Title: Blood, Time, Death, and Love
Author: Cassis Luna
Rating: M
Warnings: child abuse, blood, violence, and sex

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all of its characters belong to J.K. Rowling. I don't claim ownership on any of her ideas or plotlines that I may use in this fic. Also, the prologue for this story is inspired by and based on the Hetalia manga "The Hero and the Wizard" by 衣.

Summary: Draco had been Harry's first friend, but tragedy strikes and Harry is forced to turn back time to save him. It's 4th year, the year of the Triwizard Tournament, and Draco doesn't know a thing. Harry remembers everything. HPDM, Severitus, Slytherin!Harry, AU

Notes: When I first read "The Hero and the Wizard", I knew I had to write a Harry/Draco one! It just took me… years… to actually get to it. Uhm. Anyway, this will probably be a long ride. :D;

Blood, Time, Death, and Love

"We live in deeds, not years;

In thoughts, not breaths;

In feelings, not in figures on a dial."

- Philip James Bailey

e

Petunia Dursley knew there was something very peculiar about her nephew. It wasn't that he had m—… that he was a freak like her sister. It was something more. Something more horrible that if Vernon ever found out, he'd dispose of the child for sure, and – freak or not, unwanted child or not – the boy was Lily's son… Her own blood and flesh. Petunia's own blood and flesh.

But as the child grew older, it was getting harder and harder to cover up his many peculiarities: the prominent canines, the abnormal clearness of his vision during blackouts, the quick disappearance of wounds and bruises overnight…

The constant sun rashes and the pale pallor had been easy to make excuses for at first. During the first few years, they had religiously kept the child indoors, hiding him behind closed doors and drawn curtains. It wasn't a surprise that the first time Petunia dragged the child outside to teach him how to weed her garden, red spots scattered all over his small arms and cheeks.

And besides, children were susceptible to sun rashes, weren't they? Duddleykins had them when he played outside for too long as well.

But years dragged on and the rashes didn't stop coming.

She limited the child's work to chores inside the house while she personally laboured over the garden, but Vernon wasn't having any of that.

"We're giving you food and shelter, boy!" Her husband had snarled at the cowering five-year-old boy. "Least you could do is weed the garden!"

So Petunia let the boy weed the garden under the heat of the sun. She turned a blind eye when the rashes turned into open wounds, angry and raw, ignored the child's sniffles as he obediently shoved his wounded fingers in the dirt again and again for hours, and didn't say a word when she turned the lock of the cupboard open the next morning and saw no signs that the wounds had been there at all.

Vernon had asked. So had Dudley. Especially Dudley. Children were too inquisitive and too verbal about it for their own good.

"Just a freak like my sister," Petunia would mutter.

But Lily didn't burn in the open sun, didn't have sharp teeth or night vision or healing powers, and even when she had been down with the flu, had never been that pale.

Severus Snape knew there was something not quite right with 4 Privet Drive. It was in the closed curtains, the unwelcoming atmosphere, and the dullness of the place despite having – as Dumbledore had said – two children to brighten up the place.

The closed curtains were not a surprise. If these Muggles were half as intelligent as Snape thought them to be, then they would have already figured out that sunlight was bad for Harry Potter.

But it was already night time. The curtains shouldn't have been necessary.

The edge of Snape's lips curled up into a sneer.

He had no idea what Dumbledore was thinking sending him to get Potter five years before the boy was sent for Hogwarts. There were just so many things wrong with that thought.

Him. Severus Snape. Ex-Death Eater. Sent to retrieve the son of Lily Evans, the only person he ever truly loved, and James Potter, the person foremost in the list of those he truly hated. Five years before the boy was sent for Hogwarts.

"He can survive five more years of pampering from his ever-doting relatives, Albus," he had said bitingly. "His… condition –" It was with years of practicing holding his tongue in front of Albus Dumbledore that he successfully managed not to spit the word disease. "—should be easily compensated for. Muggles compensate for trifle disabilities all the time, do they not?"

"Then all the better that we wizards do the compensating for them," Dumbledore had said calmly. "We do, after all, have the means."

Snape scowled. "Why now? You've left the boy in their care for six years."

