit. Severus is going to be furious.” Draco gingerly put an arm around his shoulders. “Can you walk? Let’s get you sitting down.”

Harry sort of shuffled over to the settee that had appeared in place of Draco’s chair and collapsed into it. Draco sat next to him, staring at him until Harry almost felt uncomfortable.

“You should go to bed,” he said. His voice came out slurred.

“No, I should stay right here.” He waved his wand at the fireplace and flames flew up. “We can sit and watch the fire.”

“I can do that.” Harry let his head loll back against the back of the seat and stared at the flames through half-lidded eyes.

“Don’t go to sleep, Harry.” Draco’s voice was urgent enough to penetrate the haze that was surrounding him.

He sighed. “I’ll go back to bed.” He tried to heave himself up from the seat, but failed.

“No! No, just sit here and talk to me.”

“Talk?” He rolled his head to one side to look at Draco. “You can talk. I’ll listen.”

“No, you talk. Tell me… Tell me what you did with Granger and Weasley today.”

It was funny. He couldn’t feel scared, but he could remember feeling scared. He had been terrified when Draco had asked about them earlier, he remembered that. And it was very, very important that Draco didn’t get upset about Harry spending time with them. But it wasn’t scary anymore, so he could just ask.

“Please don’t say I can’t hang out with them anymore.”

“What? Why would I say that?”

Harry tried to shrug, but his shoulders mostly flopped. “’Cause I was rude to you. ’Cause they’re Gryffindors. I dunno. They might’ve had a reason, but I forgot.”

“They… You mean Blaise and Theo?”

Harry started the head-bouncing-nod thing again. It still felt fun, but Draco reached out and stopped him.

“They took away your friends?”

“Took everything away. My clothes - my Weasley jumpers, first Christmas presents I ever got - my bed. They gave me a dog bed for Christmas.” He let his head lean back again. “It didn’t matter.”

“Yes, it bloody well did matter! Those motherfucking bastards!” Harry let his head flop forward and to the side so he could look at Draco. He looked surprisingly upset.

“Are you mad at me?” He knew the answer was important, but he couldn’t actually muster up any emotion about it.

“I’m angry with them, not you.” Draco was staring at him again. “Aren’t you?”

Harry closed his eyes and tried to think about it. Obviously, he wasn’t angry now, but had he been before?

“Not really. They were stuck with me, didn’t want me. Like the Dursleys. I was in the way there, too.” He opened his eyes. “You, too. You an’ Snape’re stuck with me. You gonna say I can’t be friends with them anymore?”

“Harry… No. No, I’m not going to stop you from being friends with them.”

“Tha’s nice.” Harry closed his eyes again. “You gave me a bed, too. An’ you haven’t hit me yet. Inna morning, prob’ly.”

“What? No! I’m not going to… Why would you think that?”

Harry would’ve counted the reasons off on his fingers, but it was too complicated to get so many fingers moving together. How did he ever do it? “You’re mad at me for not being friends on the train. You’re mad at me for spending time with Ron ‘n’ Hermione. You don’t want me here. You and Snape were happy without me, and now you have to put up with me being around. I’m in the way. ’Course you’re gonna hit me.”

You know, my first drafts have a lot more conversations between Draco and Harry that actually make Draco understand what's going on. Apparently I heavily edit toward more angst. That really shouldn't surprise me.

Chapter Text

In the initial one-shot “it didn’t matter” by JennaS_26, Harry was horribly abused by his soulmates Blaise and Theo, to the point that when he researched and found out that the only way to have break a bond without all of the mates dying was by suicide. He tried to kill himself. He was interrupted by Draco and Severus, who had been experiencing disturbances in their soulmate bond that indicated that they had an unknown third mate. Everyone realized that the soulmate bonds were tampered with by dark magic and that Harry, Draco, and Severus were actually soulmates.

“Broken Ones” starts off with Harry following Draco and Severus back to their room, absolutely convinced that they will be even more abusive than Blaise and Theo. Their attempts to convince him otherwise are not very successful, but he eventually accepts a deal with Severus that they won’t hurt him for one week if he doesn’t try to kill himself again.

Blaise and Theo corner Harry and threaten to torture him as soon as his mates get tired of him. He decides that his only hope is to try to keep Draco happy with him.

Severus is suspicious of how Harry could’ve ended up in this condition. He breaks into Dumbledore’s office in search of answers, and discovers Dumbledore’s research into Riddle’s Horcruxes, including Harry. Severus realizes that after forcing Severus to swear his life to protect Harry, Dumbledore was planning to kill him, and that Harry has to die for Voldemort to die, but Harry’s death will kill Draco. He uses his custom potions to get very, very drunk.

Harry is doing his best to make Draco happy, and his anxiety is through the roof. He attempts to take a shower to calm down, only to realize that he forgot to bring in any clean clothes. When he steps out to get them, Draco walks in, and Harry panics. He attempts to summon his clothes, but accidentally gets Draco’s clothes instead - all of them.

A very hung-over Severus walks in just as Draco shrieks at Harry and Harry drops his wand. Seeing that reaction brings it home to Severus that their lives are tied to someone who was raised to die, and he has to keep him alive against his predilections. He freaks out and yells at Harry, sending Harry into a flashback of being surrounded by Death Eaters in the graveyard. Draco realizes that something’s very wrong and distracts Severus by attempting to make him angry with Draco instead, but Harry sees the Death Eater turning on another student and uses Expelliarmus, which, overpowered by panic, sends the hung-over and not-at-his-best Severus head-first into a bedpost, knocking him out briefly. Draco panics and calls his parents, who pack them all up and take them to a safehouse.

Narcissa and Lucius have seen Severus on these potions before, when he was actively suicidal, so they insist on keeping him under surveillance for the weekend and locking up his potion stores indefinitely. Severus tells Narcissa that Dumbledore wants to kill Harry, without going into details. They decide that Narcissa should give Harry duelling lessons, and make plans to keep the Dark Lord from figuring out what’s going on. Narcissa then sets out to charm Harry; she is very successful.

They get back to Hogwarts for classes on Monday, just in time for Harry to remember that the week Severus agreed to not hurt him for is over. He tries to convince himself that if he threatens to kill himself, they might agree to be less awful than Blaise and Theo, but he doesn’t believe it. He ends up hiding in a bathroom to try to get his anxiety under control, fails to control it, and stays there until Draco and Severus come to find him. In the conversation that ensues, he realizes that Draco hadn’t even known about the agreement and still hadn’t hurt him. Harry is confused, but he does recognize that they’re not hurting him for fun. Draco is shocked at how low Harry’s expectations are and tries to reassure him.

Draco and Severus fight over Severus having made an agreement in his name, and Severus feels strange emotional reactions. He realizes Harry’s soulmate gift is manifesting and that it’s empathy.

Harry starts duelling lessons with Narcissa and loves it. Exercise helps with his depression, and he starts being friends with Hermione and Ron and doing things he enjoys again.

Draco is jealous that Harry is having fun with his friends and is still so guarded around him. Also that Severus is off doing something (studying Horcruxes, but he doesn’t know that). He decides to spend the evening sulking and drinking. When Harry comes in, he makes a snide remark about Harry’s friends, cuing Harry to assume that Draco is going to forbid him to interact with them. In a Firewhiskey-induced moment of bravado, he offers to sleep with Draco if Draco lets him keep his friends. Between empathy and the alcohol, Draco is confused, but does his best to tell Harry that he’s not going to do that. Harry is still not convinced, and Draco ends up calling Narcissa and having her tell Harry that if Draco does anything mean to him, Narcissa will take Draco apart. Harry actually starts to think that maybe all this is real and he’s not going to be hurt.

Severus gets as much information on Voldemort’s Horcruxes as he can on his own and decides that the next thing to do is to interrogate Dumbledore. A little worried that Dumbledore will Obliviate in, he decides to tell his mates what’s going on. Harry’s magic explodes upon being told that he has a piece of Voldemort in him, and he decides that it makes him evil. Severus explains his plan to get rid of Horcruxes, and Harry offers to take him to get basilisk venom.

Severus talks to Dumbledore, who attempts to manipulate him. Severus finally decides to completely break his ties with Dumbledore, but doesn’t tell him. He hears the whole prophecy, finds out that Dumbledore is the one who interfered with Harry’s soulmate bond (in an attempt to keep him from having any mates who would make him vulnerable, but it didn’t work right), and leaves with Dumbledore convinced that he’s going along with his plan to let Harry die, while he’s really determined to save them all.

Harry and Severus go to the Chamber of Secrets. Severus is trying so hard to be nonthreatening that Harry decides he’s someone else Polyjuiced. He locks Severus out of the Chamber and Severus only gets him back to his room with great difficulty.

Harry, with Severus’ permission, tells Ron and Hermione about the Horcruxes. Hermione immediately sets up a weekly meeting with Severus, who she gets along with surprisingly well.

Severus and Draco are not dealing well with acquiring empathy. Draco is trying to figure out how to use it as a weapon, but it makes him physically sick. Severus experiences empathy in the form of a memory of a time when he felt the emotion he’s making someone else feel at that moment. He doesn’t like it and he’s using Occlumency to fight the memories. When that doesn’t work, he uses pain to fuel his Occlumency (a technique Dumbledore taught him to withstand torture from the Dark Lord without letting secrets slip).

Draco has been bullying Gryffindors, thinking that it’s necessary to keep Slytherins from being bullied; Harry finally walks in on it happening and feels completely betrayed and unsafe. He decides to rejoin Dumbledore’s Army and teach all the Gryffindors how to protect themselves. Draco tries to figure out what to do and decides to get in touch with his aunt Andromeda, a Slytherin pureblood whose soulmate is a Muggleborn Hufflepuff.

Narcissa lectures Draco on how important it is to keep Harry happy with them and insists that he apologize and stop bullying. Draco asks Andromeda for advice instead; she tells him to ask what Harry wants and really listen to the answer before they start plotting. Draco is not good at this.

Blaise and Theo notice that Draco and Harry are fighting, and they catch Harry and torture him for a weekend. Harry is terrified when Severus finds out, but Severus heals him and does his best to punish Blaise and Theo so that they won’t touch Harry again. Harry is confused yet again.

Draco finds out that Severus is self-harming regularly to stop empathy-memories. He insists that Severus face the memories in a Pensieve so that he doesn’t have to fight them and will stop self-harming.

Harry still expects to be tortured in retribution for what Blaise and Theo did to him. When Draco and Severus attempt to convince him that they won’t do that, he thinks that the price is giving up his attempts to stop Draco from bullying Gryffindors, and he refuses. Draco says they’ll talk about it later.

Severus sticks memories in a Pensieve and doesn’t want to look at them. Draco casts a mild compelling charm to make him want to look. A prefect pounds on the door saying that they have a life-threatening situation in the Slytherin common room, and they run out. Harry walks in and is pulled by the compelling charm into the Pensieve.

Harry sees memories of Severus feeling like he makes other people feel, so predominately being abused by his father and bullied by Harry’s father. Harry is absolutely disgusted by his dad’s behavior, and conflicted about his mum. He pulls himself out of the Pensieve at the end of Snape’s Worst Memory, not wanting to see his dad follow through on his threat to strip Severus in public.

Harry runs out of the castle, not really aware of what he’s doing until he runs into the Black Lake. The cold water feels like an enticing form of self-harm, and he goes deeper until he’s swept down by a current and effectively drowns. He gets pulled by the Slytherin Common Room windows. Severus sees him and saves him, and guesses that he saw what was in the Pensieve.

Harry wakes up in the Hospital Wing again and is confronted by Ron and Hermione, who have guessed that he’s suicidal. They want to help, and he insists that the best way they can help is by helping him figure out if his dad really was as bad as he saw in the Pensieve. Ron comes up with asking Bill and Charlie if they have any older coworkers who might pass on some memories. Hermione suggests that they pretend to fight and see what the other kids have to say about Harry when they’re badmouthing him. Harry insists on doing both.

Harry expects Severus to practically kill him for looking in the Pensieve. Severus does his best to stay calm, but he yells that he’s spent his life protecting Harry and Harry is an idiot for thinking that he’s going to start hurting him now. Harry, once again, is confused. Severus attempts to explain that he just wants Harry to live his own life, and ends up doing remedial career counselling with him. Harry is more confused, but he likes the idea of having a future.

Narcissa formally apologizes for Draco’s behavior and gives Harry a protective armband and a set of wardstones. Harry actually trusts her.

Harry and Hermione fight publicly. Severus is livid. He chews Harry out, leaving Harry confused again because after everything he’s done to Severus and Draco, why is the one thing Severus gets upset about Harry fighting with Hermione? Severus points out that this is exactly what happened to him and Lily, and Harry freaks out.

Then Severus gets summoned by the Dark Lord. He insists that Harry and Draco ward themselves in their room, just in case. Instead, Harry goes off to try to apologize to Hermione. Under the Invisibility Cloak, he overhears other students talking about how their parents told them how awful James Potter was and how they couldn’t trust Harry.

Hermione sends him away, and Draco finds him and drags him back to their room. Severus gets back and says that they need to hurry up their Horcrux hunt and that Harry needs to learn Occlumency.

Hermione and Harry have detention together. Harry finds out that she’s not mad at him, but she is constantly worried that he’ll try to kill himself again. He’s annoyed by this but since he’s feeling like a bad friend, he tries not to be.

Chapter Text

“It will be suspicious if we make up too soon, Harry,” Hermione said firmly before he could even open his mouth. “No. It’s only two more days, you can handle it.”

Snape cleared his throat pointedly, and they moved over to the tables where he’d set out ingredients for them to prepare - mincing flobberworms today. Harry tried to hide his shudder as he touched the first one.

At least it gave him a moment to get a grip on himself. He couldn’t tell her that every time she rejected him in public, it made him wonder if she really meant it this time. She didn’t need to know how hard it was to sleep when his mind kept analyzing their every interaction, trying to decide which was the lie.

He couldn’t let her know how messed up he was. Not when she was doing this for him, even though she hadn’t wanted to. He had to reassure her that he was all right. He didn’t want to be a burden on her. He needed her too much.

“Can we plan the end of it, then? The apology? I-” he swallowed. “I don’t want to mess it up again.”

Hermione stopped chopping. “It wasn’t your fault, remember?” she said, setting down her knife and reaching toward his hand. His arm twitched, and she stopped. “You didn’t mess it up. You did just fine. I promise, the apology will be fine, too.” She hesitated. “You’re okay, right? This isn’t too hard on you?”

She was giving him that worried look again. His knife came down awfully close to his fingers, and he pulled them back. Why did she have to keep doing this? Being so careful of him all the time? It made him feel like a bloody invalid, and he hated it.

He hated even more the thought that she might be right to treat him that way.

Even if he did need it, eventually she would get tired of it. He needed to get over this and stand on his own two feet. His friends couldn’t baby him forever. They’d get sick of it - of him - for sure, if he let it drag on.

“I’m fine,” he said, going back to chopping. He assumed that Snape threw out his mangled ingredients at the end of every one of these detentions. Hermione’s, of course, were perfectly minced in identical cubes. “But can we plan what we’re going to say anyway?” If he got the apology right, maybe she wouldn’t feel like she had to worry about him so much. He could show her that he’d learned from his mistakes and was trying to do better.

She was still staring at him; he could feel it even as he kept his head down and focused on his flobberworms. “All right. You’re right, that will make things easier.” She picked up her own knife again. “Now, let’s see.”

* * *

Harry paced outside the Tower, rehearsing his apology over and over in his head. It still felt wrong. Too simple. How could saying something so small make up for the awful words he’d spat at her in public? He still felt like he should be begging on his knees or something, but the look on her face when he’d mentioned that had made him hastily pretend he’d been joking.

But how could she believe he was really sorry if he didn’t suffer for it? Well, maybe she was afraid that if she made him really prove how sorry he was, he’d go off the deep end and try to kill himself again.

He rubbed at the ache in the side of his head. She’s being a good friend, he reminded himself. I should be grateful. Even so, he wanted to crawl in a hole somewhere and hide until he’d dealt with things himself, instead of having someone hovering over him constantly.

Finally Hermione stepped through the portrait hole. She hesitated for just an instant before sticking her nose in the air and stalking forward, clearly intending to walk past him without acknowledgement.

It’s just an act, he reminded himself, and stepped forward.

“Hermione, please-” No, that wasn’t how he was supposed to start. You’ve said that too many times already, she’d informed him with a hint of annoyance. It has to be something different.

“You were right.”

That did get her to stop and look at him. He hurried on. “I was an insensitive lout. I was completely in the wrong, and I should never have said or done the things I did.”

I’ve told different people different things about what you did, so keep it vague.

“I- uh-” he scrambled for his next line. “I’ve been thinking a lot, these last few days. I’ve been a bad friend to you.” At least that he could say with total sincerity. “I didn’t think about your feelings. But now I see how much I must have hurt you, and I’m sorry. Really sorry.”

He couldn’t remember what came next! He tried, frantically, to picture the list she’d made him, but he couldn’t do it. His body felt as cold as it had when he’d plunged into the Black Lake. What was he going to do?

Hermione must have seen the panic on his face. “And how am I supposed to believe you’re not just going to go back to acting that way as soon as I say I forgive you?”

He managed to take a breath. He’d failed at making a perfect apology. But at least he could get the rest of his lines out. “I really do see that the way I talked - no, the way I thought - was wrong. I’m going to change, I promise.” He tried to smile, but nerves made it hard. “I mean, I may not be perfect right away, but I’ll be trying. Will you give me another chance? Please?”

She stepped closer, staring into his eyes. He fought to keep his head up under her scrutiny. Of course this wasn’t enough. She gave him a baby apology to make, and he couldn’t even do that right. She was going to turn around and leave him forever, and he deserved it.

Just as he was about to ignore her instructions and start begging, she spoke.

“All right,” she said. He couldn’t read her tone of voice. “One more chance. But if you’re lying to me, Harry Potter…”

“I’m not!” That was what she was supposed to say. It was all right. Still, he shrivelled inwardly at the reminder that ne needed to do better. He couldn’t hurt her again. “I swear! I’ll be a better friend-”

Her expression changed from stiffness to sudden worry, and he bit back the words. She contradicted him every time he said that, and he knew she didn’t like it. He didn’t want to do that to her. But he had to admit, hearing her say she didn’t think he was a bad friend relieved the tense knot inside him a little.

This time, though, she just shook her head slightly. “Come on,” she said, turning toward the Great Hall. “Let’s go have breakfast.”

She couldn’t say anything, he told himself as he followed her down the corridor. It wouldn’t have fit the script we worked out. It doesn’t mean anything.

But no matter what he said to himself, it didn’t stop the coldness from growing inside him as he trailed after her, feeling very alone.

The forlorn feeling wasn’t helped by the reaction they got in the Great Hall. He’d expected to have all eyes on them. He’d even expected the whispers. He hadn’t expected the number of people who insisted on pulling Hermione aside for “a private word.”

None of them seemed to have any idea how far away they had to get for real privacy. Harry wished they would figure it out; he didn’t really want to know what they were saying. But despite Ron’s efforts to distract him, he couldn’t help hearing most of it.

“Are you crazy, Hermione?” Padma demanded. “After everything we told you, you’re just going to forgive him like that? Because he made one apology? He obviously didn’t mean a word of it.”

Hermione sighed. “I know Harry, all right? He’s not that bad. He just got a little off-track. He’ll be better now.”

Hannah shook her head. “Come on, Padma. Mum said that’s how James Potter got Lily Evans to date him, by looking sad and pretending he’d changed. It’s just more of the same.”

Hermione frowned and opened her mouth, but the two left the Gryffindor table before she could say anything. Her shoulders slumped as she came back to sit with Ron and Harry.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered as she reached across Harry for the syrup. “I didn’t think this would make things worse.”

He looked over at her. He thought he’d been doing such a good job of hiding how he felt. “Make what worse?”

She hesitated. “The kind of thing you overheard Parvati and Lavender saying. You know, how they think you can’t be trusted because of your father.”

Well, it made sense for them to think that way, but he wasn’t about to say as much to Hermione. She would argue with him, and she must have been tired of that by that point. It didn’t matter anyway. He did his best to shove it out of his mind and focused on his breakfast.

* * *

Harry barely noticed the empty classroom Hermione warded them into after breakfast. His heart was pounding in his chest, and his stomach was in knots. He knew he needed to know the truth, needed to know where he’d come from and what he was, but it was going to hurt. He didn’t want any more pain.

But he wasn’t selfish enough to toss away all the work Ron and Hermione had gone through to gather this for him. With the way they’d thought he was on the verge of dying, they would’ve agreed to do anything he wanted. And he’d asked for this. It wasn’t like he could just turn around and say he’d changed his mind.

Hermione was fiddling with the parchment she’d pulled from her bag, separating it into three stacks, then squaring each one until they lined up perfectly. “I don’t know how much detail you want,” she said hesitantly. “But, well, these are stories about your dad.” She indicated the biggest stack. “They’re… about like you expected. I don’t think you need to read all of them, okay? Or I can just summarize, if you want.”

He couldn’t make her do that. He’d already asked too much of her, making her create this in the first place. He shook his head, gritted his teeth, and picked up the first one.

It seemed to be an excerpt from a letter. Hermione had obviously trimmed it, because it started directly with the writer’s memories of his father.

James was a genius at getting away with things. Of course, he charmed McGonagall right from the start; I still remember seeing this perfect little first year acting like someone at a society dinner and being all polite to her. You could just see that she thought it was “adorable” and whenever he put on that wide-eyed innocent look and denied everything, she believed him. One year he even got away with painting targets on the back of each kid that sorted Slytherin, right there at the feast. McGonagall was glaring all up and down the Gryffindor table, but she never even looked at him.

Harry breathed and tried to tell himself that that wasn’t so bad. Even if his dad sounded as smarmy as Malfoy, well, he’d just been making McGonagall like him. And McGonagall was a great teacher, so it made sense. The Sorting had probably just been a joke. The targets sounded like something Fred and George would do. His dad hadn’t been hurting anyone, after all. Just joking around.

It didn’t take away the cold feeling inside him, but it gave him the push he needed to pick up the next one. And with this much to go through, surely he could justify skimming instead of reading every line. He could always come back to it another time.

His eye fell on a passage about halfway down.

James was really clever for such a little kid. Even in his first year, you knew you didn’t want to get on his bad side. He didn’t stick to normal firstie stuff like beds full of frogs, either. He was particularly good at Transfiguration. I gave him some tips before I graduated. Our best trick was turning the stairs to the dungeons into snakes just as the Slytherins were walking down. They totally fell all over themselves; I don’t remember how many ended up in the Hospital Wing. And we changed the stairs back as soon as they started falling, so when they talked about snakes, they sounded crazy. Oh, they tried to get back at us, but…

Harry bit his lip. He could imagine that. He and Ron would’ve laughed themselves sick to see Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle fall down the stairs. Did that mean that his dad wasn’t so bad, or that Harry was?

He grabbed for the next piece of parchment to stop himself from trying to answer that question.

When I got made a prefect, Dad sat me down and told me this story. There’d always been some hazing in the dorms, but Potter and his friends took it to a whole new level. He tried to stop it, but they started spreading rumors about him and made sure McGonagall heard them. She gave him detention for a month and said she’d take his badge if she heard anything like that again. He said that he was so scared that they would ruin his career after Hogwarts that he backed down. He still feels really guilty about it.

“Harry?”

Ron’s voice seemed to come from far away. He didn’t want to look at him. Everything seemed foggy and indistinct anyway. He kept his head down.

“Mate, don’t look like that. Just because your dad was a bit of a git, doesn’t mean anything. Look at my brothers.”

He couldn’t answer. There weren’t any words. It didn’t matter, anyway. Half blindly, he reached for another piece of parchment.

He got half the stack instead. He started flipping through them, focusing on a paragraph here and there.

Dad says that he got lost during his first week at Hogwarts, and he didn’t notice that everyone was moving to the walls to get out of the way when Potter and his gang came through. They shoved him aside, and Potter cast an engorgement charm on his head. It grew to twice its size before Dad made it to the Hospital Wing, and Pomfrey said he was lucky it hadn’t snapped his neck.

He was the star of the Quidditch team, and he couldn’t stand anyone else upstaging him. One game, it was really close, and Dad made a spectacular save after James fumbled the ball right into the Slytherins’ hands. They cornered him behind the stands later and beat him up so bad that he resigned from the team that night.

Mum always warned us to go everywhere in a group. Apparently when she was in school, Potter and his friends were always looking for a chance to corner a girl and grope her. It didn’t matter who you were; they’d try it with anyone, even if they’d just been laughing at how ugly she was. Mum said that we were too pretty to take chances.

My parents said that he thought being Head Boy meant he was king of the castle. They said it wasn’t quite as bad when Evans was with him, because she’d only agreed to date him if he eased up a bit. So when she was around, he asked people to do things for him like they had a choice - but they learned quick that if they didn’t pretend they were delighted to help out, he or his buddies would find them later.

The parchments dropped from his nerveless fingers. He buried his head in his hands instead, trying to let go of the mental images that played out in his mind. He wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball until this all went away. Surely he couldn’t be expected to go around like normal, not after this.

But Ron and Hermione would worry about him. He had to go to class and eat and do all those things with them, and they didn’t need to be watching him all the time. They needed to concentrate on their studies, after all. He couldn’t bother them like that.

He forced himself to sit back up. Hermione had swept all of her notes off the table and was fastening up her bag. Ron was staring at him with an expression that made Harry drop his gaze.

When Ron spoke, it wasn’t to Harry. “I told you this was a bad idea,” he said, sounding almost angry. “We shouldn’t have done it.”

“You wanted me to censor it,” Hermione snapped. “Like I’m the bloody Prophet!”

“Yeah? And you’re telling me that this is better?” His voice was rising.

Harry swallowed, trying to clear the tightness in his throat enough to speak. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “It’s just the truth. It’s what I wanted to know. I’m okay.”

They went quiet. He still didn’t look at them, staring blankly down instead. He wasn’t even sure what was in front of him.

“No, you’re not okay,” Hermione said at last. Her voice trembled. “This isn’t like you.”

He had to bite his lip to stop the words that wanted to come spilling out. Not like him? This was how he’d been the whole fucking year, and they hadn’t noticed. Now they thought some little letters had overset him?

He closed his eyes. They were his friends. It was nice of them to pay attention. Even if he was handling it on his own. They were just trying to help. He ought to be grateful.

“Thank you for all this.” He knew it was the right thing to say, even if he didn’t feel like it. “It must have been a lot of wark. It was really nice of you to do all that for me..”

“It sure doesn’t seem like it was nice,” Ron said flatly.

Harry felt Hermione moving beside him. He ignored the way she reached out and put a hand on his.

“Harry, please. Tell us what you’re thinking.”

He had no idea. He was mostly trying not to think, not to remember those words about his dad. “It’s fine,” he said instead. “It’s not your problem. I’ll be all right. It doesn’t matter anyway.”

And it was true. The pressure building up inside him - it wasn’t their fault. He would be all right. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t dealt with before. He was just being weak, giving in to it like this. He needed to get his act together and stop worrying his friends.

“What else were we going to do today?” he asked, trying to picture Hermione’s timetables. Far better to focus on that than on anything else. “Do we have time to go outside for a bit? Or are we supposed to be studying something?”

“Harry…” Even Ron didn’t sound like he thought that was a good idea.

“I just need to take my mind off it. I’ll be fine.” They kept overreacting to things. He had to admit that it made some sense, since as far as they knew he kept trying to kill himself. But he was fine. He just needed to concentrate on the things he needed to do, like studying and duelling practice and whatever it was Snape wanted him to do to defeat Voldemort. He’d just forget about his dad and the things he’d read and focus on the important things.

He stood up and groped half-blindly for his bag. “It’ll be good to be on a broom. Let’s go.”

“All right,” Ron said, standing up too. “We can fly around for a bit.”

“I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” Hermione insisted. “Harry, you can’t just ignore everything you just read!”

He wasn’t going to ignore it forever. He just didn’t need to think about it right then. “I’m not,” he said, still not looking at her. “I just need to… to not think about it all at once, you know? I need a break. It’s a lot to take in all at once.”

Hermione didn’t seem convinced, but she finally sighed. “All right. I’ll come watch you.”

Harry very carefully didn’t roll his eyes. He should be touched that she was worried about him. Sitting in the cold stands while he and Ron flew around was not something she enjoyed. He’d heard about it at length. Her willingness to do it now was the sign of a good friend. He ought to be grateful.

He didn’t feel grateful. But that was his problem, and she shouldn’t have to deal with it. He could make himself act the way he should. So he smiled. “Thanks, Hermione.”

They walked too close to him, but he did his best to ignore it. It felt like he was moving through thick fog. It took so much of his attention to beat back the images of his father in these same halls that he barely had enough to know where he was going.

Flying would be better. The cold and the wind and the speed usually drove all other thoughts out of his head. That was exactly what he needed right then. Afterwards, he’d go study for the Arithmancy practical they had coming up. That was what he needed to do. The constant memories of his father in the back of his mind didn’t matter. He had responsibilities, and he’d do what he had to.

Chapter Text

Flying didn’t help.

He did his best to pretend it did for Ron’s sake, and for Hermione’s, freezing in the stands below them. He forced his face into a smile whenever he remembered. He cheered and applauded when Ron made a particularly good save. He pushed himself to his limits, pulling moves that had been natural when he’d been in training, but that were clumsy and challenging now.

But every few minutes, despite all his efforts, his thoughts would circle back to his father. How he’d been the star of the Quidditch team - and the lengths to which he’d gone to keep that role. How Harry flew just like him, looked just like him. How the other students had felt about James, and how their kids felt about James’ son.

He’d do his best to shake it off with a dive or spin, trying to focus his mind on flying and nothing else.

But it didn’t help.

He thought Ron and Hermione might have noticed, from the looks they exchanged when he and Ron landed. Harry shouldered his broom and trudged up toward the castle ahead of them, not wanting to deal with whatever they were thinking.

They didn’t say anything when they came up next to him. That should have been a relief, since he didn’t want to talk about it. But the oppressive silence was just as bad.

Harry rubbed at his forehead with his free hand, as if he could erase the thoughts that kept spinning around in his brain. I’m not going to think about it, he told himself for the millionth time. I have things to do. I’ll concentrate on them.

It didn’t help.

By the time he finally got Ron and Hermione to let him out of their sight, it was nearly curfew. He hadn’t had a chance to practice the dance all day, and the need for it was itching under his skin.

He paused in the alcove outside the soul dorms, under the invisibility cloak, and debated. He could go to the Room of Requirement and run through the dance. It was even what he should do; he'd promised Narcissa that he'd practice every day, after all. And he needed it.

But going all the way up there without being noticed was so much effort. And he'd sweated while flying and then walked through the cold; he felt clammy all over and just wanted to get a shower. Flying used kind of the same skills as dueling, didn't it? And flying hadn't helped. So why did he think the dance would?

He stood there, caught in indecision. Surely there was a right thing to do in this situation, but he was too much of an idiot to figure out what it was. Every time he thought he had an answer, he started questioning again. Even the sound of the curfew bell, which ought to have removed the choice, wasn't enough to make him move. After all, now that he was late, what did it matter how late he was? He might as well go and practice. Except, except…

Footsteps passed him now and then. He didn't even bother to turn from where his head rested against the wall. They couldn't see him. They wouldn't care if they did. He wasn't hurting anyone as long as he just stayed there. Maybe he should just stay there forever.

Then a set of footsteps walked directly up to the statue he was tucked behind and stopped. "Harry."

Snape's voice was incredibly quiet; someone two steps away would never have heard it. It was almost possible that Harry could pretend that he hadn’t heard it. But this was the push he needed. He had to go back to the room and do his homework and go to bed. He’d known that all along, but finally the knowledge was enough to move him into action. Whatever his problem had been, now he had to make up for the wasted time.

He pushed himself off the cold stone wall and followed Snape down the hall. I’ll shower first, he thought, desperately trying to hang on to the mundane decisions. But behind those thoughts, memories of his father still circled. Your sainted father, Snape had called him, with such derision that Harry had assumed it had to be unjustified. He hadn’t thought his father could possibly have been that bad. Now, of course, he knew better.

After the strain of trying to keep up appearances with Ron and Hermione, it should have been a relief to be with someone who wouldn’t care how he felt about his father. Snape would probably be overjoyed to know how much Harry hated the man. And himself. Now Harry hated himself as much as Snape and Malfoy did. That was probably Magic’s way of making the soulmate bond better or something. Now there was one thing they all agreed on.

His head was pounding as they walked into Snape and Malfoy’s room. He pulled off his cloak and dropped it and his bag so that he could press hard on his forehead with both hands, abandoning the careful effort he’d made up till now to not mess up their space. He was a slob. They just had to deal with that. At least until he found some way to get away and stop bothering them.

The memory of all that research he’d done teased him. He could just… end it. They’d be better off without him, just like Blaise and Theo. They were spending their time and energy on him, and they shouldn’t have to. No one should have to deal with him.

“Harry.”

Snape’s voice seemed to be coming from far away, or maybe underwater - something barely able to pierce the grayness surrounding Harry. He lifted his head, though not his eyes, and tried to pretend he was paying attention.

It seemed like a long time before Snape spoke. “Have you seen Zabini and Nott?”

For a moment, Harry tried to place the names in the letters he’d been reading. Had there been stories about someone called - oh. Belatedly, he realized that Snape was talking about Blaise and Theo.

But why? Had something happened to them? He could have asked, but it seemed like too much effort. He just shook his head instead.

There was another pause. "We need to begin your Occlumency lessons. I believe I mentioned this?"

Harry tried to remember, he really did. But the back of his mind was still turning those stories of his dad over and over, and hearing Snape's voice was reminding him of those memories of Severus, and he couldn't remember what on earth Occlu-whatever was supposed to be, let alone why he was having lessons in it. He settled for a shrug.

"Tuesday and Thursday evenings, in my office?" Snape asked. And it was a question, not a command; it almost sounded tentative. Damn it, Snape must have noticed that he was falling apart. Although why he cared...

Oh, he needed Harry to fight Voldemort. Of course. Harry let go of the idea of getting out of this early. He had to get rid of the wizard who'd apparently used him as a vessel to stay alive, which meant he had to die right. Eventually.

And Voldemort was in his head, and Occlumency was going to get him out. Yeah. That was pretty important.

"All right." He still didn't look up, but at least he managed to shove the words out. "Thanks."

Because Snape was giving up his time to do this for Harry, even though Harry was just a drain on his and Draco's relationship, even though Harry deserved to have Voldemort in his head. The least Harry could do was to be polite.

There was another pause. The pressure of keeping back his emotions was growing to the point of something like pain. Harry bent and blindly grabbed for his bag, then headed for his bed. He wasn't sure if he hoped that Snape and Malfoy would leave him alone to stew in his pain, or if he wanted one of them to start something. It might actually help if they shouted at him; maybe he would feel angry instead of whatever he was stuck in right now.

They left him alone.

He threw his bag on the bed and grabbed the stuff he needed for a shower. Maybe that would help.

It didn't.

* * *

Severus watched Harry cross the room with narrowed eyes.

"Ow," Draco complained, drawing his attention. Draco was pressing his own chest with the heels of both hands, face contorted in pain. "What the hell is that?"

"What do you feel?" Severus asked. Most of his attention was on the faint sense of Harry he got through the closed bathroom door, but Draco might have something useful to add. Preferably something that would disprove his own assessment of the situation.

"I don't know!" Draco threw his hands in the air. "I can't put a name to it! I only get it around you and Harry. It hurts like the devil, but this time is even worse than normal. The last time it was this bad..." He trailed off and looked up at Severus with wide eyes. "...was that night in your office."

And there went any hope that his own empathy had been in error. Severus jerked his head toward Harry's bed. "Check his things for anything he might use to harm himself."

"He has a wand," Draco grumbled, but it was clearly a front to cover his fear. He rose from his desk chair obediently. "What are you doing?"

Severus took up a position outside the bathroom door. "I’m trying to sense whether he might... act on the way he’s feeling. Shut up and let me concentrate."

In the ensuing quiet, he closed his eyes and steadied his breathing. He'd finally figured out how best to align his Occlumency with empathy, though it had been challenging. Occlumency was the art of detaching from emotion, after all, so that a Legilimens could find nothing to hold on to and no connections to follow. But in all his research, he hadn’t found record of anyone doing it the way he did, constructing a persona that seemed complete to a Legilimens but was dissociated from the rest of himself, to the point that even he couldn’t access it without the proper reintegration ritual.

He had a tentative new persona now, one that thought nothing and felt nothing on his own, similar to the way he’d gotten through the first years after Lily’s death, but that was completely open to outside emotions and the memories they brought up. The thought of putting on that self was terrifying every time, but he forced his feelings of vulnerability aside. It was necessary.

Draco was a prickly ball behind him. He separated out his awareness of those emotions as something he did not care about and paid no attention to. He would deal with Draco later. Right now his focus was on the darkness enveloping Harry.

The emotions were faint through the door, but his deep familiarity with them made it easier to make them out. The memories they dredged up were nothing he’d ever wanted to face again. But after nearly destroying himself fighting Magic’s hold in the Pensieve, he’d finally discovered how to cope with them: face the memory head-on, let Draco’s gift blunt the pain of it, and pass through it into pure receptiveness. His memories didn’t matter to him; what he was sensing did.

He remembered/sensed that feeling, of everything being at one remove. You thought you were keeping up a facade of being functional, but you couldn’t really reach anything outside of yourself. And inside, you were all thoughts of failure, wondering if there was anything you could possibly do to be worth anything, realizing that there wasn’t, over and over, but unable to give up the hope that if you went over the same line of thinking again, you might come out with a different conclusion. But each time, you only realized afresh how badly you’d destroyed everything. The feeling that everyone would be better off without you. The desire to just stop at least for a while: stop thinking the same thoughts over and over, stop putting on a face for others, stop being.

The memories didn’t recede as easily as normal; it was hard to hold on to his own lack of emotion when the things he was sensing struck such a deep chord in him. Some part of his mind noted coolly that this persona was fracturing under pressure and that he would need more practice, but the rest of him was caught up in what he was feeling and remembering.

What good would that do anyone?

His Occlumency shattered. He was shaking, unable to free himself from the time - days? weeks? he still wasn’t sure - when those words ran constantly through his head. The self-hatred that went with them, the desire to destroy himself or the world or both, was not Harry’s, he knew dimly. No, the guilt and anguish there was all his own.

He groped for firm footing in the pain and the memories, and was gripped with a certainty that he knew perfectly well was not his own.

The bastard. He knew the only thing keeping you alive was working for him to buy her life, he failed to keep up his end of the bargain, and his only response was to tell you to get back to work? It nearly destroyed you!

It kept me alive, he pointed out, though under the onslaught of memory, he was wondering if it had been worth it. If Harry…

No. Draco’s gift was confidence and certainty, in his own worth and in his own judgment. At times he questioned whether it was leading him into foolhardiness, but right now, he craved certainty too much to consider the consequences.

The door to the bathroom swung open, startling him almost as much as it did Harry. Severus recovered first and summoned a vial of Dreamless Sleep, wordlessly holding it out.

He didn’t need Occlumency to sense the emotions of someone standing directly in front of him. Harry’s confusion changed into longing almost too fast to follow. He grabbed the potion and headed for his bed with speed.

The emotional intensity died down to almost nothing as the curtains closed; line-of-sight was the general limit of his non-Occlumency-fueled empathy. He felt too raw to attempt his new persona again, but Harry’s emotions were still strong enough, and resonating enough with his memories, that he felt the pressure ease as the potion took effect and Harry slept.

He stood still a moment longer, running through an abridged version of the reintegration ritual he used after heavy Occlumency. Losing his hold on a persona like that was always painful, and the ritual soothed the sharp edges as it pulled him back together.

As his brain regained its primacy and emotion receded, he sighed silently in relief. A quick spell fastened Harry’s wand in place, just for extra insurance, and then he finally felt ready to turn and face Draco.

His mate was glaring daggers at him. “Now can I talk?”

* * *

Severus was only half looking at him, most of his attention still on Harry’s bed, but he nodded. “He’s asleep.”

Draco opened his mouth, but he had too many things he wanted to say and for a minute he couldn’t get any of them out. He finally settled for, “What the hell?”

Severus sighed, which was not a response Draco ever liked from him. Severus was supposed to be confident when Draco was flailing, not… uncertain. Worn. Worried.

He quickly pushed that thought aside as Severus spoke. “You sensed it as well as I did, Dragon.”

“But what was it?” He put a hand on his chest again, remembering the pain. “It fucking hurt, and you freaked out.”

He hoped that Severus would tell him he’d misunderstood, that there was some other reason he’d had Draco search Harry’s things, because the only explanation he could come up had to be wrong.

Instead, Severus gave him a look. “You aren’t stupid, Dragon. Don’t act like it.”

Draco glared back. “This is empathy, not mind-reading. And I’ve only felt this way a couple times, and only from you and Harry. What, I’m supposed to assume you two have this special emotion that means, Maybe I’ll go kill myself, that sounds like a good idea?”

“More or less.” Severus looked back at Harry’s bed.

Draco was not going to be treated like a child. “Don’t be an ass, Severus.”

Severus whirled back to face him. “Ah, yes, you clearly know so much about it.”

The soft viciousness of his voice made Draco straighten, nerves tingling for a fight.

Severus stepped closer as he continued. “Spoiled little rich boy, with your every whim indulged, of course you know how people in pain are supposed to feel.”

“People like you?” Draco snapped back. “People with tragic pasts that an innocent like me could never understand?”

“If you have never felt the drive to ‘take arms against a sea of troubles and, by opposing, end them,’ then no, you will never understand.” Severus’ dark eyes glinted.

“But of course you know exactly what’s going on in his head. You, the one who’s hated him irrationally since you first set eyes on him. You’re so very understanding, everyone knows. If you knew so much about how he was feeling, why did you treat him like shit for the past six years?”

Severus’s face tightened. “Do you think he wants your pity instead?” he spat. “The solicitous expressions of sympathy from someone who has never known a day’s hunger, a night’s cold, a moment facing the world’s vast indifference to your suffering? I’m sure that if you tell him you know how he feels, he will be deeply comforted.”

“Better me than you!” Draco shot back. “It’s not like I’ve never felt sad before. And you’re too much of a coward to ever tell him what you’ve felt. You’re just trying to use him to make yourself look more important: wise and special and the only one capable of knowing what’s going on. It’s pathetic.”

“If you’re so wise and capable of dealing with the situation, what would you say to him?”

“That there isn’t any reason to feel this way!” Draco realized he was shouting and decided that he didn’t care. “I know how he feels, but he’s safe now, we’re keeping him safe, so he doesn’t have to do anything stupid. I’ll remind him that he should be happy that things are so much better now. And they’ll keep getting better; he just has to get rid of that Horcrux and then we can be free of the Dark Lord and -”

Severus stalked past him and yanked the door open. “Get out.”

“What?” Draco backed up a step. It was Severus who left when they fought, not him.

“You are not staying anywhere near Harry tonight. Get out. And if you speak to him tomorrow, I will make you wish you’d never been born.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Draco sputtered, unable to believe his ears.

“Get. Out.”

Draco stared at him a moment longer, then deliberately turned his back and walked to the fireplace. Severus didn’t say anything as he lifted the wards on the Floo, threw in the powder, and was gone.

* * *

Sleep didn’t help.

Harry woke to a gray, cheerless morning and the feeling that his body was too heavy to move. The prospect of dragging himself through another day like this was unsupportable. Why did he have to wake up?

But he didn’t have a choice. Unwillingly, he forced himself out of bed, and started violently when he saw Snape standing just outside his curtains.

“Harry, I need to speak with you.”

Crap, he didn’t want to talk to Snape. He didn’t want to talk to anyone. He was afraid he’d just spit out the horrible thoughts he was having as soon as he opened his mouth, and he didn’t want to do that to anyone. He was being stupid; he didn’t have to force other people to hear how stupid he was.

But again, he didn’t have a choice. He wrapped his arms around himself and dragged his head around so that he was looking vaguely in Snape’s direction. “Okay, what?”

“Are you planning to harm yourself today?”

Harry squeezed his eyes shut. Snape had noticed. That probably meant Hermione and Ron had noticed, too. Could he just run off and hide in the dungeons somewhere until everyone had forgotten about all of this? He didn’t want to deal with it. He was so tired of trying to fake it.

He turned his head away, shoulders slumping. “No. I’m not-” He caught himself. Claiming he wasn’t stupid wasn’t likely to reassure Snape, who knew perfectly well that he was. “I’m not that stupid, all right? You don’t have to worry about me. I’m… okay.”

He squeezed his arms tighter around his chest, willing Snape to believe it. Couldn’t they just leave him alone? He was functioning, wasn’t he? They kept prodding and prying; didn’t they realize they were just making things worse?

“Why not?”

Snape’s quiet question made his thoughts stutter to a halt. For a moment, he was actually focused on one thought at a time, as the answers sprang into his mind.

It’s too much effort. I don’t want to cause a fuss. Hermione and Ron wouldn’t want me to; even though they’d be fine once I was gone, they’d try to stop me if they knew, and it’s not worth trying to get around them. And if Aunt Petunia is right and there is a hell, being dead would probably be just as bad as being alive.

He couldn’t say any of that. His throat felt tight and sore at the thought. But Snape was waiting for an answer.

“I just won’t, okay? It would be…” Stupid. Selfish. Just like my father.

He could feel the weight of Snape’s gaze on him, even though he wasn’t looking that way. He refused to look around or say anything else. Let Snape think what he wanted. It didn’t matter.

“I…” Snape started, and then trailed off.

Snape didn’t do that. Harry inadvertently looked at him, and saw far too much concern - concern for him? From Snape? He twitched, uncomfortable with the thought.

No, concern for his own life, and Draco’s, surely. That’s what he had said a couple months ago, when they’d first found out they were soulmates. He hadn’t believed that Harry could kill himself without killing both of them too.

“You just asked for a promise last time,” Harry said as firmly as he could, trying to pretend everything was all right. “I promise I’m not going to do anything, all right? I’m not. Ron and Hermione wouldn’t let me, anyway.”

“You will stay with them today?”

Crap, he hadn’t intended to suggest that. They were driving him crazy right now. But if the other options were getting strapped to a hospital bed or staying where Snape could see him, staying near Ron and Hermione had to be better.

“Yeah.”

He tried to move toward his trunk, but Snape didn’t step out of the way. Harry throttled back an irrational surge of annoyance and waited.

“When is your next dueling lesson?”

He wasn’t even going to bother trying to figure out why Snape cared. “This afternoon.”

There was no response, so he turned toward his trunk again. This time Snape stepped aside. Harry started rummaging for his things, trying to forget the conversation he’d just had. And how he’d been feeling. And, while he was at it, all of yesterday. If he could just forget, just focus on what was in front of him, things would be fine. He’d make himself be fine.

It didn’t help.

Chapter Text

The library should have been a comfortable place to be. It was quiet, there were no professors asking him questions, he could have his head down over a book and look like he was concentrating and no one should be able to disturb him. And if it had just been Ron and Hermione giving him concerned looks, well, he could’ve ignored that. Since no one was going to let him be alone - Ron had even accompanied him to the loo, and he kept noticing Snape lurking in the corridors - the library should have been the next best option.

Unfortunately, even Hermione seemed to have forgotten the part about libraries being quiet.

“I told you we shouldn’t have shown him the bloody things,” Ron snapped.

Hermione’s counterargument seemed to be an attempt to convince Harry to tell them everything was OK. “Harry, please. You know it doesn’t really matter, right? Your dad was, well, badly behaved at school; that’s too bad, but you don’t have to do anything about it. You can’t. It’s just… history.”

Harry refused to look up from the textbook. He wasn’t listening. He didn’t care. Hermione was right; it didn’t matter.

But I should be doing something about it. I should be able to fix it, make up for it somehow. But what could I possibly do? Nothing can fix that. Can it? There must be something I’m missing.

He wasn’t sure whether not hearing the next bit of their conversation because he was caught in his own thoughts again was a good or a bad thing. It didn’t make any difference, in the long run, because the conversation just kept going and going.

He’d been feeling empty. Every time the knowledge of what his father had been crashed over him, it felt like everything else was washed away, leaving him with nothing. But as Hermione and Ron went on and on, quarrelling with each other, asking him questions, exchanging looks, staring... It grated on him more and more.

It felt like being sunburned after a long day of yardwork at the Dursleys’, when every brush of clothing against his skin ratcheted up the pain. Each touch, by itself, was just annoying or uncomfortable, but it happened over and over and over until he was ready to claw his skin off to get away from it.

He felt the same irritation building inside him now and clenched his teeth to try and keep it back. They’re good friends, he told himself. I don’t deserve them. I certainly shouldn’t make it any harder for them to put up with me. It must be hard enough as it is. My job as a friend is to make their lives better, and even if I’m failing at that right now, I’m not going to explode at them. It never helps. I’ll just wait. I’m sure to feel better tomorrow.

But their voices were still rubbing him raw. He took a firm grip on his temper, clasped his hands together so tightly that the knuckles turned white, and said carefully, “Could you guys just… stop, for a minute? I’m having trouble concentrating on this essay.”

He felt their stares, though he kept his head down. Of course, at that angle it was easy to see that he had no parchment, ink, or quill out to actually write an essay with. Crap. He was such an idiot.

“Are you - all right?” Hermione said tentatively after an awkward silence.

Harry bit back a reply of, What the hell do you think? He wouldn’t actually say something like that. He probably needed more sleep, that was all.

Instead, he bent over to rummage in his bag for ink and parchment. That provided a very good opportunity to not look at either of them for a minute. Even better, under the table they couldn’t see him. He cupped his hands over his glasses and pushed his fingers as hard as he could into his forehead and temples. His nails bit sharply into his skin, a bit of sensation that reminded him that he was there, with real people who he cared about, and he needed to get a hold of himself.

“Harry?”

At the sound of Hermione’s voice under the table with him, every muscle in his body tensed up. For a second, he squeezed his eyes shut, thinking, Oh, please no. Then he took a deep breath, clasped his hands together even more tightly than before, and sat back up.