"Six years too long," Dumbledore had said sadly. Snape didn't bother asking anymore. The last time he tried, he only got a multitude of riddles for his effort.

"You cannot possibly be thinking of submerging a six-year-old inside a Wizarding World where everyone is afraid of him," Snape hissed vehemently.

Dumbledore's eyes turned downcast towards the wood of his desk. He sighed then, and Snape realized with a bit of a start that Dumbledore actually looked… tired. "Minerva visited the child a week ago, and I… I trust Lily's son with you, Severus."

He said it in that soft, gentle, and absolutely infuriating voice of his.

"Please."

Because he knew that Snape wouldn't be able to resist anything with Lily in it.

And Snape hated him for that.

Hated how easily he agreed to taking care of James Potter's spawn.

He had apparated to Little Whinging shortly after that, livid and fingers cold with fury. He had planned to stalk right up to the front door, knock, and launch into a ten-minute speech as to why they should hand over the accursed boy to him, but when Petunia Dursley opened the door, all he could do was stare.

He had been prepared to see her again. But even though she was a lot thinner and a lot older-looking than Snape remembered or even imagined her to be, it was like being transported back in time, when they were younger and life was brighter, when he and Lily were still the best of friends, when Petunia sent him cross looks every time he picked Lily up for their mandatory Saturday afternoon walk by the lake…

Only this time they were older and the world was a dark place and Lily was dead and he was here to pick up her son.

"You!" gasped Petunia Dursley. Her eyes were wide with panic and Snape saw her fingers on the doorframe start to tremble. She narrowed the opening of the door, looking behind her once with an expression of fear, before turning back to Snape with a pleading look. "You're here to take him, aren't you?"

Snape could only blink. A sense of unease started to gnaw at him.

"Aren't you?" Petunia hissed fiercely. Another glance behind her shoulder.

Snape gathered enough of his wits to nod. "I am. Permanently. I have the papers –"

Petunia shook her head quickly. "There are no papers. Take him. Please." Her wide eyes stared into his wildly. "Give me a moment," she muttered before closing the door in his face.

Snape stared dumbly at the white paint of the door, mind working furiously at the implications of what Petunia had said. No papers.

He could hear shuffling from inside the house, hushed conversation, a door being slammed, and then –

A muffled shout of "FREAK!"

"Vernon, please –"

"Get out! Right now! OUT!"

"Vernon –"

"And Petunia, you tell that bastard out there to get his dirty shoes off my porch –"

More shuffling and then stomping.

Finally, the door opened – just narrow enough for Petunia to push the boy through.

Snape, despite his attempts to condition himself from plunging back into maudlin memories of the past, found himself taking a very sharp intake of breath at the sight of those green eyes staring up at him.

"He's –" Petunia started but her voice cracked. Snape's eyes snapped up to meet hers or, at least, the one that was peering through the now even narrower opening of the door. It hadn't been bloodshot when he last saw it. Petunia swallowed audibly and tried again. "He's all yours," she whispered.

Snape looked back down at the child. He took in the oversized clothes, torn in some places, and the oversized glasses. But most of all, he took in the thinness of the child, the dull bruises on the child's forehead, the rashes on his hollowed cheeks, and the dried, broken lower lip.

Before fury could fully consume him, he forced himself through gritted teeth to say, "His things?"

Petunia shook her head furiously. "None. Now leave." One more glance behind. "Please."

And then she closed the door.

None, she had said. No papers, she had said.

Snape could feel a snarl threaten to take up his face.

Now he knew what Dumbledore had meant when he said "six years too long."

A whimper below him had him looking down abruptly, and he stared – with wide eyes and a sick feeling unfurling in his stomach – at the child who was standing, tensed, with his arms above his head for protection.

He had half a mind to Reducto the whole house. Set Fiendfyre on all of them. Crucio all the inhabitants until they cried and begged for mercy, the same way that this child – Lily's son – had cried and begged for mercy.

Snape forced himself away from those thoughts abruptly. He had turned his back on that life.

This was his life now.

He raised a hand cautiously and gently pried the child's arms apart. With a certain sort of marvel and emotions that he thought had long since died within him, he placed his hand on top of the boy's head.