He thought about saying something, but anything he said was going to come out wrong. He bit his lip instead.

“Look, we just want to help,” Ron said. “You’re not yourself, you know. We want to - is there something we can do? Just…”

“Please talk to us,” Hermione picked up when he trailed off. “Please. We let you alone when you seemed upset before, and… We’re not going to do that again. Please. Tell us.”

And the aggravation that had been bubbling up in him turned into a volcano: unstoppable and determined to destroy everything in its path.

“You want me to talk?” he snarled, slamming the textbook in front of him closed so hard that the whole table jerked. “You want to know how I’m feeling? Fine. I’m feeling sick and tired of you hanging over me like you are the only thing that can keep me safe. Like I have no choice in the matter, I’m just going to go jump off the Astronomy Tower the second I’m out of your sight because what else could I possibly be thinking about? And sure. I did some stupid things, and that’s what I get for it. Fine. But you just keep pushing and prying and prodding me to talk, as if talking did any good. It never changes anything. What am I supposed to say? ‘My dad was a complete asshole, I’m his child and everyone hates me for it, and on top of that I have a chunk of Voldemort in my brain. I’m feeling a little down, won’t you give me a hug and make it all better?’” He realized he was shaking all over and grabbed the edge of the table so hard his nails scarred the wood. “Talking doesn’t help, don’t you get it? I am what I am. Look where Magic put me, with this damn soul bond. Magic knows what I am. And if even Magic can’t force someone to care about me, then you shouldn’t bother to try.”

He sucked in a breath, suddenly aware that he hadn’t done so during his whole rant. Ron was staring at him, Hermione had tears in her eyes, and his own eyes were burning. He wasn’t going to start blubbering in front of them. Bad enough that he’d said all that.

He had to get out of there. He cast about desperately for an excuse.
The time provided the perfect one. “I have to go.” He’d avoided telling them, but at this point it didn’t matter anymore. “I’m seeing a counsellor, all right? So you don’t have to worry about me. I’m fine.”

He bolted out of the library without even stopping to grab his bag. Behind him, he heard a clatter of chairs and raised voices as Ron and Hermione began to follow, and then Madam Pince’s distinctive shriek of outrage. Well, that should give him enough time to get to the Hospital Wing before they could catch up.

He refused to think that maybe, if they caught up, they could say something that might help. Nothing they said made anything any better; they were just lying to make him feel better. It wasn’t like they understood.

If someone did…

But that was wishing for the impossible. He swiped at his eyes to make sure that none of the threatened tears had escaped and stepped through the door.

Narcissa was chatting with Madam Pomfrey, as usual, and she turned with her usual welcoming smile. “Harry, dear-”

She stopped abruptly, her face still for a fraction of a second. Then her smile came back, but this time it looked formal, practiced, no longer just happiness to see him. “Of course, the counsellor did particularly say to be early today, didn’t he? I’m so sorry, dear, it slipped my mind. Forgive us, Madam,” she said over her shoulder to Madam Pomfrey as she stepped over to Harry and urged him into the Floo. The green flames and the disorientation of spinning swallowed him up and spat him out on the floor.

“Harry, dear, what has happened?”

Narcissa was kneeling beside him, a look of concern on her face that made him turn away and try clumsily to get to his feet. He shook his head, unable to find words but hoping she would take the hint.

She rose gracefully to her feet and offered him a hand, pulling him up with the strength that no longer surprised him, no matter how delicate she looked. But when he was on his feet, she didn’t let go. Instead she walked to a couch facing the fireplace. It felt rude to jerk away, so he followed and sat next to her.

She stared at the fire, apparently not even noticing that she still had her hand on his. He tried to ignore the sensation, too, but her hand was warm and he couldn’t escape the knowledge that she was there. For once someone wasn’t scolding or prying or even looking at him. She was just there.

Blinking couldn’t keep a tear from overflowing, then, and he turned his face away, hoping she wouldn’t notice. She still seemed mesmerized by the flames, so he just let the tears flow as silently as he could.

When his shoulders started to shake, she put an arm around him. He froze for a moment, but she didn’t say anything, just sat there, and he’d gotten to a point where he couldn’t really stop himself. He kept his head turned away and tried to not break out in sobs.

When her fingers started running through his hair, his body relaxed without any input from his brain. He realized he was leaning against her and started to straighten, but a gentle pressure on his shoulder kept him in place, and he yielded, too shaky and overcome to even care anymore. There was a handkerchief in his hand, and he wiped his face and tried to stifle the sound of his ragged breathing that seemed to echo so loudly in that quiet room. And all the time there was someone there, and despite the guilt and the fear about what would happen next, he couldn’t wish her gone.

Eventually, his breathing slowed and calmed enough to hear when she began to speak. He flinched, twisting to get a glimpse of her face, but she was still staring into the fire, her voice pensive, almost as if she had forgotten he was there.

“My oldest sister has a soulmate,” she said softly. “I was young at the time, of course, but I remember how shocked we all were. He was a Muggleborn and a Hufflepuff! How could they possibly be meant for each other?”

She paused, and Harry tried to breathe normally again. He’d figured that one out for himself, hadn’t he? He had one soulmate who would do anything to get Voldemort out of his head, and one who wouldn’t care how much of a bully his father was. A perfect match.

“It wasn’t always easy for them. They had no friends in common, for one thing. I experienced enough heartache with friends turning on me for things outside my control to know how that feels.”

Her voice was so soothing that he found himself relaxing. It seemed like it had been a long time since he’d had someone talking to him who wasn’t worked up about something he’d done. She didn’t seem to be paying any attention to him, so he didn’t have to fake anything. And she’d reminded him that Ron and Hermione didn’t hate him. That was something.

“The family side of things was a struggle as well. Ordinarily, of course, he would have been blood adopted; my father had no male heir, so one would have expected him to be thrilled to finally have a son of our family. But… Well.” She sighed. “It was poorly handled.”

Harry rubbed at his forehead, which had begun to ache at some point in his bout of crying. When he lowered his hands, there was a glass of water on the small table beside him. His fingers trembled as he reached for it.

“When she joined his family instead, my parents thought I was furious for the same reason they were. They never realized how jealous I was that she had the option to get out.”

That startled Harry enough that he turned to face her directly, heedless of the way his face looked. There was a bitterness in her face as she briefly met his eyes before turning back to the fire.

“The Black family madness is a byword for a reason, Harry. Andromeda had a chance to no longer be a daughter of the Blacks, and she took it. It was a long time before I could escape.”

“But - do people really forget? That you’re a Black?” The words tumbled out without him intending to speak. He swiped at his eyes with the handkerchief again so that he didn’t have to look at her.

“It took some time for people to realize that I didn’t carry the madness,” she said calmly. “But yes. Over time the remarks, and the sidelong looks, dwindled away. It helped immensely to leave school, of course. I have wonderful memories of Hogwarts, but only after enough years to dim the recollection of the worst parts.”

“So after graduation, people didn’t really care anymore?”

She turned to face him fully, putting a hand on his again. “Things that seem important when you’re stuck living with the same people for seven years take on a very different appearance when you are free to choose for yourself. They had other things to think about, and so did I. I created a life I wanted, one that made me happy, and perhaps seeing what made me happy convinced them that I was not like my family.” She shrugged. “I have a life I love. The fact that I cannot even remember the last time I was insulted for my parentage and upbringing is pleasant, of course, but there is so much more to my life now.”

Her words reminded him of Snape’s. He’d said something about Harry finding something that made him happy, hadn’t he, when he’d given Harry that list of ideas of how to become a duellist? It was so strange to think of himself after Hogwarts, doing something that made him happy. Was it even possible?

“Do you think I could tutor kids in defense?” he blurted out.

“Of course.” She sounded surprised that he’d even asked. “You are very talented, Harry, and if you enjoy teaching others-”

He nodded without looking up.

“-Then you would make an excellent tutor.” She squeezed his hand and released it. “If that is your plan, we had best not skip our practice entirely.”

He got to his feet eagerly. Practice meant that he didn’t have to think for a while. He would have to think about what she’d said sometime, of course, but clearing his mind first would be wonderful. The dance always helped.

Chapter Text

Harry had blessed the luck that allowed him to make it back to his room without seeing anyone the night before. He’d had a shower and gone directly to bed in an attempt to sleep off his headache, so he hadn’t even had to see his mates. It had been a relief; more people were the last thing he needed right then.

But when he saw Ron and Hermione anxiously waiting for him outside the Great Hall at breakfast time, he knew he’d pay the price for his quiet evening.

Even with extra sleep, he’d woken up feeling down. The headache was gone, but it felt like it might reappear at any moment; he didn’t even want to think too hard for fear of starting it up again. And all the thoughts he had were pointless, anyway. The entire school had judged him before even meeting him. He was nothing but a burden on those who did stick around him, whether by choice like Ron and Hermione or by fiat like Draco and Snape. He knew he should do something about that - be a better friend, show people that he wasn’t like his father - but didn’t anyone see how overwhelming it was? He was starting so far behind, under such a handicap; how could he ever get anywhere? He was doomed to always be trying harder and looking like he was just being lazy.

And now he had to have a conversation he really didn’t want to have. He didn’t have the energy to try to be reassuring right now. The best he could hope for was to stay calm and quiet and let them reassure themselves.

His tentative greeting did not alleviate the worry on their faces. “Come on,” Ron said, turning him away from the Great Hall. “We’ve got food. We’re going to go eat somewhere quiet.”

Harry’s heart sank, but he followed obediently. I can do this, he chanted over and over in his head. It was one conversation. They had to get to class on time, so it couldn’t last long. I can do this.

Hermione warded the empty classroom while Ron set out the food. He must have gotten it from the House Elves, because it was significantly better than what was normally available in the Great Hall, but it was totally unappealing to Harry. He took a piece of toast and forced himself to nibble it to keep from looking strange.

“Butter?” Ron offered, holding it out.

The thought almost made him gag. “No, thanks.”

Hermione joined them, pulling a piece of parchment from her bag. To his horror, Harry saw that it was a list.

“All right,” she said briskly, serving herself with one hand and holding her list in the other. “First of all, Harry-”

“Were you all right last night?” Ron cut in abruptly. He grimaced at the look Hermione shot him. “I know, I’m hovering again, but bloody hell, you yell all that at us and then you disappear and you expect us not to worry?”

Harry looked down. “Sorry. Yeah, I was fine. I had a headache, so I went to bed early. I should’ve let you know.” He swallowed with difficulty. “And I’m sorry about what I said yesterday. I didn’t mean-”

“Hey.” Ron bumped his arm. “You did mean it, and we’re glad you said it. We asked because we wanted to know, mate. You don’t have to act like you insulted us or something.”

Harry didn’t look up, but he nodded.

“Anyway,” Hermione said after a beat of silence. “First, we wanted to tell you that we think it’s great that you’re seeing a counsellor.”

She sounded much more tentative than she usually did with a list in front of her. Harry couldn’t help smiling wryly. “I’m crazy enough to need one, huh?”

“No! It’s just that, when something terrible happens to people, they need extra help to… to get over it. Everyone knows that.” She looked at Ron for help.

He shrugged. “Yeah, only we don’t know what terrible thing happened, so we’re a little in the dark still.”

The unspoken question hung in the air. What was so terrible that he’d tried to kill himself? What had happened that Madam Pomfrey had thought those awful counsellors Narcissa had described were his best hope? He hadn’t been through a war or anything..

He shrugged. “Maybe I’m just crazy.”

“Then you’d be locked up in the Janus Thackery Ward, not meeting with a counsellor occasionally,” Ron said positively.

“If you don’t want to tell us, that’s fine,” Hermione said, but it was obvious that she didn’t mean it.

He couldn’t possibly tell them the truth, so he picked out something small that he was allowed to talk about. “The Dursleys tried to kill me over the Christmas holidays.” Maybe that would shut them up. They knew about the Dursleys - about the bars on his windows and them starving him, anyway. It shouldn’t surprise them that he’d driven them to actually trying to kill him.

By their shocked looks, though, it did.

“How?” Hermione asked. Her voice sounded tight. “Were they starving you again?”

He had to laugh, though it came out sounding bitter. “Yeah.”

“And?” Ron knew he wasn’t telling them everything, unfortunately.

“And trying to beat me to death on the daily.” He shrugged. “They don’t seem to realize just how much more resilient wizarding bodies are. They sure tried, though.”

It felt good, somehow, to see the shock on their faces. At least there were two people who knew him and still didn’t just think he deserved to be treated that way. It was normal to him, but it was kind of nice to see that other people thought it was something worth getting upset over.

Then Hermione shattered it.

“And then you got back to Hogwarts and your mates did the same thing,” she said evenly, barely a hint of a question in her voice.

Harry couldn’t stop himself from goggling at her. “What- How-”

Hermione looked away suddenly, wiping her eyes. Ron was staring at him with an expression that probably matched the one Harry was wearing.

“But they have a soul bond,” he said plaintively.

“I told you, there’s something wrong with it,” Hermione said. She was looking up, but her eyes were still wet. “You-Know-Who did something. Or the Horcrux, maybe. Having an extra bit of soul in there might have messed up the soul bond somehow. Either way, it’s not - not really a soul bond. And they’re…”

Harry hardly noticed how she fumbled for words and finally trailed off. He was too preoccupied with what she’d said at first. How on earth had she figured that out? He’d been so sure no one had noticed. He’d wanted someone, anyone, to notice and say something. Had she known all along?

“But Professor Snape fixed it, right?” His attention jerked back to Hermione. “He’s helping, and you said it was better. Is it enough?”

It was too many shocks in a row. He couldn’t even think anymore. “What? What are you- How...”

“I started wondering the first time you were in the Hospital Wing, so I paid attention.” There were tears on her face. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize sooner.”

“She’s not mental?” Ron asked. “They really were… and Snape...”

Harry felt trapped. They weren’t supposed to know any of that. How did Hermione always do this? He should have known better than to give her any information. Losing control and yelling at her, of all people, had been so stupid.

“Professor Snape and I have been talking about soul magic, you know that,” Hermione told Ron impatiently. “He said some things that helped me figure it out. And he said - well, implied - that he’s helping Harry with it. But, Harry, is it enough?”

What was he supposed to say to that? They had gotten close to the truth, and yet they had no idea what was really going on. And the thought of them figuring it out… He hadn’t thought, before, what their reaction was going to be at finding out his mates were actually Malfoy and Snape. He didn’t want to think about it.

“Yeah, he’s helping,” he said finally. “It’s fine now, like I said.”

Hermione studied him for a long moment before looking down at her list and deliberately checking off a couple of things. “Okay. Let’s see. You said you were frustrated because we’re acting like you might try to kill yourself again.”

Ron leaned forward. “The thing is, we have no reason to think you won’t.”

Harry tried to think of something to say to that. “I’m not stupid, all right?” was all he could come up with. “Things are better now. You know that. So why would I do something like that?”

“You haven’t been acting like things are better.”

“I don’t know why I listened when you said hearing about your father would help.” Hermione’s voice was almost a wail. “I should have known they’d make things worse. And you’ve been so upset ever since. Is it any wonder that we’re worried?”

Harry rubbed his forehead, trying to think of some way out of this.

“Did you talk to your counsellor about it?” Hermione asked. “Did he have any advice?”

“Um… Yeah.” This was probably the best explanation he could give. “Uh, he said that people would forget about who my dad was once we’re out of Hogwarts and have our own lives. And if I don’t act like him when I’m out of school and making my own choices, they’ll stop thinking of me like him.”

It sounded less convincing now than it had when Narcissa said it. After all, people had remembered his father enough to warn their kids about him, so many years later, even after he was dead.

But Hermione was nodding. “That makes sense,” she said. “When I was…” she glanced at Ron, “Unhappy here, first year, I told my parents, and they told me some stories of their time at school. Stories I’d never heard before, and when I asked them, they said they hadn’t thought about them in years. That it didn’t seem important anymore, until I reminded them about it, and even then, they didn’t care anymore.”

“Oh,” Harry said. Now that he thought about it, people probably weren’t just sitting around hating his father all the time. It was probably like how he didn’t think about the Dursleys when he was at Hogwarts. So maybe Narcissa and Hermione were right, and people would stop treating him like his father eventually.

Unless I act like him, he couldn’t help thinking. If I am like him, they’ll hate me for my own sake, not just his.

“Right.” Hermione looked back at her list. “So we’ve talked about your father, and your mates, and…”

“Honestly, Hermione.” Ron moved forward, almost between Harry and Hermione. “You said nobody cares about you, nobody could care about you, because of your father and the Horcrux and everything. But we do, you know. We always have. That’s what we wanted to tell you.”

Harry closed his eyes. He was not going to start crying again. Once a day was enough.

But even though most of him knew it was foolish to take something like that at face value, there was something in him that believed it, and wanted it so badly. His chest felt tight and hot, and he had to force the words out of a throat that felt swollen nearly shut. “You didn’t know - what I was. Back then. You were just kids.”

“And without knowing all that stuff, we liked you and wanted to be your friends,” Ron said. “Because of who you were. You stood up to Malfoy for me, even though logically you should’ve chosen him.”

“And you stood up to Ron for me, even though he was your best friend,” Hermione added.

“And so we started hanging out, and we liked you. Because of who you are. Because Harry is a fun person to be around and a good friend. No matter who your father was - neither of us knew about that, and we didn’t see you acting like him at all. And you didn’t act evil, either, even if you do have a Horcrux stuck in you. We couldn’t tell.”

He was not going to cry again. He told himself firmly that they’d been kids, they hadn’t known anything back then. They still didn’t know how bad he was, how much of a mess he was inside. They’d gotten a hint of it, lately, but they didn’t know.

But if he could hold on, if he could pull himself out of this and be a decent friend… They might wait for him. They might give him some time to get himself together and fix this, and then still be his friend.

It was more hope than he’d had in a while.

“Yeah,” he managed to force out through his burning throat. He shook his head at the inadequacy of that, but he couldn’t say anything else. “Yeah.” It took an effort to force himself to say the next thing, but he had to. “Thanks.”

He kept his eyes closed, but he could feel them staring at him. It was quiet for a long time, as he fought desperately with emotions he didn’t want to name or make sense of, not right then.

Finally Hermione said, “We’ll try to hover less, okay?” He could hear her take a shaky breath. “We’re just scared.”

He couldn’t look at them, but he had to answer. “You don’t have to be. I swear. Like I said, I’m not stupid, and that would be a stupid thing to do. I know it. Even if…” His voice broke. “...It’s really hard right now.”

He should not have said that. He clenched his hand into a fist, trying to pull himself together.

“Can we make it easier somehow?”

He shook his head helplessly. “I don’t know.”

There was a long silence. Were they done? Could he get out of there?

“Right now, I just have a headache,” he said tentatively.

“Right!” Hermione jumped on that. “You should go lie down. Maybe take a hot bath. Do you want me to ask Madam Pomfrey for a potion for you?”

He shook his head quickly. “No, I think I’m just tired. I didn’t sleep well last night. But if I’m quiet for a bit, I think it’ll be fine.”

“Okay.” Hermione shoved her parchment into her bag and started dismantling her spells. Ron put a hand on his shoulder as they both stood.

“I-”

Harry waited, but Ron just trailed off. Finally Hermione opened the door, and Harry walked out, Ron’s hand falling away from his shoulder as he did.

Chapter Text

Severus watched Harry from the shadows with narrowed eyes. Harry didn’t even glance his way; from what Severus could tell, using both observation and empathy, he had no idea Severus was there. That was all to the good. After a nearly hysterical Weasley and Granger had ambushed him and demanded that he find out what was happening to their friend, he’d been rather on edge himself. Finding Harry showering in their room had been a relief, and even if he seemed to be heading to bed before the dinner bell rang, his emotions were far less frightening than they had been the night before.

He made sure Harry took the sleeping potion he’d placed beside his bed and waited until his emotions quieted. Then he headed for his office. He needed more information.

He was ready to fidget with impatience when Narcissa finally answered his Floo call. She immediately went on the offensive. “Severus, darling, why haven’t you done anything yet?”

“I made sure he stayed alive for the past twenty-four hours,” he snapped back. “What have you done?”

“I am not his mate,” she said sharply. “And yet I seem to be the only one he feels comfortable with. This is not sustainable, Severus.”

“Did you find anything out?”

“Hints. You?”

He didn’t care about her power plays right now. “Miss Granger says that the catalyst was frustration about being hovered over and interrogated. He seems to believe that he is destined to be miserable, and possibly evil, due to his father’s character and the Dark Lord’s influence.”

Narcissa frowned slightly. “I had assumed, when he said it was about his family, that rumors of what happened to him in the home of those sacs à merde had started around the school.”

Severus sighed. “Worse than that, I’m afraid. He cooked up a plan to have Miss Granger research exactly what his father was like when he was at Hogwarts.”

Narcissa’s eyes narrowed. “And she was fool enough to go along with it?” She didn’t bother to ask whether she’d gotten any results; Narcissa had been helping Granger set up interviews and had gotten a sense of how ferociously the girl would pursue information.

“Unfortunately, her feelings of friendship tend to drive her to act in unwise ways alongside her friends instead of reining them back to safe paths,” Severus said dryly. It would have made his life so much easier over the years if Harry had listened to Granger instead of the other way around.

Narcissa drummed her perfectly manicured nails. “What set this off?”

He was not going to tell her that. “A desire to know more about his family It appears that he was displeased with what he learned.”

“James Potter may have been a salopard, but he was venerated as a hero. Surely what he learned wasn’t that bad?”

Severus shrugged. “I haven’t had time to read Granger’s research. I can send you a copy, if you like.”

“Yes. We need all the information we can get.” She sighed. “Draco?”

“Out of the picture at the moment. He threatened to make things so much worse yesterday that I evicted him. He’s avoiding me now.”

“Of course,” Narcissa murmured. “I’ll speak with him. For now, you’ll have to deal with the situation.”

“Me.” His voice was perfectly flat. Surely she, of all people, would recognize the absurdity of what she was asking. “Convince James Potter’s son that despite who his father is, people still care about him and want him to stay alive.”

“Who better? You are his mate, after all.”

“A fact which he apparently takes as evidence that he is destined for a life of misery.”

She rubbed her forehead. “You are going to have to deal with that yourself, Severus. And quickly. We need him. You are going to need his goodwill when our plans come to fruition, and I know things are speeding up on your end. If he doesn’t find life with you preferable to life with a mate in Azkaban, you are lost. And I will not have you dragging my son down with you. Fix this.”

She ended the Floo call abruptly, leaving Severus kneeling on the hearth in perfect stillness for a long moment.

Finally he stood and headed for the tea kettle. For once he was grateful that Narcissa had cleaned out his private potions store; he would have been very tempted right now to use them. And what good would that do anyone?

He put the kettle on the fire, needing the physical rituals of making tea to ground him. Keeping Harry alive was his job. Narcissa could couch it in terms of self-interest all she liked; it probably was a matter of securing her family to her, but not to him. Making certain that Harry survived was the only reason he had lived, the one act of atonement available to him for the evil of his existence. One couldn’t give up a responsibility that ran that deeply.

Of course, he had done his best to, hadn’t he? He’d tried to shuffle the whole thing off on Draco, and see how that had worked.

For the millionth time, he cursed himself for indulging his hatred of Potter. Oh, he could never have been kind to Harry - they were certain enough that the Dark Lord was coming back by then that he couldn’t have risked his cover - but he hadn’t needed to attack him at every turn.

Draco’s gift tried to drag him into memories of sitting against the door after Gryffindor potions lessons that first year with Harry, fighting to keep breathing, or of the terror that had jolted through his body when he caught a glimpse of him in the halls, the almost overpowering urge to shield or run or attack. What other way did you know to deal with that? Anger and hatred were the only defenses you had against being overwhelmed.

He shook the thought off, taking the whistling kettle off the fire to keep himself focused on the real problem. He had chosen to hate James Potter’s son, another terrible choice in a long line that encompassed his entire life. He’d chosen to hate Harry, and to manipulate Harry into hating him.

After all, after what he’d done, he deserved Harry’s hatred.

He left the tea to steep - or stew, as Narcissa would put it - and summoned one of his charmed blackboards to organize his thoughts.

1: Harry hates me and is convinced that I hate him.

2: I stupidly left a Pensieve unguarded and Harry saw what James Potter was like.

3: Harry decides to find out more about his father’s behavior in school. Granger idiotically hands him evidence of…

Of what, precisely?

He sat at his desk, ignoring the tea, and pulled the papers she’d handed him out of the locked drawer that held his Horcrux research. He flipped through them rapidly, then slammed the sheaf down on the table.

Trying to stop himself from grinding his teeth, he poured a mug of tea and added two heaping spoonfuls of sugar with hands that shook. He gulped down half of it, not even wincing at the way it scalded his tongue. Thumping the mug down, he glared at the papers again.

So. Granger had handed him, not only evidence that James Potter had treated others as he’d treated Severus - from the memories in the Pensieve, he doubted Harry could tell the difference between Potter’s ceaseless vendetta against himself and the casual cruelty he handed out to those who got in his way - but also letters from those classmates warning their offspring that Harry was bound to turn out just like his father and that they should stay away from him. And he’d been starting to think the girl intelligent. Had she no sense at all?

It didn’t matter now. He erased the last line from the board and started again.