This was going to be his life.

He felt as if weight was added on to his shoulders, but he had lived through his whole life with heavy shoulders. What was a little more?

Tentatively, the child's arms fell down and he peeked through messy bangs at the man with the moon behind him.

"Let us go," Snape murmured into the night.

Six-year-old Harry Potter figured there was something weird about the man in black. He didn't make Harry weed the garden or sleep in the cupboard or wash the dishes or clean the floor. He gave Harry food.

The Dursleys gave him food too but always leftovers and canned soup that never tasted nice.

The man in black had fetched Harry from his room – His room. His own room! He didn't have to sleep in the cupboard under the stairs anymore! – the next morning and walked with him towards a big, dining hall that was so tall and so wide that Harry thought it was funny that the long table in the middle of the room only occupied such a small space.

The table, Harry saw as they neared, was filled with plates of food that looked and smelled delicious. His mouth watered just looking at them. But he had learned well in the Dursleys never to touch food that wasn't his so he hung awkwardly beside the man as the man took the seat at the head of the table.

Dudley made him sit with them during mealtimes sometimes, even though Uncle Vernon's face would turn into a funny purple. At first, he made the mistake of thinking that they were finally allowing him to eat with them, but was quick to learn that it was only one of Dudley's ways of hurting him.

Did this man want to hurt him as well?

When the man ordered him to sit, he did and kept his eyes resolutely on his hands, as if they might move out of his own accord and steal food if he didn't keep an eye on them.

To his surprise, the man began scooping a variety of different food onto his plate.

Harry drew himself up so that he could peer at the top of the table and was confused to know that the man hadn't even bothered to put food on his own plate. Why was he putting food in Harry's plate?

"Eat," the man ordered gently.

Harry's eyes widened. He looked up at the man, unable to keep the excitement from his voice. "I can?"

And then the man was making that shocked face again that quickly transformed into a scary one. The same thing happened last night when they first arrived in this place and Snape had shown him to his room.

It was a big, spacious room with royal green walls and a cream-colored ceiling. The floor was covered with a cream-colored carpet, and in the middle of the room was a big, Queen-size bed with royal green covers. On one side of the room was a door and on the other side were glass doors, framed by black curtains, leading into the balcony.

"This will be your room," the man had gruffly said.

And in his shock, Harry had forgotten his manners and spoke for the first time that night, "No mo' cubburds?"

Then he realized his mistake and slapped both of his hands on his mouth, wondering if he'll get clocked for speaking out of turn.

He chanced a look at the man and saw the shocked face quickly followed by the scary face, but when the man didn't clock him or even raise a finger, he slowly put his hands down.

"No more cupboards," the man had said firmly. Harry was amazed at that. "Now sleep. I will fetch you in the morning."

And then he left.

Of course, Harry didn't sleep. He had spent the night exploring the room, jumping on the bed and rolling on the carpet. He found out that the door on the side of the room led to a big bathroom with a big bathtub. He opened cabinets and drawers, and even though they were all empty, they still took Harry's breath away.

By the time he was done, he was exhausted enough that he simply curled up on the big, soft bed and promptly fell asleep, not even having enough time to worry about the Bogeyman that Dudley kept on telling him lived under his bed.

He didn't know what happy felt like but he supposed that must be it.

And now the man was telling him to eat all these delicious food and wasn't fibbing.

"I expect your plate to be licked clean," the man said calmly after the scary face disappeared.

Harry immediately set to work just in case the man decided to change his mind.

Snape was a professional when it came to hiding his emotions. He had done it as a child when the relationship of his parents catapulted into disaster. He had done it as a student when James Potter and his posse teased and taunted him. He had done it when Lily told him that she was going to marry James Potter.

But this was different.

This was a child.

He could even ignore the fact that this was Lily and Potter's child because this was just a child.

That first night, after making sure that the boy had had enough of his fun exploring his new room and had finally fallen asleep on the bed, he assigned a House Elf to watch over the child, Floo-ed to Dumbledore's Office, and promptly raised hell.

"Six long years," he had snarled. "And you put a stop to this only now?!"