3: Harry now believes that everyone hates him like I did.

4: Harry feels…

Faex, he’d lost track of exactly what Granger had said about their fight. He found the other piece of parchment and read it, then read it again, then swore aloud.

He took another long drink of tea, trying to calm himself down. Remembering Narcissa’s request, he copied all of the papers Granger had given him and sent them off via the warded system they’d worked out for their research. By the time he’d finished that, his hands had mostly stopped trembling, and he felt like he could think in words again.

Back to the blackboard.

4: Harry feels:

4a: There’s no point in talking to anyone about what he is going through
4b: He hates his life because he is
4bi: a Horcux
4bii: the son of James Potter
4c: There is something innately wrong with him
4d: His current soulbond is with people who hate him
4di: Therefore, Magic wants him to be with people who hate him
4dii: And therefore, he deserves to be hated.

5: MOTHERFUCKING SHIT

He stared at the blackboard. For a moment, he wanted to show it to Narcissa, to prove to her that there was absolutely nothing he could do in this situation and she had better handle it.

As if telling her that would make any difference.

As if anything he did could make any difference.

Grabbing the mug from his desk, he hurled it against the far wall of his office. It struck right next to the door, shattering with a satisfying crash. He stared at the tea dripping down the wall and tried to get his breathing under control.

Harry was not going to kill himself. That was an absolute. He scrawled it up the side of the blackboard: HARRY WILL NOT DIE. He snapped the chalk in two and hurled that, too. Then he stepped back to look over the board again.

After some thought, he summoned another piece of chalk and marked 4bi: the Horcrux. That, at least, was easy to deal with. He should have been informing Harry of their progress anyway. It was only his cowardice that had kept him from starting any conversations he was not forced to.

Still, that wasn’t going to do much good. He stared at the board some more. Finally he bracketed 4d and its subpoints. Their soul bond. That was really what the argument hung on.

And, of course, that brought him back to #1: Harry hates me and believes that I hate him.

Because Severus had been idiot enough to believe it didn’t matter how Harry felt about him. He’d thought he could use Harry’s hatred as a tool against the Dark Lord.

Self-justification, the soulmate gifts whispered. You’re lying to yourself.

Oh, not lying, but ignoring the real issue. He’d never let himself think about it, but he’d known all along that his reasons, even the good and plausible ones, were merely window-dressing.

Harry’s hatred was the only thing that made his role bearable.

If Harry knew what he’d done, he would probably have done his best to kill him. Severus had had to prevent that, at least until there were no homicidal maniacs out for Harry’s blood. So even though Harry couldn’t know the truth, he’d made sure he hated Severus.

It wasn’t hard, when every time he looked into Harry’s eyes, he was reminded that it was his fault that Lily wasn’t here raising her son. That Harry had only him as a protector, when he should have had her.

It was Voldemort’s fault, Draco’s gift tried to point out. You didn’t think the scrap of prophecy you hear referred to a not-yet-born child. That was his stupid conclusion. And when you realized what the delusional bastard thought, you offered your life to prevent it.

And I failed, he thought in return, and cut off the instant response, Dumbledore failed. He didn’t have time for that mental argument. The point was that however much he needed Harry’s hatred, that didn’t matter. Harry needed to believe that Severus didn’t hate him. That was far more important than Severus’ guilt.

But how to do it? On the one hand, it seemed impossible that Harry could overlook five years of torment.

On the other hand, Severus had successfully convinced the Dark Lord that fourteen years of serving Dumbledore - and being involved in foiling several of Voldemort’s plots - had merely been a cover for his desire for the Dark Lord’s return. He had convinced Dumbledore that he was still his man even when Dumbledore intended to kill his mate. He could convince Harry that he was on his side.

Harry wasn’t likely to attempt to either torture the truth out of him or emotionally manipulate him into submission, so this would require different tactics, but surely he could come up with something. Even if he was forced to resort to honesty, at least about his surface motives, and hope that Harry’s empathy would vouch for him.

His Floo chimed. The blackboard disappeared instantly, and he turned, drawing composure over him like a cloak as his Occlumency snapped into place. By the time he made it to the fireplace and unwarded the Floo, he was perfectly calm.

By the look on Narcissa’s face, he needn’t have bothered.

“What is wrong with that girl?” she spat in French, glaring at him as if he were responsible.

He shrugged. “Students,” he said in a long-suffering tone. “I made tea; would you care for a mug?”

She swore at him in Greek. That was almost as bad a sign as the English obscenities scrawled across his blackboard. Both of them tended to avoid the curses they’d learned in childhood, and for much the same reason.

With a sigh, he lifted the rest of the wards. “I daren’t be out of touch, in case something else goes wrong. Come through.”

He walked away to transfigure a decent place for her to sit, only turning back when she walked up beside him. Her appearance was perfect, if you didn’t know her well enough to spot the wild look in her eyes.

“What in Salazar’s name did she think she was doing?”

He poured her a mug of tea, adding sugar and milk till it was caramel colored, and handed it to her. She took it with grace, which meant she was too distracted to even notice what he was doing. Not good.

“It seems that she recognized just how fragile his mental state was, and he managed to convince her that it was due to his lack of knowledge of his antecedents and that more information would stabilize him. It is an argument that would appeal to her.”

“What was he thinking, then?”

Despite the danger they were in, he let go of some of his tension. This was Narcissa, after all. He could almost be himself with her.

His tone was snide as he replied, “I thought you were keeping tabs on his state of mind.”

“I see him once a week for an hour’s dueling practice!”

“Then you doubtless have more conversations with him than I do,” he said coolly.

She had not regained her composure; he saw her eyes widen, and she clearly spoke without thinking. “You are his mate.”

The problem with being around Narcissa was that occasionally she could send him back to being an uncivilized teen she was trying to acquaint with wizarding culture. He was not going to sound sullen. She was the one in the wrong here.

“He spent half a year being abused by people he thought were his mates, and then he found himself with me - the person who has hated him for his entire school career. What part of this would incline him to spend any more time in my presence than absolutely necessary?”

“He hasn’t figured out by now-”

“He’s a Gryffindor,” he interrupted. “He doesn’t spend his time figuring out my plans. He either screams defiance or stays away.”

Her weight shifted; she was focused now. “And you’ve encouraged him in that.”

He didn’t want to discuss that, so of course she pressed harder. “Have you ever even tried to have a conversation with him?”

“I tried.” He sounded sullen. He tried to steady himself.

“And?”

“The most spectacular failure was probably the time he thought I was someone else on Polyjuice.”

That at least piqued her interest. “Who?”

“Given his reaction, I would assume the Dark Lord.”

She actually laughed. “Severus, if your attempts to be kind make someone confuse you with Him, you have a serious problem.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” he grumbled, but his own lips twitched. Then he sobered. “He avoids Draco and me as much as possible. We seemed to be making some progress on convincing him that we would not hurt him, but I’m no longer certain of that. It looks like he’s been putting a lot of effort into convincing his friends that there is nothing wrong, at least until today. You say he has talked to you; that makes you unique, as far as I know.”

She sighed. “‘Talked’ may be an overstatement. He is less guarded with me than he seems to be with you, so I have picked things up from his reactions, more than from anything he actually says. You do realize that he has never had his basic needs met? When I bought him some new clothes, he nearly cried.”

Severus closed his eyes for a breath, letting that idea sink into the collection of knowledge he had about his new mate. “I had not thought of it in so many words, but yes. I can work with that.”

“He responds strongly to praise and encouragement.”

“If I try that, he is certain to think I am an imposter.”

“And he has an unusually strong negative response to criticism.” She gave him a sharp look.

“I have done my best to restrain my tongue,” he told her. At her raised eyebrow, he lifted his hands. “No, truly! I may have slipped when he cooked up his asinine plot with Granger, but other than that-”

“You knew?” She looked ready to tear his throat out.

“No!” He sighed. “He staged a fight with Granger as an excuse for her to ask people if he was acting like his father. I witnessed the fight and overreacted.”

She remained tactfully silent for once. Unfortunately, that gave him a chance to remember that Harry had mentioned the reason for their playacting. His immediate summons by the Dark Lord had driven it out of his mind.

He had had a chance to nip this thing in the bud, and he had failed. The thought made his arm itch almost unbearably, and he clenched his jaw as hard as he could in an attempt to control it.

“Darling?”

He’d forgotten how well Narcissa knew his tells. He thought a string of curses as he composed himself.

“I should have handled the situation better. I may have been able to prevent at least some of this.”

One of the best things about Narcissa was her ability to leave the past in the past. “And how do you intend to handle the situation now?”

He sighed. “What else can you tell me?”

“He appreciated not being asked questions; from what you’ve said, I assume his friends have been harrying him. He reacted when I spoke about having a poor relationship with one’s parents, as I told you.” She hummed in thought. “He appears to be quite taken with the idea of becoming a defense instructor.

He couldn’t prevent his look of surprise. Of course she noticed, and raised an eyebrow at him inquiringly.

“It was one of the conversations we had that did not end horribly,” he admitted carefully. “I hadn’t realized that he’d taken it to heart, though.”

“Well. He certainly has. It’s something to build on, at least.” She sighed and finally took a drink of the tea. The face she made told him that she had, indeed, relaxed. “Why do you drink this pig swill, Severus?”

“I’m trying to poison you, of course,” he said blandly, and was rewarded with a laugh.

“Because of course a potioneer would use pig swill to poison someone.”

“Ah, that’s the genius of it,” he told her seriously. “If I used something that tasted perfect, you would of course suspect me. By putting the poison in something that tastes foul, I convince you that no intelligent person would be so incompetent, and so you drink it.”

For a moment, it felt like those long-ago days in Slytherin House, when they’d been working on his posture and speech and manners for long enough that both of them were ready for a break. He hadn’t realized how much he’d forgotten those moments - or how much he’d enjoyed them. He hadn’t thought, when Lucius offered him lessons in return for potions, that he would end up liking either of them.

It wasn’t a perfect parallel, but it was worth considering. He steepled his hands, and Narcissa fell silent, waiting.

He finally spoke without opening his eyes. “Lucius and I did not get off to the best of starts.”

“Mmm,” she replied noncommittally.

“So when he asked you to help me, I was-” he chose his words carefully, “Unappreciative.”

That made her grin wickedly.

“And yet…” He let that trail off, unwilling to say it outright. “And it occurs to me that Harry is most comfortable during duelling lessons.”

Narcissa considered it for a moment. “You may have a point. Occlumency?”

He grimaced. “Hardly the ideal field.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Both of us knocked you around a fair amount before we got you whipped into shape.”

“Physically,” he argued. “Mental attacks are entirely different.”

“But mentally, and especially with empathy, you will be sharing a lot,” she pointed out. “You can use that.”

“Yes.” Between that and the work on Horcruxes, he could spend a lot of time working with Harry. And as long as he kept his own reactions under control, they might be able to build up a working relationship like the one he had with Granger.

Mutual respect. It wasn’t much, but it would be better than what they had now. Maybe it would be enough for Harry.

Chapter Text

Draco hadn’t realized that his Aunt Andromeda would be quite so imposing in person.

He hadn’t intended to contact her when he stormed out of the room into the first public Floo he’d thought of; he’d assumed he’d be going to one of his family’s properties. As soon as he had a chance to think, though, he’d realized that he couldn’t do that. The servants would tell his parents immediately. As for visiting a friend, the gossip that would cause would be even worse than having his parents find out.

At least Andromeda knew he and his mate had been having trouble. And she was family. He had expected her to let him spend the night without much fuss. He had not expected her to step through the fireplace and haul him into a private room that she warded like she thought he was leading an attacking swarm of Death Eaters bent on destroying her Muggle mate.

Oh. Maybe she did think something like that.

He had to do something to tell her that this wasn’t some elaborate plot. He just wanted a night’s hospitality.

As Aunt Andromeda finished her spells, he tried to think of something that might convince her. There was something about hospitality - something he’d had to learn as a child. He’d never liked history much, but the Black family history had been full of bloodfeuds and murders and other exciting things. He was pretty sure he’d learned how to ask for help or shelter if needed.

She turned to face him. “And why are you seeking access to my home on no notice and with no reason?”

He stiffened. He’d told her the reason. Ignoring it like that said that she thought he was obviously lying and she didn’t even need to pretend to believe him. He tried to think how his mother would react. She wouldn’t let anyone get away with doubting her word.

“I am your kinsman,” he said in his best imitation of his mother. The phrase brought the traditions he had been groping for back to his mind. “I come requesting xenia and you treat me as the enemy at your gates? More is expected of the House of Black.”

“Ah, but you are not entirely of the House of Black,” Andromeda said softly, apparently undeterred by his own barbs. “And a Malfoy may well be an enemy, in these days.”

She was not going to insult his father to his face. He wanted to yell at her to shut up, that she didn’t know anything about his father, but he forced himself not to. His mother wouldn’t do that. His mother would be calm and wait until later for revenge.

Hating every move, he shook back his sleeve and displayed his unMarked forearm. “I come to you in no one’s name but my own.” That sounded good. “I asked for nothing more than a night’s hospitality. Are you too afraid to give me that?”

Her stare was hard and uncompromising. “Beware the fate of Ixion, nephew.”

It took him a minute to remember that myth. When he did, he barely choked back a laugh. It was far-fetched enough to think that he would be like Ixion and use the laws of hospitality to trick her into a position where he could kill her. The other half of the Ixion story - where he tried to ravish Hera after accepting Zeus’ hospitality - was just absurd.

Her face softened slightly. “Very well, then. You have been warned. If you choose to continue on this course, you may follow me.”

The walk back to the Floo was silent. The energy that had filled him as he tried to match her with words died away, and he started to feel uncomfortable again. He hadn’t thought about what he was getting into by engaging his aunt in full formal Black mode. He’d managed to keep up for one short conversation, but he wasn’t sure he could continue.

She murmured spells or passwords to the flames and then gestured him into the fireplace. The Floo deposited him on the kitchen hearthstones he’d seen before. He was standing directly across a table from a seated man with salt-and-pepper hair and an affable expression that didn’t reach his eyes. “You must be Draco. Nice to meet you.”

Before he had to respond, the flames roared behind him and Andromeda stepped out. The man’s face relaxed, and he rose, revealing the wand he’d been holding under the table, trained on Draco. Draco was very glad he hadn’t been coming here with plans to attack them. He was pretty sure he’d have been dead several times over by now.

“All’s well, dear,” Andromeda said, crossing to mate to kiss his cheek.

Draco waited awkwardly until she turned back to him and gestured him to a wooden chair. “Have a seat.”

They all settled around the table, and he leaned back slightly from the intensity of having them both staring at him. This had definitely not been one of his best ideas.

“So, is this the same problem you spoke to me about before?” Andromeda finally asked. “The disagreement over your treatment of Gryffindors?”

He had to think for a moment to remember what she was talking about. Everything else that had been happening had driven that issue out of his mind. “Oh. No, not exactly.”

Her eyes narrowed. “And have you been seeking the keys to that issue, as I requested?”

Suddenly he could see the resemblance to his mother; she looked just like that when she suspected he’d been slacking off in his studies. He had to fight not to squirm.

“There have been other developments since then,” he said with as much confidence as he could muster. “Issues that have taken precedence.”

“Indeed.” It was a pointedly neutral response.

He had spent a few minutes thinking about possible ways to introduce the topic. He wasn’t happy with his conclusion, but it was the best he had. “There’s… another person involved.”

Her expression froze for a moment. “Ah.” Her husband reached over and took her hand in his. “That changes matters.”

He nodded, unsure of what that response meant.

Then she was back to her charming smile. “So this other person - shall we call him Aquila?”

Of course she would use a constellation name. It must have some meaning, but he wasn’t sure what. There were a lot of stories of Zeus’ eagle; which one was she thinking of?

Or maybe it didn’t matter. From what he remembered, most of them involved a god using the eagle to trick or force someone into having sex with them.

A soul bond did not force mates to be exclusively loyal to each other, any more than marriage vows did. And even though he wanted to deny that he was using someone else as a tool against Severus, it was actually a pretty good story.

Then he had a better idea. There was a different legend of the constellation Aquila, one that really fit what was going on. “We could. But Merops might be more appropriate.”

He wasn’t sure what response he’d expected, but she only said, “Merops, then,” as calmly as if she didn’t know what he was talking about. “What is Merops doing that has you in such a state?”

He was not in a state. He was the one making logical decisions here, when everyone else seemed to have run mad.

And, logically, he didn’t have to keep talking about everything through references to myths. He could just say things and stop feeling like he was missing something important. “He’s trying to kill himself.”

Her eyebrows rose briefly. “I see. Who - or what - is the Ethemea of this story?”

At least he remembered who Ethemea was: Merops’ wife, who spurned Artemis and was killed by the goddess, which was why Merops jumped into the sea. “I don’t know. That’s the problem.”

“Have you asked?”

“Severus didn’t give me a chance.” He was not pouting. He was simply annoyed. “He threw me out of the room before I could even speak to him.”

Andromeda and her husband exchanged glances. “And do you know why he did that?”

He scowled. She sounded like a parent chastising a child. He considered reminding her that xenia required treating a guest with respect, but he had no confidence that she would listen. She was his mother’s sister, after all. “He asked what I was going to say to Merops, and when I told him, he told me to get out.” He decided to answer the next question before she asked it, to make himself feel like he had some control over this conversation. “I wanted to tell him that there was no reason to feel that way and that things were better than he thought. I don’t know what Severus was so upset about.”

Andromeda rested her elbows on the table and leaned on her hands, a move his mother would never have made. Her eyes stared off into space for a minute before returning to Draco. “Tell me, nephew. Have you ever spoken to someone who wished to harm themselves before? And helped them?”

“Yes,” he snapped. He’d helped Sev plenty.

“And what did you say then that was so helpful?”

He opened his mouth to answer, then shut it again. He remembered, quite clearly, screaming at Sev that he was a fucking moron. And, before that, punching him in the face. And pushing him until Severus threw him out of the room.

That did not sound like the kind of thing that would convince his aunt that Severus was in the wrong here. But he couldn’t come up with anything better to say. The way she was staring at him made it impossible to sit in silence and think.

“I told him to stop being an idiot, all right? And it worked out just fine.”

She made a noncommittal noise. “He was an idiot for wanting to harm himself?”

“No, he was an idiot for thinking I would be happier without him,” Draco snapped back.

“And does Merops think you would be better off without him?”

The question hit him like a blow. Did Harry think that? He wanted to deny it, but honestly, he didn’t think he could. “Maybe.”

Andromeda’s husband leaned forward, speaking for the first time. “Do you think your life would be better without him?”

“Of course not,” he said automatically, but the man held up a cautioning hand.

“Are you certain? If he asked, could you name five areas in which he makes a significant difference in the quality of your life?”

Draco hesitated. Harry was making a significant difference in the quality of his life, all right, but it wasn’t a positive one. Not right now. “He would be,” he said. It sounded weak. “He will, when he stops being stupid and actually…” Spends time with me. Likes me. Goes back to being my friend. Lets me be more than a friend.

He did not appreciate the look Andromeda and her mate exchanged. Andromeda spoke again. “Perhaps you should let Severus take the lead in this.”

She could not possibly be taking Severus’ side. Harry was his mate, damn it. He wasn’t going to just sit on the side and let him self-destruct. And he was done with people telling him that he couldn’t handle the situation with Harry and he should let older and wiser people be in charge!

He stood up so fast that he knocked the chair over behind him. “If that’s your idea of helping, you can take your advice and shove it up your ass,” he snapped, wanting to shock her with the obscenity.

Instead, she laughed. “Ah, there’s Sundew’s son. I’d been wondering.”

He’d been planning to storm off to the Floo, but the sheer unexpectedness of her response stopped him. “Sundew?”

“Your mother. It was my…” Her smile faltered, then steadied. “It was my pet name for her, when we were children. Because she looks as sweet as the flower she’s named for, and then she bites.” She focused on him again and gave him a more genuine smile than he’d ever seen from her before. “Sit back down, nephew. I’m not trying to tell you to give up on Merops. Just that your methods need a bit of work.”

Grudgingly, he righted his chair and sat again. It wasn’t like he had anywhere else to go.

“So you and Severus are both concerned about Merops. You didn’t say that you didn’t trust Severus to take care of Merops when he sent you away.”

“Well, I don’t!” Draco interjected. It wasn’t exactly true - he did trust Sev - but in this situation, he wasn’t completely confident that Sev would do better than he had. “He hated Merops - I mean, he and Merops have a long history. Normally Merops does better with me.”

Or he had, anyway.

“Normally?” Andromeda asked delicately.

He glared at her. “Look, Severus says that because he’s felt that way and I haven’t, he’s better suited to help Merops right now. I’m not sure he is, because of their history. And I want to fix it!”

“That much is obvious.” The smile she gave him made it affectionate, almost supportive. “But you can’t, you know.”

“And Severus can?”

“No. That’s not the point. You need to stop trying to fix Merops, and just listen. Didn’t your mother teach you anything?”

He was still irritated enough to want to get a reaction out of her. “Hmm, she seems to have neglected the ‘What to do when someone tries to kill himself’ lesson. I can’t imagine why.”

“Not that specifically.” Andromeda did look annoyed now. “In general. You don’t seem to know how to listen to people. When they are comfortable talking to you, they will willingly give you all sorts of keys. And if you use them correctly, they will be grateful to you for making their life better, even as you get exactly what you wanted.”

That was not a view of manipulation that he’d ever had before. He’d always thought of it as making other people do what he wanted. His mother was better at it than almost anyone he knew. Was she really thinking about it the way Andromeda said, about getting other people what they wanted?

“How does giving them what they want get me what I want?” It didn’t make any sense.

Andromeda sighed. “That is the art of it all, nephew. It takes practice, like anything worth doing. Start with the listening. As I said, once you have the keys, I can help you use them. But I can’t do anything if you won’t listen. And stop telling people you know best for them!”

“But you just said I had to know what they wanted and help them get it!”

She rolled her eyes and stood. “If you’re being deliberately obstreperous, there’s nothing I can do. Come on. You can sleep in Nymphadora’s room tonight.”

He wanted to argue more, but he was also tired, and she clearly wasn’t in the mood. So he followed her down the short hallway to his cousin’s room.

He knew that Nymphadora Tonks was an auror, but not much else. If he’d been asked, he would have assumed she was like her mother, and his mother. But one look at her room was enough to assure him that she was nothing like either of them. He wasn’t sure that his eyes would ever recover from the combination of black, hot pink, and a turquoise so bright it practically glowed. The walls were completely papered with posters pasted up in absolute chaos, and the stuff on the shelves was more disturbing than some of his father’s collection of artefacts. What did everything have enormous heads?

Andromeda didn’t bat an eye. “The bathroom’s right across the hall; you’ll find anything you need under the sink. Have a good night.”

Much to his relief, the bathroom was in normal colors. He fumbled his way to bed in the dark, not wanting to damage his eyes any more than he already had. Still, the madness of the room seemed to penetrate the darkness, and he couldn’t manage to sleep. Was Harry all right? What was Severus doing? It wasn’t like he could sit and listen. There was no way Harry would talk to him.

As he lay awake, he heard Aunt Andromeda saying good night, then walking past his room and closing a door. From the direction of the kitchen, he heard the sound of water.

That meant that Andromeda’s mate was alone in the kitchen, right? And Draco had always had questions about why he had chosen to live as a Muggleborn instead of a Black. Now he had a chance to get some answers. Plus, it would get him out of that room, and his own thoughts. How could he pass that up?

He crept down the hall as quietly as he could and peeked into the kitchen. Ted Tonks was reading, occasionally sipping from the mug he held, while a sinkful of dishes washed themselves behind him.

He looked up and met Draco’s eyes. “Hello again, nephew,” he said, still cheerful, still with that wary look behind his eyes. “What do you need?”

Draco took a breath and plunged in. “Why didn’t you join the Black family?”

Ted’s eyebrows rose. “It was presented as a fait accompli. Andromeda was my soulmate, ergo, I would become a Black and live like a good little pureblood.” He grinned, showing his teeth. “People say badgers are pushovers. Don’t believe it, son. We’re stubborn as hell.”

“But why did she agree to join yours?”

The smile mellowed a bit, and the wariness left his eyes. “No one asked her, any more than they asked me. No one but me, that is.” He looked at Draco sharply. “Your aunt talks about keys to problems and all that complicated stuff. I’m just a plain man. I thought she should be happy, so I asked her what she wanted.” He shrugged. “And here we are.”

Draco stared at him in disbelief. “It cannot have been that simple.”

“You’re a Black - or half-Black, anyway. You think everything has to be this complex manipulation. But people are pretty simple, at their core. They want to be safe. They want to have choices. They want to feel loved.” He shrugged again. “You want someone to be happy? Make sure they have all of those, and you’re off to a pretty good start.”

“But what about her family? Her name? Her position? She lost all of those.”

Ted’s gaze sharpened. “Does your mum talk much about her childhood, son?”

“Of course! She told me all the stories, when I was little, about her and her sisters. That’s why I thought of asking Aunt Andromeda for advice.”

“Children’s stories, yeah. Ask her now that you’re an adult, see what she says.” His eyes unfocused again. “Andi didn’t feel like she had safety or choices or love in that home. When I her what she wanted, and then offered it to her, she jumped at the chance to get away.”