Dumbledore hadn't been surprised at his sudden arrival or at the manner that he decided to do it. He remained sitting behind his desk, pushed his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose, and sighed morosely. "I had thought…"

"You hadn't thought," Snape had hissed.

Dumbledore was calm when he looked at Snape in the eye. A small, sad smile had been on his lips. "I take it that your rightly guided anger towards me means that you will take care of the child?"

"I wouldn't have gotten him out of that wretched household if I didn't plan on following through my word," Snape growled and that had been that.

The little Potter was his now.

And that terrified him.

He had no idea how to take care of another human being, much less a child that had no nuance of what the world had in store for him.

Much less Harry Potter.

"He doesn't know how to read and write," Snape was listing off in Dumbledore's Office on the second night. A dark look was on his face. "He knows how to wash dishes, cook a variety of English cuisine, which chemicals are best for polishing marble, and how to weed gardens. He's six-year-old, Albus. He doesn't know how to read and write. His speech, if he does speak, consists of three-word utterances at best! I'm lucky that the child even knows how to count to ten."

Dumbledore was watching all this with an amused smile. "Then it's rather convenient that his guardian is a teacher, is it not?"

Snape scowled at him, failing to see what he could be finding amusing in all of this. "He doesn't know magic."

At this, Dumbledore sobered. "Yes, I expected as much, and I believe there's a lot more things that he doesn't know."

He sent Snape a pointed look to which the man just scoffed at. He knew what Dumbledore was getting at.

With a sigh, Dumbledore leaned forward in his desk and looked at Snape from above his crescent-shaped spectacles. "Would you like some help? I could owl Minerva or Professor Sprout. Hmm, Pomona seems to be more suited in teaching that young a child, no?"

Snape's lip curled in disgust. "No," he found himself saying. "I'll do this myself."

Dumbledore relaxed in his seat and smiled.

Later, when Snape was back in his Manor and on his way to checking on the boy, he'd realize how he had been played.

The boy was an enthusiastic learner. Snape was surprised himself to know that he could teach such menial things to a child without breaking into a hissing fit of raging impatience. If this was a normal student in Hogwarts, he would have sneered at their lesser intelligence. But as it turned out, this was a six-year-old child who didn't have an inkling of what A, B, C was.

It helped that the child was eager to learn the things that Snape presented him with and, as a result, was a diligent student.

He was eternally curious about the things around him. Snape could only imagine just how much those Muggles had closed him off from the world.

Showing him the existence of magic didn't prove as difficult as Snape had predicted it to be.

He had imagined the boy running away in fear or crying or locking himself up in his room, but none of those happened in any of the times that Snape levitated a feather, transfigured the chair into a table, or introduced Gritty the House Elf to him.

Gritty had Potter yelping out in surprise at first. It wasn't his fault, Snape supposed. Gritty was an old House Elf that had warts all over his nose and a perpetually sour expression. But after an intense staring session that lasted for minutes, Potter seemed to have decided that Gritty wasn't about to start hitting him or yelling at him and finally emerged from behind the chair that he was using to hide himself.

He had said a small, nervous hi and that was that. Gritty the House Elf nodded in acknowledgement and disappeared with a pop.

That had Potter sporting an expression of amazement.

What really proved difficult in the weeks to come was getting the Potter boy to touch him out of his own volition. Snape wasn't a tactile man himself, but he knew that there wasn't anything normal about a child who consciously went out of his way to avoid physical contact.

The first time it happened was during their first lesson. The boy had been too excited with scribbling squiggly lines on the parchment with a quill that when he reached out to dip the quill in the inkwell, he went farther than the well and nearly touched the nib to Snape's robes. He had retracted his hand in a flash like it had been burned.

The boy dipped the quill in the well and went back to scribbling, but Snape most definitely noticed the trembling of his fingers that hadn't been there before.

Another disturbing incident occurred half an hour later. He was getting the boy to count with his fingers when Potter mistakenly uncurled seven fingers while saying 'six'. Snape had reached out with the intention of uncurling another finger when Potter flinched, shut his eyes closed, and ducked his head.

Needless to say, he had visited Dumbledore again that night spitting venom.