Draco felt suddenly defensive. “Yeah, well, I gave Ha- Merops all that. He should be happy, like I said. And still he’s not.”

“Are you sure?” Suddenly, Draco couldn’t meet his eyes. “Cygnus and Druella would have said the same about their daughters - did say that about Andi, in fact. And yet, here we are.”

“So how do you know she really was happy to be with you? Maybe you were controlling her just as much, and you didn’t know it.”

“No.”

Draco spun around in surprise to see his aunt sweep into the room. His face flamed. There was no way he could pretend he’d done anything other than wait until she was gone to interrogate her Muggleborn mate.

Andromeda slid into the seat beside her mate and wrapped an arm around him, leaning her head on his shoulder. “He told me that even if we had a soul bond, it didn’t mean I shouldn’t get a choice. He asked me what I wanted, and he listened to my answers. He courted me, brought me flowers, gave me gifts.” They exchanged smiles. “When everyone else was treating me like a possession, he treated me like I was the one making the choices. And so I chose him.”

Draco didn’t want to watch them anymore. It left him feeling hollow inside.

“This is the kind of advice I came to you for,” he grumbled instead. “Why didn’t you just say that?”

“You weren’t listening,” Andromeda said. “You were thinking so much about how to show me that you were a good little Black that you didn’t actually ask the things you wanted to know. We thought that with Ted, you might stop thinking about yourself long enough to listen.”

Had they seriously set up the whole situation just to get him to ask questions? His face burned even more. He hated having played into her hands so neatly.

Even the fact that they had given him plenty to think about didn’t help the angry embarrassment he felt as he beat a hasty retreat, their laughter echoing behind him.

Chapter Text

Ron and Hermione had promised to make his excuses to the professors and bring him the assignments and notes so that he could sleep off his headache, which gave him a few extra hours. He’d taken Dreamless Sleep two nights in a row and really didn’t need any more rest. And even if his head was pounding, he would gladly ignore it to get some extra duelling practice in.

On the first step, he had to grit his teeth to focus himself on keeping his balance. Bringing his foot down sent a jolt of pain stabbing up from his foot all the way to his head. Narcissa was right, he needed to practice being lighter on his feet.

But at the moment, he didn’t care. Stabbing pain felt right. At least he couldn’t be distracted by thoughts of his father or anything else. Trying to focus on moving through the pain movement brought him was plenty to keep his attention.

He was about halfway through the dance when he heard the doorknob turn behind him. He spun toward it, wand leveled and a curse on the tip of his tongue, before he realized what he was doing. Hurriedly he slid his wand away and moved his feet closer together. The door opened slowly enough that he was standing still by the time he could see Draco behind it.

Draco stepped in and let the door swing closed, then leaned back against it. “Hi, Harry,” he said with a smile that was definitely meant to look more casual than it actually did. Harry realized he was shifting his weight back into the first step of the dance, and firmly told himself to stop it. Just because he could fight now, didn’t mean he could fight Draco.

“Look, could we sit down or something?” Draco said. “We need to talk.”

It took Harry a second to process that. He’d been avoiding Draco for so long that he’d almost forgotten that Draco had insisted that they would talk later about him beating up Gryffindors. He nodded and walked over to the chairs, even though he wasn’t sure what good talking was going to do. Draco obviously wasn’t going to change his mind. If he was hoping to change Harry’s…

Well, he would find out that that wasn’t going to happen.

His heart rate sped up a bit at the thought, but there was a warmth inside him that kept him from spiraling into anxiety. This was right. It was something he had to do. He would get between Draco and the younger kids if he had to. Draco would be angry, but if he could buy the kids time to get out, it was worth it.

Draco was just sitting there, so he started the conversation as cautiously as he could. “What did you want to talk about?”

Draco’s eyes flickered over him assessingly. “Just a conversation. Remember? I’m not threatening you. I’m not going to hit you if you say something I don’t like. In fact-” He drew his wand and leaned over to set it on the edge of the table nearest Snape’s chair. Then he leaned back and stretched his legs out in front of him. “See? Please don’t worry.”

Harry blinked, startled to realize that he hadn’t actually expected Draco to hit him. Draco was certainly going to be mad at him, but he hadn’t assumed that that meant he was in for a beating.

The warmth inside him grew at the thought. Before their fight, Draco had spent a lot of time telling him off for assuming the worst. Having him do it again felt… familiar. Comfortable. He almost liked it.

He nodded at Draco. “Okay. So?”

“What was the big deal about stopping those Gryffindor kids from bullying a Slytherin first year?”

Harry stared at him, but he seemed perfectly serious. “You and your friends attacked a couple of twelve year olds, pinned them down, and were threatening to take them apart.”

He held onto what Draco had said about having a conversation. Draco hadn’t broken his word yet when he’d said he wasn’t going to hurt Harry. And if he did this time - well, Harry was still completely certain that this was what he had to do.

“I wasn’t going to do anything permanent.” Draco sounded huffy. “Probably not even anything that would have sent them to the Hospital Wing. They need to learn not to mess with Slytherins.”

“What could second years possibly do to you?”

“Not me. The pack of them cornered one of our first years and roughed her up, destroyed her library books - she was crying when I found her. What was I supposed to do?”

“Take points?” Harry tried to say it without sounding like he thought Draco was an idiot. He wasn’t sure he succeeded. “You’re a prefect. You could threaten detention with Filch, get a teacher…”

Draco’s face was hard. “A teacher wouldn’t have done anything, not for Slytherins. We’re the enemy, remember? We’re evil and want to destroy the wizarding world. Of course we couldn’t possibly be the victims of bullying. It’s always our fault.”

Harry frowned. What was Draco talking about? He wasn’t making sense. “Snape would’ve done something,” he said. He’d spent enough years being picked on in Snape’s classroom to know that he could make life miserable for anyone he chose, even without taking official notice of what was going on.

“Severus would just give her a lecture on how it’s her fault for going out alone, and tell us all that we need to keep our heads down and take all their bullshit. I’m not putting up with that. There’s only one way to deal with bullies. I’ll do whatever it takes -”

There’s only one way to deal with bullies. The words - the threat - echoed so many of the thoughts he’d been having. Magic knew he would end up a bully like his father. It put him with mates who knew how to deal with bullies: with violence.

Draco didn’t want to hurt him. The warmth that had come with that assurance hadn’t totally left. As long as he kept himself in check, watched himself, kept himself from being like his father, Draco wouldn’t do anything. That should have been comforting. But the thought that Magic had put him there just to keep him in line only drove home the knowledge of what he was, and there wasn’t enough warmth in the world to alleviate the self-loathing that came with that.

Draco suddenly leaned forward and grabbed his hand. “Bloody hell, what did I say?” Harry looked up to see that his eyes were wide and frantic. “I wasn’t talking about you, okay? I was just talking. Tell me what I said wrong, and I won't say it again.”

Harry tried to get a hold of himself, taking a breath and forcing himself to relax. He wasn’t sure why Draco was freaking out, but he needed to calm him down. “It’s nothing. Never mind.”

Draco’s grip tightened on his hand. “No fucking way,” he growled. “I let Sev say that, and he completely fell apart. And that’s what you said about being fucking tortured, wasn’t it? ‘It was no big deal. It didn’t matter.’ No. You tell me what’s going on, right now.”

Harry stared at him, seeing nothing but determination in his face. He was not going to let this drop. And despite the warmth that he got from realizing that Draco was worrying about him, it was almost as annoying as when Ron and Hermione did it. “Really, it wasn’t what you said. It was just something I thought of while you were talking. I’m fine now.”

Draco’s intensity didn’t relax at all. “Tell me what you were thinking, then.” He must have seen that Harry was about to shake his head, because he went on. “You’re trying to kill yourself. You don’t get to fucking tell me it’s none of my business or you don’t want to talk about it. You can’t let me go around saying things that make you want to die and not tell me what I’m doing wrong!”

“I wasn’t thinking about killing myself!” Harry frowned at him. Was he going to start hovering constantly too? If everyone decided that he was about to kill himself every time he turned around, he might end up doing it just to get away from them all. Draco’s constant lectures about trust had been one thing. He couldn’t handle constant lectures about staying alive and not scaring people like that. “I was just…” He couldn’t think of a good way to end the sentence.

“Severus said that was the I’m-going-to-go-kill-myself feeling, and whatever I said made you feel it. So tell me what I did wrong.” His voice turned coaxing. “I swear I’ll fix it. Even if I have to let the Gryffindors attack Slytherins, like you and Sev want me to.” He grimaced.

“No, you won’t,” Harry said automatically. “I don’t want you to - to pretend you…”

His voice choked off as he remembered that that was exactly what his father had done to win his mother. He’d pretend to stop being a bully, at least when she was around. And she’d fallen for it, gone along with him, and married him. Why?

Draco squeezed his hand even harder; the pain brought his attention back to Draco’s face.

“Holy fucking shit, Harry, I have no idea what’s going on. Just talk to me already! Stop doing that.”

He kept being distracted by the fact that Draco was worrying about him. Some part of him almost wanted to just tell him what he was thinking. Then at least Draco would see that there was no need to be so upset.

But he wasn’t telling anyone. He’d promised. And he didn’t want Draco to know about it, anyway. The warmth that came when someone cared about him was making him stupid. “There’s nothing-”

“There damn well is something, and you’re damn well going to tell me,” Draco interrupted. “I mean it. I’m not letting this go.” Now it was his turn to suck in a beath as if hit by an unpleasant memory. “I’ll fix it. I swear. Just talk.”

“It’s fine!” This had to stop. The strange reactions he was having were starting to make him feel frantic. If Draco kept pushing, he was going to end up telling him something he really didn’t want to talk about. “I’m glad you know how to stop bullies, okay? That’s all! It’s what you’re supposed to be doing. It’s why I’m here.”

Draco’s grip on Harry’s hand eased, but he didn’t let go. “Of course I’ll keep you safe from Zabini and Nott - although “bullies” isn’t nearly strong enough to describe them. They are never touching you again; you know that, right? I will destroy them before they can even try.”

Harry tried to make sense of that.

Draco put his free hand up to his head. “Shit, that wasn’t it? Fine. Tell me again. I didn’t get it.”

* * *

Draco took a deep breath, trying to get his head to stop spinning. He supposed it was better for Harry to be confused than thinking about hurting himself, but it did make it really hard to think. He’d been getting better at this whole empathy thing, but it still went haywire around Harry.

Harry’s fingers shifted slightly under his hand. He should let go. But even if he wasn’t getting that awful chest pain anymore, he wasn’t confident enough to let Harry’s wand hand loose. At least not before he understood what he’d said to set him off in the first place.

“You’re making sure I’m safe,” Harry said, his words spilling out. “That’s all I meant. And I’m glad. You don’t have to…”

That was what Draco thought he had said, but when he’d agreed, Harry had acted like he had started a whole different topic. So he needed to ask more questions. If Aunt Andromeda’s advice had a chance in hell of working, he’d find out now. “I’m keeping you safe. From what, exactly? If you’re not talking about those pieces of shit, what are you talking about?”

And now the chest pain was back. Draco tightened his grip on Harry’s hand and opened his mouth to say something, but Harry spoke first.

“It’s good to stop bullies,” he said, and it was like each word was causing him pain. “But why don’t you start with me, instead of a bunch of kids who don’t know any better?”

“You?” Draco stared at him, but that only intensified the pain in his chest and head without giving him any useful information. “You don’t steal stuff from first years to make them cry, or heckle them at the sorting, or…”

Or anything, really. Harry had been a jerk to him, and he’d been a jerk right back, but that was different. And Harry had certainly glared hatred at the whole Slytherin side of the classroom on a regular basis, but Draco had never even seen him interact with a younger student, let alone attack them.

Harry was looking away from him. “My father would have.”

“Your father?”

Now Harry lifted his head, and the bitterness on his face surprised Draco. “Yeah, my father. The self-proclaimed king of Hogwarts, who terrorized anyone who got in his way, to the point that they’re still telling their kids about how bad he was.”

“Huh.” Draco made a mental note to ask his parents about James Potter. He’d never heard anything like that.

“So. If you want to stop bullies, you can stop me. I’ll talk to Ron and Hermione; they’re prefects, they can get the kids to stop picking on Slytherins. Just- just worry about me, okay?”

The pain was making it really hard to think. “Worry about you?”

“Make sure I don’t turn out like him.” The bitterness was back. “Magic knows I will if I’m not stopped. So it stops me. That’s why- well, now it’s your job.”

Things were starting to make sense in a way that Draco really, really didn’t like. “That’s why what?”

Harry shrugged. “I told you, the whole family thing never works out for me. I’m just like my father; everyone knows that. So if I ever did have a family like he did - Magic won’t let that happen. It knows I deserve-” He glanced up at Draco and froze.

He wasn’t sure what his expression looked like, but given the way he felt, it probably was scaring Harry. He couldn’t tell; his empathy had been drowned out by sudden fury.

“You deserve to be fucking tortured?” he snapped, dropping Harry’s hand and shoving himself up to pace around the table. “You deserve to be treated the way they treated you, and Magic stuck you with me so I’d keep it up? Because I’m the kind of fucking bastard who will keep you half-dead with pain so you can’t get into trouble?” He grabbed his wand off the table as he passed. “You think you’re some kind of fucking wild beast that I’m supposed to whip and cage into submission?”

Harry was standing, too, braced as if he thought Draco was going to hit him - which he obviously did, since he thought Draco was that much of a fucking monster. “I know you don’t want to hurt me,” he said, his voice choked. “I - you’ve been really good to me, and I am grateful. Really. But- I didn’t understand, before, and I thought you could just… keep not hurting me. I guess you did, too. But what I am- I don’t want to be that way. And you want to stop bullies. So we both get what we want.”

“You have no fucking idea what I want!” Draco shouted, and then turned away in frustration when Harry flinched back. “You think I’m some kind of sadist, like them.”

“You wanted to hurt those kids for hurting your friend,” Harry said, his voice surprisingly steady. “I’ll make sure they stop doing that kind of thing. Hermione and Ron can do it. And you can make sure I do, and that I don’t start hurting people. You won’t- I know you won’t do what they did. But you know how to stop me, and that’s why Magic put me with you.”

“Magic put us together because it knew we’d be good together,” Draco snapped. “That’s how soulmates work. I’m sorry your Muggle-raised brain can’t follow the concept, but try to keep it straight. Magic finds soulmates who are right for each other.”

Harry closed his eyes. “You and Sna-Severus are right for each other,” he said, and the pain was back in Draco’s chest. “I’m in the way. Magic just stuck me with you because it needed you to deal with me. That’s all.”

He wasn’t supposed to be letting Harry feel like this. He was supposed to be making it better, not worse. Aunt Andromeda’s advice was useless. He had to try something else.

Well, there was always what he’d used on Severus.

He forced himself to walk slowly back to Harry, trying not to look intimidating. If Harry was frightened, the wanting-to-die feeling drowned it out, so he didn’t know if he succeeded.

“I’m not stuck with you, you idiot,” he said quietly. “I’m glad you’re with us. I want you with me.” Very cautiously, he wrapped his arms around Harry in a hug.

He’d hoped it would calm Harry down the way it did Severus. He’d given Harry a few hugs, and it seemed like he had liked it. He hadn’t expected him to freeze. It wasn’t fear - there was no pain in his head - but it wasn’t anything else either. Harry just… stopped.

He pulled back slightly, but didn’t let go all the way. “Harry?”

Harry drew in a quick breath, and Draco could feel him trembling. He couldn’t quite tell what he was feeling.

“I’m not very good,” Harry said quietly. “Blaise and Theo said I’m defective. So… But if you want me, you can. I’ll try to be good for you.”

Draco tried to keep his own voice soft, despite his frustration. “Bloody hell, Harry, that’s not what I meant. I’m not going to beat you or force you into bed with me. I just wanted you to know that I like you. I’m glad you’re here. I want to spend time with you - and not having sex, just talking or playing Quidditch or whatever. I want you to be my friend, okay? We’ll worry about other stuff later.”

Harry’s eyes were closed again, and he took a breath as if he was about to say something. Then he let it out, and Draco felt something stabbing him in the chest again.

He backed off a step. “Just say it,” he told Harry. “Whatever it is. Say it.”

Apparently Harry didn’t want another fight any more than he did. Obviously reluctantly, he said, “I- I don’t usually have friends who are bullies.”

Draco counted to ten, the way his mother had taught him. “I’m not a bully,” he said as calmly as he could. “I’m stopping bullies.”

“They’re just kids,” Harry said. “And you’re hurting them.”

“How else are they supposed to learn?” Draco demanded. “No one else is going to stop them. You want them to end up like your father?”

Harry jerked back, and he caught himself. He couldn’t fight with Harry like he did with Severus. He had to be careful. “Someone has to stop them,” he said as reasonably as he could. “You said that yourself.”

“They’re not- They’re not bad,” Harry said. “I’ll talk to Ron and Hermione. If they stop the bullying, you won’t have to beat anyone up, right?”

Draco had his doubts about the ability of Gryffindors to change years of habits, but he shrugged. “Sure. If they stop, I’ll stop. I promise,” he added, since Harry didn’t look convinced.

Harry nodded. “Okay, then.”

“And we can give being friends a try?” He wasn’t sure this was the way Aunt Andromeda would do it, but at least they seemed to be making progress. Even if it was just progress back to where they were a month ago.

“Yeah.” Harry finally looked directly at him. “I can do that.”

Draco looked at him closely. He wasn’t feeling any pain in his chest anymore. “And you’re not going to try and kill yourself again?”

Harry sighed. “I’m fine, all right? I’ve promised everyone that I’m not going to hurt myself. I’ll promise you, too, if that makes you feel better. Just because you think I look upset doesn’t mean I’m actually going to run off and kill myself.” He met Draco’s eyes again, and Draco wasn’t sure if it was empathy or something else, but he thought he saw a question there: Do you believe me?

He reached for Harry's hand and gave it a quick squeeze. “Okay, then,” he echoed.

Chapter Text

Draco managed the wand motion that turned off his alarm on the third try and rubbed his eyes hard, trying to figure out why he was awake. It was too early. He didn’t have to be down for breakfast for over an hour. What had he been thinking?

Of course, the alarm had broken him out of his dream of being in his cousin’s room, with the figurines trying to dye his hair with black and neon pink streaks to match the decor, so maybe waking up wasn’t all bad.

He’d had a thought about that room. He’d been thinking about it before he went to sleep. Something about his own room was off, and his cousin’s room had made him think of it. Why?

Because of Harry, he remembered abruptly. Because Harry’s things stuck out like a sore thumb. Nothing about their room said that it was Harry’s. Nymphadora’s room screamed her personality. Their room spoke of his and Severus’, but not Harry’s. It was like he didn’t belong there - like if he were gone, they could just vanish his Gryffindor-red furnishings and get the room back to a normal color scheme.

And that reminded him of the reason for the early alarm. He pushed back the covers, grimacing at the cold air, and stood. He wasn’t sure whether Aunt Andromeda would’ve been pleased with his attempt the night before, but he knew he hadn’t taken her mate’s advice. Courting Harry sounded a lot easier than trying to figure out what he really wanted when he refused to tell Draco anything about what he was feeling. Asking what gifts he’d like would be much easier.

He started over to the wardrobe, but Harry came out of the bathroom and stopped dead, staring at him.

“Morning,” Draco said as casually as he could with a yawn splitting his face. “Wait for me a few minutes? We can walk to breakfast together.”

“Uh…” Harry’s eyes darted around the room. “Are we supposed to? I mean-”

“I think it’s fine.” Draco swallowed another yawn. “If we’d met in the hall on the way to breakfast last term, we’d’ve walked together. I doubt anyone will make anything of it.”

Harry didn’t look completely convinced, but he nodded. “Sure.”

“I’ll be out in just a minute,” Draco promised, heading for the bathroom.

He was fairly sure he didn’t actually hear a sarcastic mutter of, “Right,” from behind him - that was something his friends would do, not Harry - but he decided to hurry, nonetheless.

When he stepped out a shockingly short time later, he found Harry standing in the middle of the room, red faced and sweating. He didn’t feel any pain in his chest, but he couldn’t stop his own heartrate from speeding up. “Are you all right?”

Harry ran a hand through his hair. “I’m fine. I was just doing some, er, conditioning exercises. For Quidditch. In case you do want to play again.”

Draco felt himself beaming and tried to tone it down a bit. But it felt so good to have something go right between them! “Yes! We should definitely set up a time to play.”

Harry’s answering smile was small and weak, but Draco counted it as a success anyway.

He waited until they were safely in the hallway with no one having seen them before he spoke again. “Hey, I realized I don’t know what your favorite color is.”

Harry gave him a surprised look. Draco tried to keep his own expression casual.

“Blue,” Harry said after a minute.

Draco waited for clarification. When none came, he asked, “What shade? Navy? Bluebell? Sapphire?”

Harry shrugged awkwardly. “I- I guess I like lots of shades of blue? They’re all nice.”

Draco considered that. It wasn’t much to work with. On the other hand, if he wanted both green and red accents, starting with a broad spectrum might help. He’d have to get the girls to help him. They’d enjoy that, and it was always a good idea to stay on their good side.

“Blue is nice,” he agreed. “I particularly like a really deep blue shading into indigo. I have a…” He stopped himself. That wasn’t the point of this conversation. “Never mind about me. Tell me about yourself. What’s your favorite, um, candy?”

Harry’s gaze was flickering around again, and there was a tiny ache in his head. Maybe he should’ve made this sound more casual. But what was there to freak out about in a few questions about his preferences?

“Chocolate Frogs.”

Draco almost stopped in the middle of the hallway. “Chocolate Frags?”

Both annoyance and worry were pouring off Harry now, and Draco forced himself to calm down. He wasn’t supposed to upset him. “Sure. They were one of my favorites for a while, too.” When he’d been six. Now he couldn’t resist mint truffles, and even though Severus claimed not to like sweets beyond the darkest of dark chocolate, Draco had seen him making inroads on Mother’s stash of salted caramels. He knew the favorites of everyone in his year in Slytherin, and none of them were bloody Chocolate Frogs.

Well, maybe he’d just leave some boxes of mixed chocolates around and see what got eaten. He wasn’t courting his mate with children’s candy.

But as the conversation went on, he started to second guess himself. Whenever he asked a question, Harry’s answer was either a brush-off, claiming not to have a preference, or an obvious lie. If Draco didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought Harry was trying to discourage him from any courtship gifts at all.

But that was ridiculous. They were mates, after all. And even if they hadn’t been, Draco was a Malfoy. The only reason anyone could have had to discourage him was political (which they’d already talked out; they were on Harry’s side, not Voldemort’s) or because they were already in a relationship with someone else.

Harry couldn’t possibly have someone else. It happened sometimes, that new soulmates had to deal with old relationships, but there was no way Harry had someone he still wanted. Did he?

As they parted at the entrance to the Great Hall and headed to their respective tables, he watched Harry surreptitiously. Just in case. Because if he was going to have the relationship he wanted - and he was - he needed to know exactly what he was up against.

* * *

“Hi, Harry.”

Ron and Hermione were both awfully subdued, looking at him and then quickly glancing away. Harry sighed. He supposed he shouldn’t have expected anything else, after the way he’d yelled at them to stop hovering. They obviously hadn’t given up expecting him to pull out his wand and Avada himself on a whim; they were just trying to hide that they were worried.

And they weren’t very good at it.

After working so hard to be polite to Draco, he couldn’t handle it anymore. “My head doesn’t hurt today, I’m just trying not to think about my dad and concentrate on things like classwork, I don’t think we have any reason to be upset with each other, I feel fine, I’m not going to do anything stupid. Anything else you wanted to know?”

Ron looked down at his plate, shoveling a huge forkful of food into his mouth. Hermione winced. “Sorry.”

Crap, he shouldn’t have said that. He was supposed to be acting like a better friend to them. He needed them. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lost my temper like that.”

“I know you don’t want us to hover, but…”

Ron swallowed his food. “Honestly, that was kind of good. You want to give us an update like that every day? Then maybe we won’t bug you so much the rest of the time, trying to guess.”

Would that work? Well, it probably didn’t matter. He should do it anyway. It wasn’t like they were asking much. “Sure.”

Hermione smiled with obvious relief. “Oh, that would help. Maybe - do you want to just say, like, where you are on a scale from one to ten? Where ten is, um-”

“Catching the Snitch,” Ron suggested. Harry nodded.

“And one is,” Hermione’s eyes were worried, “We shouldn’t let you go out running alone.”

“All right.” He thought for a minute. In those terms… Well, nothing was wrong. Draco was trying to be nice; Ron and Hermione were trying to help. He wasn’t hurting anywhere. “I guess… seven or eight?”

Both of their faces lit up. “Oh, that’s great, then!”

He smiled back, glad to see them happy. “Yeah.” He started to fill his plate. Since they were still looking at him, he took more than he really wanted. An over-full stomach was a small price to pay for reassuring them.

It felt like he’d missed more than a day of classes. Listening to lectures and practicing spells felt like something he’d done in another life. But he forced himself to pay attention, at least as much as he could. Every time he found himself thinking about - things - he dragged his mind back to class.

By the time they settled down in the library to study, his brain felt exhausted. He stared at his textbook without really seeing it and did his best to think of nothing at all.

He was distracted by Hermione muttering to herself. From the sound of it, she was trying to parse a particularly complicated paragraph in her book. It made for decent background noise; he couldn’t understand a thing she was saying, but the words helped him not think about anything else. He closed his eyes and just listened.

So when she exclaimed, “Oh! That explains it!” he looked over at her.

“I think this is why you’re a Parselmouth, Harry,” she said when she saw him looking. “It’s because of You-Know-Who!”

“Dumbledore told me that second year.”

“Yes, but now I understand it,” Hermione said, still excited. “It’s to do with soul magic and -”

“You’re studying soul magic?” Ron sounded both horrified and disgusted. “What is wrong with you?”

Hermione frowned at him. “For the research. For Harry. Wouldn’t you, if Harry needed it?”

Ron’s eyes darted between them. “I guess, yeah, but…” He shuddered. “Why you?”

“Well, Pro- the professor is really doing the work on it. I’m supposed to be doing other things. But he mentioned enough that I got interested and got a book to read on the side. And I was bored during History of Magic and it’s just fascinating. Did you know that a soul bond transfers some of each member’s essence to the others? It’s not really clear in here what they mean by essence, but it seems like it could be special magical gifts, like Parseltongue!”

Now Ron was blushing a fiery red. “Hermione, stop it! You can’t - Don’t go talking about things like that!”

“What?” Both Hermione and Harry stared at him.

Unbelievably, Ron got even redder. “People don’t talk about that sort of thing. Especially not in public, or with people who are… like… Merlin, Hermione! We don’t ask you about your - your period or something. It’s… ugh.” He shook his head.

Hermione flushed, too. “Oh. I didn’t - but it’s so fascinating! You mean no one ever discusses…”

Ron shook his head hard. “No! Absolutely not. Don’t - Just- If you’re going to read that thing, don’t talk about it.” He glared at the book.

“All right.” Still blushing, Hermione slipped the book away and pulled out her Herbology textbook.

Harry tried to avoid thinking about that exchange, too. He was no more successful than he’d been with all the other topics he’d been avoiding. Soul bonds could transfer magical gifts between mates? And having a chunk of Voldemort’s soul in his head gave him some of Voldemort’s magical gifts. That part, at least, made sense. But he was in a bond, so shouldn’t he have something from that?

Well, maybe that was more evidence that Blaise and Theo hadn’t really been his mates. But not getting one now - did that mean there was something wrong with his bond with Draco and Snape, too?

On the one hand, he hoped so. Maybe the next version would get him something better.

But it could just as easily be worse. Draco and Snape weren’t bad, really. If he got his act together and stopped freaking out, it seemed like they’d be content to ignore each other. That was better than he had any right to hope for.

Maybe they were his real mates, but they hadn’t exchanged magical gifts because they hadn’t had sex to complete the bond. Blaise and Theo had certainly been insistent on that being important, first thing. It was another decent thing about his current mates, that they hadn’t demanded sex yet. Of course, they’d have to do it eventually - especially if it gave them special magical gifts. He wasn’t sure what he had to offer, but they’d want to get whatever it was.

Now he had another thing to try not to think about. Just what he needed. He shuffled through the books and papers in front of him, looking for something to distract him.

The reminder that it was Thursday was not what he’d been hoping for.

“Hermione? Have you heard of Occlumency?”

Both Hermione and Ron looked over at him. “No, why?”

“Snape’s supposed to teach it to me. It’s supposed to help with…” He tapped his forehead next to his scar instead of finishing the sentence.

Hermione’s eyes lit up with interest, but before she could start bombarding him with questions, Ron said, “Snape is teaching you? Ugh. As if you don’t have enough to put up with from him in Potions.”

“Maybe this will go better than Potions,” Hermione suggested hopefully. Ron scoffed, and she glared at him. “It might! Professor Snape treats Harry worse in public; in private lessons, he might be less nasty. And maybe Harry will have an easier time learning Occlumency than Potions.”

“Maybe,” Harry agreed, but he doubted it.

* * *

It didn’t take long for Harry to realize that Ron had been right and Hermione was utterly wrong.

Snape said using Occlumency was like resisting the Imperius Curse, but as soon as he raised his wand, Harry knew they were nothing alike. Imperius was a sea of calm washing over him, where he only had to rely on his natural stubbornness to refuse the coaxing suggestions. This was dragging memories out of him, memories he had never wanted to think about again, let alone experience in living Technicolor.

He felt the teeth of Aunt Marge’s dog dig into his leg and heard the laughter behind him as he frantically tried to get it off. His fingers slipped in his own blood, and fear of the dog chewing him up warred with fear of what Aunt Marge and Uncle Vernon would do to him if he hurt it trying to get him off of him.

A giant cerberus’ head snapped its jaws inches from his face, and he stumbled backwards, trying not to scream. A clicking mass of giant spiders advanced on him from all sides. The heat of dragonfire singed his face.

Then the stream of memories stopped. He was on his hands and knees in Snape’s office. As he panted for breath, his eyes darted around the room frantically. Was there something lurking in the shadows? What was behind him? His skin crawled with the knowledge that anything could come up behind him and he wouldn’t see it until it was too late.

He shoved himself to his feet, trying to keep an eye on everything around him at once. His leg still ached from the damage Ripper’s teeth had done, but when he quickly glanced down, he didn’t see any blood. He didn’t dare let his attention linger there, though. Anything might grab him while he was distracted.

“Well, that was not as bad as it could have been.” Snape’s voice was cool. Harry glanced at him, but he was too on edge to focus on his expression beyond recognizing that it wasn’t furious.

“Let us try something else. Close your eyes.”

Harry flinched. The last thing he wanted to do was to make himself even more vulnerable. But the fear of shadow-monsters was nothing to the very real certainty of Snape’s reaction if he disobeyed. Reluctantly, he closed his eyes.

“Clear your mind. Let go of all emotion. Nothing matters. If nothing is worthy of great emotions, your enemy will have no foothold in your mind. Let it all go. Be calm.”

Easy for you to say, Harry thought. His skin was still crawling with the certainty that at any moment, something was going to grab him. How was he supposed to relax? He was in a creepy room alone with Snape, who would probably be happy to send something at Harry without warning. If anything did attack Harry, he’d probably laugh as hard as Dudley had when Ripper treed him.

“You’re not trying. Clear your mind.”

Harry fought to ignore his fear. It didn’t matter. Whatever would happen, would happen. It didn’t matter.

“Better. On the count of three. One. Two. Three. Legilimens!”

The memories rushed over him again. Aunt Petunia’s frying pan hit the side of his head, and stars filled his vision as pain took over his entire body. When it faded, he had Uncle Vernon’s hands on his throat. His heart pounded in his ears so hard that he couldn’t hear the accusations they flung at him. Did it matter what they were accusing him of this time? His real crime was being in their home for Christmas, when they hadn’t been expecting him.

More pain hit, and suddenly he was small, a child who didn’t know what was going on. All he knew was that it hurt, and he wanted it to stop.

Magic rushed out of him, a wave of power he hadn’t recognized then but did now. It lashed out, trying to protect him. It’s not real, he tried to tell himself, but he couldn’t believe it.

There was the sharp sound of glass breaking, and a nasty smell filled the room. That smell - nothing that ever existed in Petunia Dursley’s home - brought him back to himself. He was on his knees in Snape’s office-

-where, it seemed, his magic had just broken some of the creepy and no doubt expensive Potions ingredients stored on the walls.

His body still throbbed with the pain of the beatings he’d just taken. Automatically he curled in on himself, trying to minimize the damage from whatever Snape was about to do to him. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to-” He cut himself off. No one wanted to hear excuses. “I’ll clean it up.”

He reached for the broken glass, preferring to touch that first instead of the floppy-looking tiny head with big eyes that had been in the jar. He’d have to touch it eventually, but right now he’d rather risk cut hands than that thing.

“Reparo.”

Right under his fingers, the pieces of glass slid back together, forming a jar around the head-shaped thing. It sailed back up and slotted back into place on its shelf.

Harry pulled his arm back and wrapped it around himself. He’d made a mess he couldn’t possibly have fixed on his own, and someone else had had to deal with it. This was going to be brutal.

“I’m sorry.” His voice came out as little more than a croak. “I can - I can do something else to make it up to you. I-”

“Harry. You ejected me from your mind. That is precisely what you were supposed to do.”

Harry barely heard the words. “I know I’m too clumsy to be trusted around anything valuable, but-”

“Harry.”

“-But I’ll be more careful, I promise.” He was babbling. Why hadn’t the beating started yet? Waiting only made it worse, he knew that from experience.

“Look at me.”

Unwillingly, he raised his eyes, keeping his head ducked and his body hunched in a protective curl. He was already so tense that he barely flinched when he saw the wand leveled at his face.

“Legilimens.”

* * *

Severus gritted his teeth and refused to allow his guilt and worry to interfere with his Legilimency this time. He didn’t have the skill at Legilimency that he did at Occlumency, but letting Harry’s panic make him fumble his next probe was inexcusable. He could not fail again.

Potions class. Anger.

He couldn’t stop to think about how much of a fool he was not to have realized the risks of Occlumency with Harry. Even the fact that he had suffered through the intersection of Occlumency and Harry’s gift himself hadn’t been enough for him to perceive how this could go terribly wrong.

Now Harry was back in the state he’d been in when they first discovered that he was their mate: one short step from killing himself. Severus had to mend what he’d destroyed, and his words obviously weren’t enough. Only one solution occurred to him.

Hatred. Professor Snape.

The memories started, and he braced himself. He’d had to watch some of them under the influence of Harry’s gift, but it was just as uncomfortable as the first time he’d seen them. Seeing his own cruelty from Harry’s point of view made him want, more than anything, to cut off the spell and flee. But he needed Harry to stop being afraid of him, and as he knew very well, hatred countered fear.

So he watched himself mocking Harry for his ignorance of things he had no way of knowing. Threatening him with expulsion. Insulting Granger. Reading Witch Weekly aloud in class. Oddly enough, testing Longbottom’s potion on his toad. Destroying Harry’s perfect potion.

A sharp pain on his wrist pulled him back to himself. He looked down, shoving his sleeve back to see a red welt.

Harry was on his knees again, but not cringing. He glared at Severus as he stood, defiance in his posture. Severus hid his relief behind his customary facade of indifference. He would gladly be the professor Harry hated instead of the mate he feared.

He refused to listen to the voice that whispered that he was lying to himself again, that he didn’t want either of those relationships with Harry and that there were other choices. Mutual respect. That was the goal, and it was more than he had any right to hope for. Listening to Draco’s gift would only lead to wanting things he could never have.

“Did you intend to produce a Stinging Hex?” he asked calmly, as if Harry weren’t about to boil over with rage.

“No,” Harry snarled, getting to his feet. “But I guess I did. What are you going to do about it?”

“I beg your pardon?” He kept his voice cool and even, knowing it would only fan Harry’s anger. Let him rage at Severus. Putting things back on a familiar footing would settle them both after the disaster that Occlumency had been.

“A student attacking a teacher? Unacceptable. Especially when it’s Harry Potter. You’re not going to let me use my celebrity status to get away with things, are you? Of course, it has nothing to do with the fact that you hate me.” He glared. “Everyone knows that’s what it is. You just hate me.”

Severus slowly put his wand away, giving himself a moment to think. He’d been looking for an opportunity like this. He couldn’t afford to throw it away. He just needed to pull himself together.

He took a deep breath to compose himself. For this he needed the skills he’d learned as a boy on the streets and a Slytherin without family or money. He’d honed and perfected them over the years. He could use them now.

The notion of one singular truth was a Gryffindor delusion. The truth came in layers, twined around each other. The trick was to choose the right truth for the situation.

He focused on his desire to keep Harry safe, by any means necessary, and the knowledge that making him miserable hadn’t mattered as long as he kept him alive. His selfish reasons didn’t matter right then. He’d sworn to protect Harry, and he’d done the best he could.

* * *

“Everyone knows that’s what it is. You just hate me.” Harry hurled the accusation and waited for what Snape would do to him.

But Snape didn’t even change expression. “Good. I worked hard enough to make sure of that.”

That took the wind out of his sails. Some of the anger that had been overwhelming him was replaced with confusion. “What?”

Snape sighed. “Do you recall what my job is?” It was the voice he used in class when he acted like they were all idiots for not having the textbook memorized like Hermione.

“Teaching Potions.” What kind of stupid question was that?

“That is my cover.” Snape shook his head like Harry was too dumb to bother talking to. “My job is spying on the Dark Lord. A feat which I accomplish by convincing Him that I am His loyal servant in Hogwarts.”

His loyal servant. Harry dug his nails into his palms, trying to drive off the memory of the graveyard and Voldemort announcing that he had a loyal servant at Hogwarts.

“What do you think He would have expected His loyal servant to do?”

That made him think of Moody, and it was far better to think of him than Voldemort. Even if he had turned out to be a Death Eater who was setting him up to be killed by his master.

Which Snape hadn’t done. Snape was a Death Eater too, but he’d never done anything to help Voldemort get hold of Harry. Somehow he’d never thought about that.

“Draco said you could lie to him,” he said, trying to figure things out in his own mind.

“I can conceal things from Him,” Snape corrected. “But concealing every interaction between us would have been as suspicious as not appearing to hate you. The Dark Lord understands hatred. My enmity for you did not surprise Him. Our relationship was precisely what He expected.”

“He wanted you to hate me? But that couldn’t help him.” It had seemed so obvious: Snape was evil, he hated Harry, he worked for Voldemort. Every time he’d learned something new about Snape, it had seemed to fit. He’d never considered that the way Moody-Crouch had acted was much more useful to Voldemort. He’d pretended to care about Harry. Why wouldn’t Voldemort want Snape to do the same?

“I wanted Him to think I hated you. To help you,” Snape said pointedly. “The Dark Lord finds grudges… amusing. I knew that if He were in a position to toy with you, He would have found it most entertaining that you thought I wanted nothing more than to torture you. It would have diverted Him to order me to do so, and that would have given me an opportunity to get you away from Him.”

This was all going too fast for Harry. His head ached, he felt exhausted, and what Snape was saying just didn’t add up with what he thought he knew. “You’re saying that you wanted Voldemort to think you hated me.”

“Yes.”

“So you acted like you hated me.”

“Yes.”

“But-” He couldn’t believe what he was about to say, but he had to make sense of this somehow. “Does that mean that you don’t really hate me?”

“That would be the obvious conclusion to draw.”

Harry realized that he was shaking and wrapped his arms around himself. It made sense. And he didn’t want it to. Even if it explained things, he didn’t want to think about it. It was going to hurt. Couldn’t he just go on thinking Snape hated him for no reason?

No. He knew Snape had a reason to hate him. Snape was lying.

“You didn’t hate me to trick Voldemort. You hated me because of my dad.”

He knew that. He’d known it ever since he’d seen the memories. It made much more sense than this. And it meant he didn’t have to rethink everything Snape had ever done.

So why did the words leave him cold inside?

There was a brief pause before Snape answered. “The Dark Lord knew what I thought of your father. He used it to bring me closer to His side. Using His knowledge against him had a certain poetic justice that appealed to me.”

Harry wasn’t in the mood to try and figure out what he meant by that. “You hate me because of my dad, just like everyone else does. Because I’m just like him.”

“You have kept your callous torment of the other students remarkably secret, then,” Snape said dryly. “I’m amazed that I’ve heard nothing of it.”

Harry flinched. He wasn’t ready to think about how he’d treated Malfoy and what it meant. He’d been doing his best to avoid it for days now. “I went after a troll as a first year. Everyone thinks I put my name in the Goblet of Fire because I wanted to be in the tournament. I-”

“Your actions may appear similar, superficially,” Snape interrupted. “But anyone who believes that you did so out of vanity and a desire for self-aggrandisement, as your father would have, is a fool. It is unsurprising, therefore, that most of the population of this school believes exactly that.”

Harry knew that Snape was capable of talking like a normal person. He’d heard him do it. Why did he have to sound like he’d swallowed a dictionary when Harry’s head ached and nothing was making sense anyway? “They believe what?”

“That you want to be like your father.” Snape’s voice dropped, almost as if he were talking to himself. “Of course, that may have as much to do with the leadership as with the idiots themselves…”

“What?” Harry rubbed his head.

“Your Head of House, and the Headmaster. They doted on your father and are overjoyed to see any similarities between you and him. That attitude has surely communicated itself to your classmates.”

Harry stopped caring that his head hurt. “McGonagall and Dumbledore liked my dad?”

“They thought him bold, charismatic, a leader. The perfect Gryffindor.” Snape sneered. “They were blind to his worst transgressions, and saw the others as nothing more than boyish high spirits.”

“High spirits? He tortured you!”

Snape flinched visibly, but Harry didn’t care at the moment. He’d promised not to talk about what he’d seen, and the pressure of keeping silent for so long was too much.

“I saw the way the other kids looked at him! I saw how they tried to stay out of his way. I heard what they told their kids, years and years later. I know what he was!” He tried to slow his breathing. “And if Dumbledore saw that and thought he was so great, maybe…”

Maybe he couldn’t trust Dumbledore like he thought he could. And that was terrifying.

"Perhaps you should speak to Professor McGonagall about him. You might benefit from her perspective."

Harry closed his eyes. He didn't want to know what McGonagall might say. He didn’t want to think about any of this. Did Snape really hate him, or was he putting on an act for Voldemort? Was Dumbledore kind and trustworthy, or did he not care if people got hurt? How could he possibly know what to believe?

Asking the question made him start thinking of answers. He pushed them aside. He didn’t want to try and figure it out. It could wait. Everything could wait. It didn’t matter.

“Should we try Occlumency again, then?” he said, looking back up at Snape.

He couldn’t read the expression on Snape’s face. “No. That is enough for one night.”

Of course. He’d broken Snape’s things and hexed him. Why would he want to work with Harry any longer than he had to? “Sorry. That I’m so bad at it, I mean.”

“It was not a terrible first attempt.” Snape rubbed his wrist again. “Occlumency is easier when there is trust between the participants. Since finding you a different instructor is not an option, I will try to think of some way to lessen the emotional impact on you.”

Harry thought of how quickly the magic had thrown him from heart-stopping terror, to cringing guilt, to overwhelming anger, and winced. He really had failed. “You said I was supposed to stop feeling so much emotion.”

“You are. Work on clearing your mind. Especially before you sleep.” Snape walked around to his desk. “I will try to find a way to make it less difficult for you.”

Harry turned to face him. “And if you can’t?”

Snape’s black eyes were unreadable. “I will do whatever it takes to safeguard you from Him.”

The words smashed Harry’s attempt to not think about the things Snape had said. That was what he had to decide, wasn’t it? Whether he believed that Snape was doing everything to keep Harry safe from Voldemort. He’d been going along with things without thinking, but now he realized what he was doing, and he couldn’t just keep listening to Snape without thinking. He needed to know whether he really could trust Snape, because if not, he needed to go back to doing things his own way.

But what was his own way? Listening to Dumbledore? If the Headmaster really had ignored what James Potter was, Harry wasn’t sure he wanted to. If he didn’t care that students in his school were treated the way Harry’s dad had treated Severus, then how could Harry trust him?

He could find out for himself. He wouldn’t even have to involve Hermione and Ron this time. And then he’d know whether he believed Dumbledore, or if he was going to rely on Death Eaters to save him from Voldemort.

Chapter Text

Harry was used to nightmares, but the ones after Occlumency were particularly bad. It took the entire walk to breakfast to convince himself that there was no reason to tell Ron and Hermione that his mood was a three. He was fine. Just because he didn’t sleep well… It wasn’t like he was getting beaten or he’d just found out that everything he’d believed was a lie. He had no reason to feel like crap just because he sucked at Occlumency. He was used to doing badly in class.

He didn’t realize how late he was until he got to breakfast and realized it was practically over. He had to shoulder through people leaving to get into the Great Hall, and Ron and Hermione looked at him with relief they were obviously trying to hide.

“Harry! Where’ve you been?” Ron said with a smile that didn’t entirely hide the worry in his eyes.

“Sorry - I overslept,” Harry said, dropping his bag with a thud so that he could start putting whatever food was left onto his plate. “I’m a six, by the way.”

He managed to say it casually while his face was turned away, and they seemed to accept it. Neither of them questioned him, at least, while he sat and inhaled the food, trying to get it eaten before he made them late for class.

The day did not improve from there. Hermione kept poking him when he zoned out in class, but it wasn’t enough; he couldn’t keep track of what the professors were talking about. He gave her an apologetic look between classes. “Can I borrow your notes to copy tonight? Maybe then I’ll learn whatever it was I’m supposed to.”

She looked down. “Of course, but… Are you sure you’re all right?” Then she winced and met his eyes. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to-”

He didn’t let himself grimace. “It’s fine, Hermione. I know I’m acting off. I just didn’t sleep well, that’s all. It’s making it hard to concentrate. Nothing else.”

“Oh, good.” She sounded relieved, but she kept giving him cautious glances out of the corner of her eye.

He decided to change the subject. “We’ve got a meeting after class, yeah? I’ll take the proper evasive maneuvers-” he managed a smile that he thought looked sincere “-and meet you there.”

He was always the last one in the Room of Requirement, since he was as careful getting to DA meetings as he was getting to his room in the soul dorms. The complicated dance of using the map and the cloak to make sure no one saw him, then stowing them away before anyone in the DA could notice them, took all his attention, so when he stepped into the room, it took a moment for him to realize that something was wrong.

Neville stood alone on one side of the room. Half the DA was glaring at him, while the other half stood around uncomfortably.

For a second, it looked like something out of one of Severus’ memories. Harry felt sick to his stomach. He looked around for Ron and Hermione, wanting someone to tell him what was happening.

Hermione was arguing with Lavender and Parvati, but Ron was standing near the door, looking uncomfortable. Harry stepped over to him. “What’s going on?”

He’d kept his voice low, but Seamus heard him. “He shouldn’t be here!” Seamus said hotly before Ron could answer. “We don’t let Slytherins in, do we? Why is this any different?”

“Are you talking about Neville?” Harry asked incredulously. He looked between Neville, backed against a wall, and the bright eyes and flushed faces of those in the front of the DA. The similarities between what he saw and the memories of James Potter and his gang of bullies were hard to ignore, but he tried to focus on what was really going on. “Why?”

Lavender looked at him with big, innocent eyes. “You mean you haven’t heard?” She threw a dirty look toward Neville. “His parents are Death Eaters.”

Harry’s jaw dropped. It was a minute before he could get his mouth and brain working enough to say anything, and when he did, it was only, “What the crap?”

“His parents were Aurors! They fought against You-Know-Who!” Hermione snapped. She was furious. Harry had to restrain himself from stepping away from her.

But that was the right way to feel, wasn’t it? Harry should be angry too, rather just standing there feeling sick. He had to help Neville. Even if he had no idea how to do that.

“His parents were spies,” Parvati snapped back at Hermione. “Spies for You-Know-Who. How do you think he won so much if he didn’t have people on the inside working for him? Of course he had spies in the Aurors. And his parents-” she waved at Neville “-are exactly the kind of people he wanted to recruit.”

It took Harry a second to realize she meant purebloods. There was uneasy shifting among the ranks of the DA. Ron’s face was bright red.

Hermione ignored all that. “If they were spies, why did Bellatrix LeStrange torture them?”

Lavender and Parvati spoke at once.

“To keep them from telling what they knew.”

“Because they let him walk into a trap and she thought they should have stopped him.”

They looked at each other and shrugged. “There could be lots of reasons,” Lavender said.

“Or maybe…” someone else added from farther back in the room. “Maybe they’re not really mad. Maybe they’re just pretending, to stay out of Azkaban.”

The scene was swirling around him. Harry struggled to keep track of where he was, when he was, even who he was. Neville was his friend. He had to help him. But how? What could he do?

“Honestly,” Hermione was saying tartly. “That makes no sense. If any of you-”

Of course he could do something. He’d been in charge of the DA when it started. In some ways, it was his group.

But if he lost it, he could lose one of the only things that made his life bearable…

There was a stifled sound of pain from Neville, and suddenly it didn’t matter anymore. He wasn’t letting anyone be treated this way. Anger didn’t quite drown out the worries, but he clung to it, refusing to think about anything else.

“Anyone who doesn’t want Neville here,” he said loudly over the argument, “can get out.”

There was dead silence. Everyone turned to stare at him. He hoped none of them could see that he was trembling.

“I mean it,” he said, amazed at how hard his voice came out. The disoriented feeling faded with each word he spoke. This was the right thing to do, the only thing he could do. “Neville has never done a thing to any of you. You know him! He’s one of us. And if you can’t be loyal enough to support one of us, even when people are spreading rumors, then we don’t want you here.”

“Who says you get to decide?” a tall Hufflepuff demanded from the back of the room. “If it’s about loyalty to the group, shouldn’t the group say who stays?”

“It’s not like everyone you picked to be in here was loyal to us,” someone else muttered. Harry happened to be looking at Cho Chang as they said it, and he saw her flinch.

“You’re the one who said no Slytherins could be trusted,” a Ravenclaw added. “What makes him any different? Just because some of their parents were Death Eaters - now maybe his were too, but that’s okay? Just because he’s a Gryffindor?” He shook his head. “Typical Hogwarts logic.”

“Neville’s parents aren’t Death Eaters,” Harry said loudly. Things were going out of control again, but what choice did he have? He wasn’t going to just let Neville be attacked. “I don’t know where you got that idea-”

Several voices answered at once. “The letters!” “Yes, they are!” “There is proof!”

“It’s nothing but a nasty rumor,” Hermione snapped. “You ought to be ashamed of yourselves, believing things you hear in the hall.”

“So who are we supposed to believe? You?” The Ravenclaw pushed past Lavender and Seamus. “You have some special dispensation that lets you know exactly who’s trustworthy and who isn’t?”

“We’ve lived with Neville for years,” Ron started hotly.

“And we lived with Marietta, and look what happened,” the boy said flatly. “Her mother was under pressure with the Ministry, and she cracked. He visits his parents all the time, probably tells them everything about-”

“He took the same oath as the rest of us,” Hermione said fiercely. “Do you see SNEAK on his face? He’s not-”

The Ravenclaw opened his mouth, but Neville spoke first.

“You know what? I don’t care,” he said. Harry could hear how hard he was trying to keep his voice steady, and the way it wobbled despite him. “I don’t want to be around you all anyway. I’m leaving. Are you happy?”

Harry turned just in time to see him drop his enchanted Galleon to the ground. He knew he should do something, but he couldn’t think what. His head was hot, his stomach was churning, and nothing made sense in his mind. “Nev-”

But Neville was gone.

There was a moment of silence. Then Lavender tossed her hair back. “Good,” she said. “Now we can get on with things. What are we doing today?”

Harry stared at her for a moment. Then he looked around the room. Only a few people looked as satisfied as she did - even the Ravenclaw who’d been arguing was staring at the door with a mixed expression - but although they shifted uncomfortably, no one made any motion to go after Neville, or even to protest. He watched them spread out for practice, avoiding eye contact with each other. It was just like too many memories of James Potter. No one cared about the ones who got hurt.

Things became clear again, seen through the rising anger in him. So what if this was the only group that wanted him anymore? He couldn’t be part of this. He wasn’t like his mum.

He ought to make a suitably scathing speech. He wanted to make them all think twice about what they’d just done. But nothing came to mind, and he wasn’t willing to just stand there.

Without a word, he turned on his heel and stalked out the door.

* * *

It took them a while to track Neville down. Well, actually, it took a while for them to decide whether to leave him alone or go after him. Hermione finally got tired of them talking in circles and rested her wand on her palm. “Point me Neville Longbottom!”

The spell led them down a side corridor Harry had never noticed, past several suits of armor that watched them go by and a painting that tried very hard to get their attention. “I say! He wants to be alone, don’t you know.”

“Shut up,” Ron told it as they went by.

Eventually, the wand turned to point them into a small room that was completely empty except for Neville, leaning against the dirty window. Harry saw him stiffen when he heard them come in, but he didn’t look around.

Hermione put her wand away. “We’re sorry they’re a bunch of idiots,” she said. Neville shrugged, still not turning.

Hermione gave Ron and Harry a meaningful look. Harry looked away. It had been perfectly clear in the DA that he couldn’t let Neville go off alone thinking everyone hated him. But now that he was here, he had no idea what to say. What could possibly make any difference?

“They’re worse than idiots,” Ron said stoutly. “They’re… Just don’t think about them. You’re fine.”

Harry finally thought of something to say. “We’re not going back until they apologize to you.”

“Right,” Ron and Hermione agreed, though Ron gave him an uncertain look.

Neville finally turned to face them. Harry saw his reddened eyes and looked away, feeling like he was invading Neville’s privacy.

“You don’t have to do that,” Neville said quietly. “I mean, I appreciate it, but the DA is important. You have to keep training them. I’ll be fine.”

Hermione snorted. “They don’t need Harry. Umbridge is gone, and Dumbledore’s back in charge. They’re just coming to the DA for fun. And after today, they don’t deserve Harry’s help.”

Neville’s eyes widened. “But the war! You-Know-Who’s getting stronger, and the fighting’s getting worse. We have to train. We’re going to be fighting Death Eaters-”

He broke off abruptly.

“Like your parents did,” Harry said. “They had to fight Voldemort right out of school, just like mine did.”

Neville turned his face away. “Yeah.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Hey,” Ron said at last. “Let’s go down to the kitchen and ask the elves for a snack.” Hermione glared at him, but he spoke over her, his voice sharp. “Neville’s not going to want to eat in the Great Hall right now, are you, mate? And you need food.”

Hermione sighed. “All right,” she said reluctantly. “Come on.”

She walked out the door as if she had no doubt that they would follow. Ron did immediately, but Harry looked at Neville. “Might as well come,” he said, trying to sound casual. “You know she’ll just make you. She’s like that.” Hermione had dragged him enough during fourth year that he knew that for certain.

“I know.” Neville’s expression was bitter. “Hermione Granger, fixing things for you whether you want her to or not.”

Harry raised his eyebrows, but Neville walked past him without another word.

They were detouring around the Room of Requirement when they almost ran into the Ravenclaw who’d made so much trouble in the DA meeting. He stopped dead in the middle of the hallway when he saw them.

Harry stifferend and felt Neville doing the same beside him. He gritted his teeth and prepared to walk by, no matter what the boy said.

But he was just standing there, hands clasped in front of him. When Harry and Neville got up to him and he spoke, his voice cracked. “Hey, uh, can I talk to you for a second?” He glanced up at Neville, then back down at the floor. “I need to apologize.”

“Just keep walking,” Ron growled, and Hermione stepped between Neville and the Ravenclaw, wand out.

“No.” Neville gently pushed Hermione out of the way. “He can talk. What is it, Anthony?”

The boy - the name Anthony sounded vaguely familiar to Harry, although he knew he was terrible with names - stumbled over his words for a minute before stopping and taking a few deep breaths. When he started again, he kept his eyes closed.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you the way I did, and I’m sorry. There’s some things about the DA that have bothered me for a long time, and I saw what happened to you as an opportunity to bring them up. I didn’t really think about how you were feeling and that it would be like an attack to you. So I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have - I should have thought before I said anything.”

He stepped back, as if he expected them to keep walking, but Neville was frowning at him. “What do you mean, things about the DA are bothering you?”

Anthony sighed. “The way anyone but Slytherins is allowed to join, but none of them. I mean, I get that we were keeping it secret from the Inquisitorial Squad last year and they were all in Slytherin, but seriously. You think Slytherins can’t keep secrets? And this year, Umbridge is gone, so there’s no reason at all for a blanket ban on Slytherins. It’s just dumb.”

He looked from person to person. Everyone must have looked as unimpressed with his logic as Harry felt, because his face fell.

“Look, my sister sorted Slytherin this year,” he said more quietly. “It’s perfect for her, you know? She’s always known how to ask for things in a way that makes you want to give them to her. She can read people’s moods in a glance and knows exactly how to treat them to make them like her. She can fit into any group and get them all having fun doing something she enjoys. She’s a great Slytherin.. And she loves it. She spent most of the Christmas holidays talking about her roommates and friends and all the cool things they do there.”

“Well, that’s great for her,” Harry said, hoping to end this topic of conversation. This description of Slytherins was making him uncomfortable. He’d never thought of Slytherin traits as sounding so… nice.

“Not exactly.” Anthony rubbed his face with his hands. “The night before we came back, I heard Miriam crying. I went in, and she didn’t want to tell me anything, but… She loves her House and her friends, but she says no one from any other House will even talk to them. She keeps getting hexed in the halls by strangers. Older kids she doesn’t even know hurt her. And they say things - she won’t tell me what, so I know it’s bad.”

“She should go to a prefect,” Hermione said dismissively.

Anthony’s head came up. He looked directly at Ron. “You’re a prefect, Weasley. What would you do if a little Slytherin girl came up and told you people were being mean to her in the halls?”

Ron glanced at Hermione, then looked away, face turning red. “I’d probably tell her to get to class and- yeah, get to class.”

“You could walk her to class,” Hermione said sharply. “And take points if anyone gives her trouble.”

“But are you going to walk her to the rest of her classes?” Anthony countered. “They won’t do anything while you’re there. But are you going to spend all of your time with the little kids? The little Slytherins?”

Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it again with a frown.

“Besides, they don’t want anyone to know. They call it ‘the Slytherin mask.’ She showed me hers.” He swallowed. “It was creepy, the way she went from crying so hard she shook to looking… calm. Fine. Like nothing bothered her. She said they practice in the common room. ‘Don’t let them know they’re getting to you.’ Didn’t we all hear that as kids? ‘If you don’t react, they’ll give up. Just ignore them.’ Well, they’re ignoring all right. But it doesn’t look like anyone’s going to give up. Not when this has been going on for years.”

“Then they should talk to the teachers,” Hermione said.

Anthony shrugged. “Maybe. But I thought about it, after she told me. You know how people say Slytherins think they’re royalty?” He gave a small smile. “Miriam certainly always has. Well, what does a princess do when they’re insulted or abused?”

Hermione sucked in her breath. Harry looked at her. “What?”

“Come on, Harry, you know.” When he didn’t agree, she went on. “Picture the French revolution. What does true nobility look like when people are rioting and trying to kill them?”

When she put it like that, it was obvious. He could immediately imagine a king walking through a jeering crowd, head held high, apparently oblivious to the insults or even the fact that he was going to his own death.

And the fact that what Anthony was saying agreed with what Draco had said made him feel extremely uneasy about that mental picture.

“Okay, so people shouldn’t bother Slytherins in the halls,” Ron said. “But that has nothing to do with Neville.”

Anthony looked at Neville again. “I know. I’m sorry, Neville. But I didn’t actually mean that I don’t think you should be there. I just meant that the Slytherins should be allowed to be there too. Treating them like they’re all followers of You-Know-Who makes no sense, just like it makes no sense to think that about you. I didn’t realize quite how dumb people were being about this whole thing. So I’m sorry.”

Neville sighed. “It’s okay.”

“It doesn’t make any sense, you know,” Anthony went on. “Just because people claim someone saw letters implying something - that’s no kind of proof at all. Even if the letters actually exist, they’re probably misreading something - it’s not like there’s going to be letters saying, ‘Ha ha, yes, I am actually a Death Eater, and we have fooled them all!’ And if there were, the obvious assumption would be that they were lying - trying to spy on the Death Eaters or something. And even if, but some fluke, it was actually true, it doesn’t change who you are. I can’t believe they’re stupid enough to act like it does.”

“Yeah, well, people are dumb like that,” Harry muttered.

He didn’t think anyone would hear him, but Neville gave him a concerned look before facing Anthony again.

“Thanks, Anthony,” he said quietly. “It’s good to know that everyone doesn’t think…” He trailed off.

“Most people don’t actually care,” Anthony said. “We say that in Ravenclaw all the time. You may feel like everyone’s paying attention to you, but it’s probably just a few loud people. The vast majority of the school has their own problems. They don’t care.” He smiled wryly. “It’s also used in the sense of: ‘No one cares! Stop talking about the way techniques in portraiture changed in the fifteen hundreds; people don’t actually care!’ But that doesn’t apply here.” He shook his head and stepped back. “Sorry. I’ll let you go now. Thanks for letting me apologize. I really am sorry.”

Neville nodded and walked on. Harry hesitated. He felt like he should try and fix something. But he didn’t want Slytherins in the DA. It was his one refuge away from them.

He compromised. “How about you introduce me to your sister sometime?” he suggested. “I can watch out for her in the halls, try and stop things if I notice anything going on. I’m not always paying attention, but if I know to look for her, I might be able to help.”

Anthony didn’t look very confident, but he nodded. “Sure. It probably can’t hurt.”

It wasn’t precisely a vote of confidence, and Harry couldn’t blame him. It wasn’t like he could do much.

He hurried to catch up to his friends. To his relief, Ron and Hermione were already discussing what to do about the Slytherins in the halls.

“We have a responsibility. The younger kids shouldn’t be bothered in the halls,” Hermione was saying.

“But that’s our free time!”

Ron sounded like he was about to refuse outright, but Neville muttered, “Less time in the library.” Ron suddenly looked thoughtful.

“Yeah, good idea,” he said at last. “We’ll wander around, see what people are up to. Make sure there’s no trouble.”

Harry had expected that keeping his promise to Draco would be difficult, or at least awkward. He should’ve felt relieved to have it taken care of without saying anything himself. But there was still a sick feeling in his stomach. Maybe it was just because of how Neville was being treated, but he rather thought it had something to do with all the things he was hearing about Slytherins. And he didn’t like it.

Hermione and Ron’s conversation about how to watch the kids for trouble was rapidly becoming an argument. Neville dropped back to walk next to Harry.

“I feel like I should apologize to you,” Neville said quietly.

Harry stared at him. “Why?”

“I didn’t realize- when everyone was so awful to you. Last year, and the year before. I didn’t stand up for you, not the way you stood up for me. So I’m sorry.”

Harry shrugged awkwardly. “You never called me a liar.”

“But I never told everyone you weren’t, even though I knew you were telling the truth.”

“It’s fine.” Harry wished he could come up with something better to say. “Just knowing you didn’t hate me helped a lot.”

Neville glanced at him, then looked away again. “Maybe.”

They walked in silence for a few minutes. “I didn’t know about your parents, either,” Neville said abruptly. “Not before Hermione started asking questions.”

Harry stiffened. He really didn’t want to talk about his parents. “Yeah, me neither.”

“You’re not like that,” Neville said as if it were obvious. “So how do you deal with the people who think you must be just like your parents, even when they should know better?”

“Your parents aren’t actually Death Eaters,” Harry reminded him, trying to shift the attention away from himself. “We both know that.”

But Neville picked up on exactly what Harry didn’t want him to. “Are you saying that your parents were as bad as people say they were?” He shook his head. “I don’t believe it. It’s just rumors.”

Desperate to stop himself from saying, I have a lot more evidence than just rumors, Harry blurted out the first other thing that came to mind. “You really don’t think I’m just like my dad?”

Neville gave him an odd look. “Everyone says your dad thought he was entitled to have anything that took his fancy and bully anybody he wanted to. Even if that were totally true, I can’t see how anyone could think you were like that.”

Harry knew there were any number of things he’d done that were just like that, but it felt good to know that Neville didn’t think so. “And even if your parents were Death Eaters - which I don’t believe for a second - no one could possibly think you would be on Voldemort’s side. You’re too nice.”

Neville’s smile was a little twisted. “Thanks, I guess.”

“What?”

Neville hesitated, then said as if he couldn’t stop himself, “Knowing that I’m too weak and cowardly to be a Death Eater is not as comforting as it ought to be.”

“Hey!” Harry stopped walking. “That’s not what I said!”

Neville turned back to face him, and Harry hunted for the right words.

“Pettigrew was weak and cowardly, and he joined Voldemort. You’re nothing like that. You don’t want people to get hurt, that’s all I’m saying.” He tried to come up with something that might convince Neville. “First year, you fought us to keep from going after the Stone. Dumbledore said that showed a lot of courage, right? And you just said we have to keep the DA going to get ready to fight a war. You’re brave. You’re just not evil.”

Neville opened his mouth like he was going to say something, then closed it again. Finally he just nodded and turned back toward the kitchens.

Harry stepped up next to him, wondering if he ought to say anything else. Neville spoke first. “It gives me more sympathy for the Slytherins, though. If one day of this has me thinking that I might as well be evil if everyone thinks I am, I don’t know how they make it through seven years.”

Harry felt a rush of relief. “That’s why we can’t let them in the DA.”

Neville glanced at him. “Not all Slytherins join You-Know-Who, though. You know that. The ones who don’t must be pretty good people.”

He tickled the pear and went to the kitchen. I’m not going to think about it. Any of it, Harry told himself firmly, and followed.

Chapter Text

Harry only realized how much the situation was affecting him when he stood up to go to the loo and Ron asked, “Again?”

Hermione was looking at him with concern. Neville didn’t look up, which was its own sort of concerning. Harry felt his face heating.

“Maybe I ate something that didn’t agree with me,” he blurted, and practically ran from the room.

When he was alone, he pushed his glasses up so he could press his hands to his eyes. What was wrong with him? He was fine. Neville was the one going through a hard time, not him.

But the whispers were growing even more vicious, and he felt constantly sick to his stomach. What else could he do? Speaking up during the DA meeting hadn’t changed anything, except that people were avoiding him.

He’d been through this before. He ought to be able to help. Instead, he just wanted to hide.

He felt bile rise in his throat at the thought of his own cowardice, and swallowed it down. This time he really would use one of the speeches he lay awake at night going over and over in his head. He would tell the other Gryffindors what he thought of them. Then he wouldn’t feel so awful.

Except that they would all hate him again. Could he handle it? He wasn’t sure, right now. Maybe all of Hermione and Ron’s worry had infected him, too, but… He’d decided that being alive wasn’t so bad. He didn’t want to go back to not feeling that way. And with the way they acted like any little thing might set him off, the idea of this - which wasn’t a little thing at all - scared him.

The three of them were supporting Neville. Wasn’t that enough? They never let him be alone; he didn’t have to face the dirty looks and the mis-aimed spells without someone at his back. That was something.

Except that it was mostly Hermione. She sent spells back with interest, snapped at people to stop being idiots, and made sure Neville ate. Harry basically just followed along. He wasn’t doing anything.

Sometimes, when he lay awake, he interspersed thoughts of chewing out the Gryffindors with thoughts of asking Hermione how he could help more. But he could imagine her suggestions: “Just talk to him, Harry. You’ve been through something similar, after all. You must know better than me what would help.”

He realized that he was rubbing roughly at his eyes and forced his hands down. Now they would be red, and Ron and Hermione would give him more worried looks. As if they needed something else to worry about. He had to pull himself together. Acting cheerful and calm for Neville was practically nothing, but it was all he had managed, so he’d better keep up at least that minimum.

But when he finally made it back to the classroom where they’d been studying, Ron and Neville were gone.

“Ron had Quidditch practice,” Hermione announced, not looking up from her quill scratching busily across the parchment. “Neville said he wanted to go work in the greenhouses for a few hours with Professor Sprout, and Ron walked him there.”

“Oh,” Harry said awkwardly, sitting back down. This was probably the best chance he would get to ask her what he should do. But he still didn’t know how to say it. His stomach clenched again.

The scritching of her quill stopped. Harry met her eyes, trying to steel himself to ask, but she spoke first.

“How did Occlumency go?”

He let go of the idea of asking Hermione with mingled regret and relief. Although, this new topic wasn’t any better. He’d almost managed to forget the humiliating display of how messed up he was in front of Snape.

“Awful,” he said with a grimace. He tried to keep it casual, like he was just complaining about any class. If she didn’t think Occlumency was a big deal, maybe they could get off the subject. He didn’t know if he had the courage to bring up Neville, but surely they could talk about something else. Anything else.

It didn’t work. “Oh, no!” Hermione said, looking far more worried than he liked. “What happened? Was Professor Snape terrible to you? I really thought…”

He was tempted to agree. It would make everything so much easier. If he thought about it right, he could certainly make everything Snape’s fault. He would have done it without a second thought a year ago.

But Snape wasn’t being a bastard, not the way Harry had expected. Life was bearable now. The situation with Neville was reminding him vividly of just how much worse things had been for him in the past. Harry probably owed Snape at least an acknowledgement that he wasn’t trying to destroy Harry’s life.

“No, not like he is in Potions. I just really suck at Occlumency.”

“What is Occlumency, exactly? I’ve tried looking it up, but there’s nothing about it in the library.”

Harry tried to remember what Snape had said, but he couldn’t, not in the kind of detail Hermione wanted. “It’s supposed to keep - people - out of my head. I’m supposed to not get emotional; he says that just lets them get in easily and find out what they want from me.”

Hermione frowned. “And you’re having trouble with that?”

The memory of the emotional maelstrom Occlumency had put him through washed over him, and he shivered. “Of course! How am I supposed to just stop feeling?” When she only raised her eyebrows at him, he sighed. “He’s rooting through my memories,” he confessed reluctantly. “It’s not - They’re not things that -”

“Oh, Harry.” She reached out and touched his hand gently. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. This wasn’t a problem she needed to focus on. He had Snape trying to fix it, after all. “It’s no big deal. I’ll figure it out.”

She hesitated. “Are you… doing OK? I know we promised not to ask, but this sounds…”

“I’m all right,” he reassured her hurriedly, looking up to meet her eyes. “Honestly.” He ignored the memory of the ways he’d felt kneeling on the office floor. He’d been all right afterwards, hadn’t he? It hadn’t made him want to… do anything. Not really.

“Is Professor Snape being…” she obviously rethought the word she was going to use and finally settled on, “Careful?”

He had planned to agree no matter what she said, to reassure her, but that struck him. Snape had been abnormally careful of him. For the last few months, if Harry was being honest, but even more so during Occlumency. He hadn’t shouted at Harry or insulted him or mocked him for his memories. He was definitely careful.

“Yeah.” It almost made it worse, knowing that Snape was trying so hard and Harry was failing anyway. “I’m just really bad at it.”

“Of course it’s hard for you,” Hermione said matter-of-factly. “Your memories must be emotional minefields. I can’t imagine staying calm under those circumstances. I’m amazed Professor Snape can.”

“Oh, Snape’s been through worse,” Harry said automatically, remembering some of the scenes from the Pensieve. At Hermione’s suddenly intense gaze, he backpedaled hurriedly. “Or so he says. He says I don’t have to worry about what he sees.”

“Hmm.” He did not like the speculative way she was looking at him. “So how are you supposed to stop having emotional reactions to your memories?”

He shrugged. “I dunno. He just says stuff like, ‘Clear your mind.’ What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He must have told you something else.”

Harry tried to remember everything Snape had said. It was hard; he mostly remembered being tossed around in an emotional storm. Instructions given in Snape’s dry tone were not the memorable part of that evening. “He said it would be easier if I-” he was not going to say ‘trust him’ out loud; certainly not to Hermione “-worked with him better, but he would figure out a way around that.” However he was planning to do that. Harry had only come up with one possibility, involving Hermione’s discovery that soulmates could transfer magical gifts to each other, and he didn’t even want to think about that.

Hermione sighed. “I was afraid of that. You’ve never been able to learn from Professor Snape. And now it really matters.” She frowned thoughtfully. “You have been doing so much better with him helping you. I thought maybe that would be enough.”

Harry shrugged again. “We haven’t had to talk much.” He much preferred it that way, and it seemed like Snape did too.

Hermione evidently didn’t. “You should come with me to meet with him tomorrow,” she said in that tone that meant she wasn’t going to take no for an answer. “He really is working very hard to fix things for you. And if I’m there, you two won’t be snapping at each other. Maybe you can, you know, practice working together.”

Harry blanched. “No way,” he said, knowing it was hopeless but unable to stop himself. “We don’t need- Look, we’re getting along all right, okay? We can just keep going the way we are. We don’t need to spend any more time together.”

It was all going to fall apart eventually. The more time Snape was forced to spend with him, the sooner he was going to remember all the reasons he had to hate and despise Harry Potter, and remember that there was nothing stopping him from taking it out on him. Harry wanted to put that off as long as possible.

But of course Hermione wouldn’t listen. “You said you needed to work together,” she said insistently. “And he really is trying to help you, Harry. You ought to see it. I think it will help.”

Harry gave up. There was no point in resisting, anyway. He’d just have to stay quiet and hope that Hermione wasn’t so pushy about it that Snape took it out on Harry later. “Fine. What time?”

* * *

Severus stiffened when Granger stalked into his office. She was seething with emotions he didn’t have time to sort through.

Instead, he made a show of looking at the time. “You’re early, Miss Granger.”

“Sir, are you behind this thing with Neville?”

For an instant, he considered playing ignorant. But he’d already decided to treat her as an intelligent partner, and there was nothing to be gained by antagonizing her now. “Why would I waste my time with something like that?”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” Her tone was icy, and he gave her a tiny nod of respect. It was still strange to see Granger thinking instead of following directions, but he had to acknowledge that she was doing a decent job of it.

“No, I am not responsible for the unfortunate rumors going around. Why would you assume I was?”

She collapsed into the chair in front of his desk. “Who else could it be? It has to be someone who knows what’s going on with Harry. It can’t possibly be a coincidence. Someone who doesn’t care what happens to Neville thinks this will help Harry.”

“And will it?”

He kept the question casual, but she immediately looked up at him, eyes sharp and suspicious. “You did do it, didn’t you?”

He sighed. “Miss Granger, why would my answer possibly change? Do you believe that, if I were responsible, your words would move me to remorse, and I would apologize?”

She studied him, then flopped back in her chair. “Oh, I don’t know! If you did, you need to stop. Neville doesn’t deserve this. And Harry doesn’t take well to his friends being hurt. When he figures it out, he’s going to be furious.”

Merde, was the girl going to tell Harry that it was his fault? He’d known that he was likely to end up taking the fall, but now was not the time. If they could make at least a little progress in Occlumency first… He had some ideas, but he needed to put them into practice before everything fell apart.

“I am still unsure why you think I would have considered putting forth such an effort for Mr. Potter.”

She glared at him. “Well, you’re one of the only adults who ever has.”

“I beg your pardon?” he said blankly. Granger knew they were trying to get rid of the Horcrux so that Voldemort could be killed. That was all she knew. As far as she had seen, he still despised Harry himself, and of course she knew that Harry hated him. How had she possibly come to the conclusion that he was doing any of this for Harry?

“Professor Lupin taught him to cast a Patronus. That’s the only other time I can think of that an adult has tried to help Harry with his problems, unless you count Barty Crouch Jr manipulating him into winning the Triwizard Tournament.” She grimaced. “Other than that, it’s me and Ron. No one else ever notices that anything’s wrong, let alone tries to help.”

She had to be exaggerating. “McGonagall? The Weasleys?”

She brushed that aside. “McGonagall has never once listened to Harry when he’s told her about a problem. The Weasleys are nice, and Harry appreciates that, but they don’t help. They knew about the bars on his window and that he was being starved the summer after first year, and they didn’t care.”

Bars on his window? First year? He shouldn’t have been surprised. He knew what Harry’s life had been like. But the thought that the Weasleys had known, back then, and had done nothing…

He shoved the thought aside. It couldn’t matter right now. “And you think I am doing more.”

She stared at him in surprise. “You’re spending hours every week trying to figure out a solution. You’re working with me, and I know I must be just about your last choice, short of Harry himself. You-”

“I am working to bring down the Dark Lord,” he interrupted, uncomfortable with her version of events. “For my own reasons.”

“If that were really all, you’d just inject Harry with basilisk venom and be done with it,” Granger said positively. “You’re helping him. No one ever does that. And Harry trusts you.”

He’d been trying to figure out a way to refute her arguments without giving too much away, but her last sentence sent him reeling again. It took a moment to compose his thoughts and his voice.

“Mr. Potter has decided that working with me is preferable to death,” he said at last. “Marginally. That is a far cry from trust.”

She shook her head. “Harry doesn’t work like that. He’d be stonewalling, even without thinking about it, if he didn’t trust you. Instead, he repeats everything you say like it’s gospel truth. Even if he doesn’t understand it and Ron argues, he just says that you know.” She shrugged.

Well, perhaps Harry trusted that Severus would do anything to keep himself and Draco alive. Granger could easily confuse that with real trust, given that she didn’t know about the bond. Still, Severus hadn’t been sure Harry believed even that much, given the way he still expected to be beaten at the drop of a hat. He might be able to build on it.

Before he could pursue that thought any farther, she knocked him back again. “That’s why I told him to start coming to these meetings.”

“You what?” He looked around, despite knowing it would do no good if Harry was under his invisibility cloak. What had he said? How would Harry take it?

“He’ll be here any minute,” Granger went on, and Severus tried not to slump in relief. “And you two can practice getting along with each other.”

Merlin help him, she sounded like Narcissa. That was the last thing he needed. He opened his mouth to give her a set down, then closed it. She was right. This was exactly what he and Harry needed. He was going to have to put up with her meddling.

A knock sounded at the door. He straightened, ignoring the look Granger gave him, and called, “Enter.”

The door swung open to reveal Harry, looking decidedly uncomfortable. Well, that made two of them.

“Mr. Potter.” Severus summoned another chair. “Have a seat.”

* * *

Harry sat quietly and tried not to draw attention to himself. He was normally good at that. But today, both Hermione and Snape kept turning to him, interrupting themselves to explain things to him, asking him for opinions. He squeezed his hands together tight enough that they hurt. He didn’t ask for this. He didn’t need to understand what they were talking about.

It was both creepy and fascinating. They were getting inside Voldemort’s head, trying to figure out what he would have done and why, and the evidence they were tossing back and forth was…Well, he wasn’t surprised that Snape could think like a deranged mass murderer, but Hermone!

“There’s just no way to know!” Hermione threw up her hands. “Are you sure that soul magic didn’t lead anywhere?”

Once again, Snape turned to Harry. “Horcruxes, which are made by splitting the soul, seem to fall into the same general branch of magic as soul bonds. Soul magic is not well studied, and there is simply no information about how to manipulate it.” His attention shifted back to Hermione. “I would need a subject for experimentation, and-”

“Don’t we have one?” Harry blurted out. He didn’t mean to, but the idea that Snape was missing something so obvious startled him.

They both looked at him, and he flushed, but lifted his bangs off his forehead. “Right here. You could experiment on this.”

Snape looked at him like he was a dung beetle. “Of course not.”

“Why not?” Harry demanded.

“It would be excruciatingly painful.” Snape met his eyes squarely. “Beyond anything you have ever experienced.”

Oh. Harry shrank back a little. If anyone had an idea of what kind of pain Harry was used to, it was Snape. He’d heard what Harry had told the Aurors, he’d seen the aftermath of Blaise and Theo catching him, and it wasn’t like he’d never experienced anything like it in his own life. He knew. And if he said it was too painful to consider…

A cold feeling spread from the pit of his stomach throughout his body. It would be awful, but Snape hadn’t said it would kill him. And it was the only way they could stop Voldemort.

He looked over at Hermione. “Do you have any other ideas about how to find the Horcruxes?”

She bit her lip. “We have some good guesses. We can keep looking. As soon as we find one, we can find the others.”

“But we don’t have enough time,” Harry said. Just in time, he remembered that Hermione didn’t know, and looked back at Snape. “He could figure things out at any second, and we’d all be dead, with no hope of stopping him. We have to do this quickly, and this is the quickest way.”

“Quickly?” Snape sneered. “What you really mean is, in a way that makes you the hero. Harry Potter, the prophesied savior, the chosen one. Of course you have to fling yourself directly into the path of pain and glory. Making yourself a martyr so that everyone will honor and celebrate you.”

Just like your father. Harry could almost hear the words, though Snape didn’t actually say them. He flushed hot with anger. He didn’t want glory; even Snape should have figured that out by now. He just had to do something.

His frustration at the way he had not done anything for Neville boiled over. “You don’t know anything about what I want or why I do things. You don’t even care. You just want to keep thinking of me the way you always have. Well, I don’t care what you think of me. I’m doing this, because I actually want him gone, even if you don’t.”

“And how do you intend to ‘do this’ without my involvement?” Snape said. “You do recall that you have no knowledge of soul magic or the concepts involved in creating a new spell. What exactly are you planning to do?”

Harry glared at him. “You hate me. You should be happy to have a chance to make me writhe.”

Snape’s hands tightened, but his voice remained controlled. “We have discussed this. There were reasons-”

Harry didn’t want to think about that conversation. “Whatever. You just admitted that you don’t have a better plan. Even if you were serious about - all that - you still should be smart enough to realize this is our best shot. You said you wanted to get rid of Voldemort-”

“Do not say that name,” Snape hissed. “And do not pretend that this is anything but an attempt to make yourself more important. Unless you are trying to tell me that you enjoyed being in pain? Because if so-”

“All right, that’s enough,” Hermione said sharply, standing up. “No wonder Occlumency didn’t work. Honestly.” She shook her head. “Let’s go, Harry.”

Harry glared at Snape, wondering if he would try to stop them, but Snape was flipping through his papers, ostentatiously ignoring them. He scooped up his bag and followed Hermione out into the hall.

* * *

Severus managed to wait until the door had closed behind them and his wards were solidly in place before shoving up his sleeve. He’d promised Draco not to use his spell to fight the effects of the soulmate gift anymore, but this wasn’t about memories. After all, he was perfectly capable of fucking up his life in real time.

The pain wasn’t as easy to relax into anymore, though; thoughts of Draco kept intruding every time he tried. And what he’d just done was beyond even the level of self-destructive idiocy the spell was built to handle. He forced that aside and focused on tracing a more complex pattern on his arm, locking away thought and submerging himself in the clarity of pain.

When it ended, he leaned his head back and waited for the trembling to stop. His breathing had just stopped shuddering when he heard the chime of the Floo from his inner office.

Automatically he ran a hand through his hair, then straightened his robes as he stood. There were only a handful of people who that could be, none of whom he wanted to have see him in this state. One more deep breath, and he stepped through the door.

He wasn’t sure whether Narcissa or Dumbledore had been the worse possibility, but seeing Narcissa’s head certainly didn’t give him any relief. He took care to kneel as gracefully as she had taught him, and gave the insincere smile she had helped him perfect. “Why, what a pleasant surprise!”

“I knew you’d be thrilled,” she said affably. Then her eyes narrowed. Severus tried to keep his face steady as she looked him over critically, thinking curses in several languages. Why did she have to know him so well?

“Invite me through,” she said sharply. He made a show of sighing as he got to his feet.

“If you insist.” He drew his wand and unlocked the wards. “Come in.”

She stepped gracefully out of the fireplace and immediately claimed the best chair in the room, seating herself as if on a throne. “Now, tell me what has happened. Draco?”

He didn’t even consider using her assumption as a misdirection. The last thing he needed was her dragging Draco into this mess. “No.”

She didn’t look relieved. “Harry, then.”

He shrugged at her, a gesture he knew she hated. She gave that little flick of her eyes upward that would have been an eyeroll in any normal person. “You know I’ll find out eventually, so why are you wasting my time?”

He felt just as sullen as he had as a teenager when she’d used that exact same phrase on him. “Miss Granger informs me that Harry will not easily forgive harm to his friends. And that he considers Longbottom a friend.”

“I’m sure Mr. Zabini will be devastated,” she answered wryly. Her eyes narrowed at his start of surprise. “Surely you didn’t think that I wouldn’t have someone set up to take the fall?”

“Of course not,” he replied automatically. He wasn’t going to tell her that he’d assumed she’d been planning to throw the blame on him. It had seemed the obvious explanation - even Granger had lept to that conclusion - and learning that it wasn’t threw him a little. “I was simply… Are you certain he’s the best choice?” He tried to think through the repercussions, but his brain was certainly not in top form right then.

Her eyes narrowed further. “Who did you think I would blame?”

He was still off-balance from the conversation with Harry, and his mask wasn’t perfect. She frowned and leaned toward him. “Your relationship with him is vital, darling. Why would I endanger that?”

Bitterness overwhelmed him at that. “Since there is no chance of anything remotely resembling a positive relationship there, what does one more issue matter?”

“Ah.” She resettled herself. “Tell me about it.”

He really, truly hated how she made him feel like a child, but he knew she would only keep doing it until he answered her, so he gave in. “Granger informed him-”

“That girl!” she cut in disgustedly.

He nodded slightly. “-informed him that we are at a standstill and that the most efficient way to move forward would be to use him as a test subject. Naturally, he insists that we do so, regardless of the pain it will cause him.”

She frowned at him. “And you object to this because…?”

He scowled. He knew she was right; this was the solution. He’d known it for over a week, as all other options fell apart. It was what had made him so uncontrollably angry when Harry volunteered to go along with it. He’d been fool enough to try and refuse to do what had to be done, merely because he had hoped that for once he could keep his word not to hurt someone he cared about.

“Because it is also essential that he learn Occlumency. I’m sure it will go over wonderfully when I torture him, then pry into his most intimate and painful memories, then ask him to trust me enough to let me help him build barriers around his mind. I can’t think of a better way to protect a ‘vital relationship.’”

She wasn’t deterred by his heavy sarcasm. “Again, it worked well enough for you.”

He knew she was talking about herself and Lucius, but his first thought was practicing Occlumency under torture from Dumbledore’s wand. He had to bite back the words that wanted to escape: Harry deserves better than I did.

Unfortunately, avoiding saying anything so vulnerable left him without much attention for what he did say. His response came out decidedly petty. “You wouldn’t say so if it were Draco.”

She raised an eyebrow, distinctly unimpressed. “You may believe that I have spoiled Draco, but rest assured: I will always put my son’s welfare above his happiness.” She paused for emphasis. “That is true for any of my sons.”

He forced himself to take it as a rebuke, because he did not need to think about any other possible interpretation. “I simply do not believe that making Occlumency harder will serve his welfare.”

She knew the outline of how badly the first lesson had gone, though he hadn’t shared details. She frowned at him. “I still think you exaggerate the problem.”

“Harry is not me,” he ground out through gritted teeth. “He’s a Gryffindor, as you know very well. Alliances do not come easily to him.”

“So use that,” she suggested. “Insisting on participating to his own detriment is quintessential Gryffindor behavior. Let him do it. Tell him he is brave and that you trust him to be able to handle it. Is that not what Gryffindors desire?”

He forced himself to think logically. If he spun acquiescence as respect for Harry’s opinion - as trust in his judgment…

“It will still make Occlumency more difficult,” he warned.

“You were already planning on that. You can handle it.”

The thought of torturing his mate was still sickening, but he had done despicable things in the name of the greater good before. His soul would bear another mark.

And if Harry wanted nothing to do with him afterward… It was what he’d expected from the beginning. Keeping him alive was all he’d wanted. Surely the knowledge that he’d succeeded in that would be enough. Someone else could help him find the happiness Severus wanted him to have.

Chapter Text

Harry had thought he was used to nightmares, but the ones he had after the Occlumency lesson were particularly bad. He trudged down to breakfast, trying to wipe the scowl from his face. If his friends saw him like this, the whole day would only get worse.

He was going to have to give them an update on how he felt, too. He paused in the hall, trying to take himself to task. There was nothing wrong. One bad night’s sleep wasn’t a big deal. He was fine. At least a six. Maybe he could bump it up to a seven. Then they couldn’t get upset. He just needed to buck up.

Plastering a smile on his face, he stepped into the great hall and headed for Ron and Hermione. The eager looks on their faces made his heart sink. They’d come up with something else to ‘help’ him, hadn’t they? And now he had to try and look enthusiastic and grateful about whatever-it-was.

He almost stumbled as his legs twitched, wanting to turn and walk straight back out. He couldn’t deal with this. Not as exhausted as he was today.

But he took a deep breath and forced himself to keep moving. They were his friends. He was incredibly lucky to have them, and he knew it. He wasn’t going to keep them if he was selfish enough to not appreciate what they were trying to do for him.

“Hey, guys,” he said as casually as he could, sliding into his seat and letting his bag drop to the floor.

Ron’s smile hinted at barely-expressed excitement, but his greeting was normal. “How are you this morning?”

Harry took a second to pretend he was thinking about it, like he hadn’t been rehearsing his answer all the way down here. “Maybe a 6. I-” He started to say he hadn’t slept well, then stopped himself. He’d used that excuse an awful lot lately. It was just going to give them something else to worry about.

Ron looked across at Hermione, who was practically bouncing with whatever it was she wanted to tell him about. “We made you something,” she said, stretching a hand across the table to him with something concealed inside it.

Bemused, he reached out to take it. She angled her hand so that no one could see what she slipped to him, so he closed his fist quickly around it - it felt like a potions vial - and hid it under the table before looking at it.

It was indeed a potions vial, half full of a soft yellow liquid. He turned it over in his fingers before looking up at Hermione. “Thanks?”

She was still bouncing with excitement. “It’s a modified Elixir to Induce Euphoria,” she informed him. “I found an edited recipe in an old Potions book, and from the notes it looks like it’s less overwhelming than the original - it should just make you feel a little better, so if you’re having a bad day, you can take it and - and it’ll help a bit. I think.”

He looked back down at the vial with new respect. “Wow,” he said softly, not really sure what to say. That sounded amazing. He could just drink a potion and feel better? Why had no one ever mentioned that as a possibility?

“I didn’t have time to do too many tests,” Hermione went on, less excited now. “But I’m sure it won’t hurt you. I mean, it’s not dangerous, and when I took some myself, it just made me perk up a bit. So I think it’ll be okay. But we should probably be careful - maybe set up some more tests, or-”

Harry’s hand tightened around the vial. He had no intention of letting her take this back, now that it was a possibility. Quickly he opened the vial and swallowed the contents in one quick motion.

“Hey!” Ron looked around quickly to see if they’d been observed. Trading and taking illicit potions at the breakfast table was the kind of thing the professors tended to react strongly to.

Hermione’s excitement had been replaced by concern. “Wait! I just said…” She looked at Harry and sighed. “Well?”

Harry took a moment to mentally inventory himself. The elixir didn’t taste bad, and it didn’t leave him feeling sick, so it was better than most potions right there. Was he feeling different? Less tired, or was that just because he was excited? He wasn’t worrying the way he had been before, but was that due to the potion, or to him being distracted by something new to think about?

Instead of saying all that, he just smiled at Hermione. “It’s great!”

“No side effects?”

“Nope.” He shook his head. “I feel fine. Good.”

She sighed. “It was supposed to be for when you felt bad. But I guess this is a better starting test. We can experiment again when you start off feeling lower and see if it improves much. You were a six before you took it. What are you now?”

“Definitely a seven,” he said. Not feeling as tired and not worrying as much was definitely a plus, whether it was the elixir’s effects or not. He could try to puzzle out more of the results later, as long as she kept giving it to him. “Maybe an eight,” he added, not wanting to risk selling it short and having her decide not to make it after all.

She smiled brightly. “Oh! Well, that’s good, then. It works!”

“Yeah, and we’re going to need a better way to pass it around than potions vials at the table,” Ron said. “Honestly. You think you two would be a little careful. Can’t you stick the potion in a candy or something, like Fred and George do?”

Hermione frowned at him. “Ingredients can interact-”

“You ate half a box of chocolates right after taking it,” Ron replied, and Hermione turned pink. “It can’t interact that badly. Stick it in Chocolate Frogs or something.”

Harry jumped on that. “We can get a box at Hogsmeade this weekend,” he said eagerly. “Then you can put the potion in them. No one will think it’s odd for me to be eating Chocolate Frogs.”

Hermione’s enthusiasm for magical experimentation finally outweighed her ethics. “All right,” she said, her grin returning. “And we can try different amounts. I only gave you half of a normal dose of the Euphoria Elixir, because it seems more potent, but…”

* * *

Trying to tease out exactly how he felt, how it was different from normal, and whether it was likely to be the elixir’s effects was exhausting. He was hanging behind Ron and Hermione in the corridor after their last class, trying to muster up the energy to go study, when Ginny stopped him. “Here,” she said breathlessly, shoving a note into his hand before hurrying away.

He glanced after her, then looked quickly ahead at Ron and Hermione. They looked too busy arguing to notice what he was doing. He flicked the note open and glanced at it before burying it in his pocket.

Dumbledore! What could the headmaster possibly have to say to him? Harry had barely seen him this year. Of course he knew about the whole soulmate situation Harry had found himself in - he’d even come and talked to them about it, Harry dimly remembered - but he’d never shown any interest in Harry himself or how things were going for him. Why now?

Of course, Harry had barely thought about Dumbledore at all this year. Not until yesterday, when Snape had suggested talking to him. This was the perfect chance. The coincidence seemed a little too perfect, but Harry shrugged that thought off. There was no reason for anyone to be setting this up. It was just good luck; surely he had to get some sometimes.

He recognized from the pitch of their voices that Ron and Hermione’s argument was winding down, and he tried to focus on the moment. He wasn’t going to tell them about the appointment with Dumbledore. They worried about enough things already. And he certainly didn’t want to have to repeat whatever Dumbledore said about James Potter. He would deal with that himself. They didn’t need to be bothered with it.

* * *

Dumbledore beamed at him when Harry stepped into his office. “Harry, my boy! It’s wonderful to see you! I hope you’re doing well?”

Harry sat in the chair Dumbledore indicated and smiled, even though his face felt stiff. “Yeah, I’m fine, thanks.”

He was, after all. He still didn’t know if it was the elixir or not, but he didn’t feel nearly as overwhelmed as he had before. He was even able to think about asking Dumbledore about his dad without freaking out. Whatever Dumbledore said, it was just more information. It didn’t matter.

He wondered if Dumbledore would pry deeper, though, knowing what had been happening to Harry. But apparently not. “Glad to hear it,” the headmaster said heartily. “It’s not quite time to begin worrying about exams, after all. One of the peaceful parts of the term, I’ve always thought.”

I certainly don’t need Dumbledore worrying about me, on top of everyone else, he told himself, ignoring the slight sinking feeling it gave him. He hadn’t wanted Dumbledore to ask, so it was stupid to be upset that he hadn’t. All Harry really needed was an answer, not a heart-to-heart.

“What was my dad like as a student?” he asked, unwilling to wait for a good moment to bring it up. Who knew when he’d talk to Dumbledore again if he missed his chance now?

“Your father?” Dumbledore sounded startled. “James Potter was a fine Chaser, you know; you inherited your skill on the broom from him.”

Harry nodded, waiting for more.

“He was kind to others - like poor Lupin, as you know, and young Sirius Black after his family disowned him.” Dumbledore sighed, as if memories were affecting him.

Harry didn’t really care about his dad’s relationship with his friends. “What about the other students?”

“Everyone loved James,” Dumbledore said lightly.

Various scenes from Severus’ memories brought to life the bits of letters and notes he’d read. Fear had poured off those pages, and resentment, and anger. He stared at Dumbledore. Had the headmaster really just said that? ’Everyone loved James’?

Dumbledore seemed to realize that Harry wasn’t buying it, because he went on, “Oh, there were schoolboy tiffs, of course. He and Severus never did get on, alas. But really, everyone knows James Potter as a hero. He sacrificed his life to save our world. He may have been a bit overbearing or even abrasive at times, but the real test of James’ character was when he went into hiding and then laid down his life, both to protect you.”

Part of Harry’s brain circled the words ‘to protect you’ and compared them with the ‘to save our world’ earlier in Dumbledore’s speech, but he gritted his teeth and forced the thought away. He didn’t need to pick apart every detail. Dumbledore was just saying that his father wasn’t all bad. Right? And no one was all bad, so it made sense. Harry could have inherited good things from him, too. Like Dumbledore had said, flying a broom like his father wasn’t bad.

“As I told you once before, Harry, it is our choices that determine who we are,” Dumbledore went on.

Harry focused on taking the words at face value, not remembering all the implications of the past conversation. He could choose. That was what mattered. He’d choose to be a good person, and everything would be fine.

“Speaking of sacrifices, my boy, I’m afraid I must ask you to do something uncomfortable,” Dumbledore said.. Clearly, the topic of his father was closed, and they were moving on to the purpose of the meeting.

Harry tried to focus on what the headmaster was saying and not let his thoughts spin away into analyzing everything Dumbledore’s words, but it was hard to concentrate. So it took him a moment to really process it when Dumbledore said, “You need to visit Hogsmeade tomorrow with your former mates.”

Being thrown from thoughts of his father to thoughts of Blaise and Theo was such mental whiplash that he blurted out, “What?”

“You know that we must keep the change in your soulmate bond secret,” Dumbledore said as if explaining things to a child. “For your protection and the good of the war effort. Severus’ role as spy is even more vital now that Voldemort has taken so much of the Ministry. We cannot risk him getting word that Severus has any sort of link to you.”

“But we’ve been careful,” Harry said numbly. “The invisibility cloak, the-”

“Yes, of course,” Dumbledore said. “But people watch you, Harry; you know this. We need to keep everyone distracted, so that they never even think that there might be something going on beneath the surface. Letting them see you with your mates in Hogsmeade will lay the most pernicious rumors to rest.”

If that was the case, why hadn’t it mattered that he hadn’t been seen with them on any earlier Saturdays? Harry still vividly remembered hanging from the bedposts for an entire day, last Hogsmeade weekend. Dumbledore hadn’t seemed to care about any rumors then.

He told himself to stop being stupid. It was more important at this point. The situation was dangerous right now, especially for Snape. And Snape and Malfoy were still putting up with him with admirable restraint; Harry owed it to them to do what he could to protect them.

My dad sacrificed for me. I can be like him in the good ways. It’s something, at least.

He must have been silent for too long, because Dumbledore started speaking again.

“Now, I realize that you had a bad relationship before.”

Harry swallowed back the reply he might have made. His throat scratched as if he were swallowing broken glass. There was no point in saying anything. It wouldn’t make any difference. And if he said anything, far too much might spill out.

“But a defective soulmate bond is unprecedented, it’s not surprising that it had bad effects. Now that the bonds have been resolved, I’m sure everything will be fine.”

Harry tried to believe him. He was just in the habit of thinking the worst of Blaise and Theo, that was why his mind immediately spun up disaster scenarios. They’d be in public. Blaise and Theo would have to treat him decently in public; they always had. Being afraid was just an illogical reaction. It didn’t matter.

“I know it will be uncomfortable for you,” Dumbledore said compassionately. “But it’s only one Saturday. A small sacrifice to protect your own life and those of your mates.”

“Right.” Harry’s voice came out sounding rough; he cleared his throat and tried again. “I know; you’re right. It’s the right thing to do.”

“Splendid!” Dumbledore beamed at him.

Harry followed the Headmaster’s lead as he stood up and led the way back to the door. “It’s always good to see you,” Dumbledore said genially as he held the door for Harry. “Until next time!”

As he rode the stairs down, Harry tried to figure out how to tell Hermione that he needed more of that elixir tomorrow. He wasn’t going to tell anyone about Dumbledore’s plan. It was something he could do to protect others. To show he wasn’t like his father. And he didn’t need anyone making a big deal of it. James Potter always made sure people noticed what he was doing. Harry would just do the right thing, without talking about it. After all, there was no reason for anyone to worry. Everything would be fine.