Snape did his best to ignore the signs of abuse when they presented themselves. He didn't know what else to do with them.

What he did know, however, that that wasn't it.

Brewing potions for the boy had been easy enough.

Explaining to him why being under the sun didn't hurt anymore was something exponentially more difficult.

July 31st was the boy's birthday, Dumbledore had said.

Snape had prepared for it, cakes and gifts and balloons and all. In fact, he may have overdone it. He didn't know how children's birthdays went. His own last one had been filled with fake smiles and strangers who either pinched his cheeks or looked disapprovingly at him.

As he counted the days off the calendar, it was like he was the one waiting for it.

The boy certainly made no mention of it.

When the 31st rolled by, the boy had gotten out of bed and eaten breakfast quietly as was his wont and didn't say anything about the day of his birth.

At first he had thought that maybe the boy didn't know his own birthday.

Snape had asked then, in the middle of breakfast, in a stiff voice. "How old are you, Po – Harry?"

The name was still foreign in Snape's tongue.

The boy started at the question, blinking at Snape in surprise. Then, he looked at his hands and started uncurling them one by one, hesitating when he reached the sixth. He stopped after the seventh finger and showed them off to Snape. "Seven," he said quietly.

So the boy knew.

Snape cleared his throat. Something seemed to have clogged it. "Then, happy birthday," he said.

The boy's eyes grew even wider.

It was that expression of awe in the boy's eyes that pushed Snape's hand into his pocket to curl around his wand. With a flick and a swish, a cake appeared on the table, balloons appeared on the floor, and a neatly-wrapped gift appeared on the chair next to Harry's.

It was the first time he saw the boy cry.

Snape wasn't a fool to think that Dumbledore had exclusively enlisted his help in the caring for the boy. He was a full-time professor after all and he wouldn't have been able to keep the boy in Hogwarts during the academic year.

"But Black and Lupin?" he spat in disgust when the subject matter was brought up one fine evening. "They may as well be fugitives!"

The serious look on Dumbledore's face told him that the decision had been made.

"So is Harry," Dumbledore said grimly. Snape's mouth closed shut.

Dumbledore sighed sadly. "It is only during the academic months. The boy will be with you during the Christmas holidays and during summer vacation, but when you are fulfilling your obligations and earning your keep here in Hogwarts, I found it best to request the assistance of the boy's godfather."

The snarl on Snape's face didn't lessen in vehemence.

Dumbledore fixed him with a hard stare. "You know I trust you most in this, Severus. That is why I turned to you. And I also trust that you are mature enough to look past your animosity with Black and Lupin to accept that they will take care of the child as if he was their own."

On the 31st of August, the day before the start of classes in Hogwarts, Severus Snape stood in front of his fireplace with a fidgeting Harry Potter beside him. The boy still didn't know how to wear robes properly.

"Stop moving about, Harry," he said in a clipped, frustrated tone, but immediately felt chagrined at himself and guilty when the boy flinched.

He couldn't help it. The apprehension at the thought of Sirius Black and Remus Lupin appearing in his fireplace any minute now did things to his temperance.

With a sigh, he knelt down in front of the child and used a finger to gently tilt his head up for their eyes to meet.

Snape felt a momentary triumph when the boy didn't flinch at that touch. There was progress.

"I apologize," he said, and even though his voice was stiff and awkward, the boy's shy smile told him he was forgiven.

"Are you…" the boy started, looking to the side nervously.

Snape urged him on as he always did and as part of his efforts to make the child understand that he wasn't going to get hit for speaking his mind. "Am I what?"

The boy, keeping his eyes on the carpet of the living room, shrugged weakly. "Sending me away?"

Snape's breath held.

"No –" He found himself croaking out on impulse. "Absolutely not." Inwardly, he cursed himself. He should have explained this better. "I have to… work for a while. But I can't take you with me. It's too dangerous and I don't want you to get hurt. So I asked the help of some… friends –" Snape tried very hard to keep his lip from curling in disgust. "—to take care of you for me while I'm away."

The boy was still looking at him dubiously and Snape knew then, without a doubt, that lying would only reverse all of his efforts for the past two months to earn the boy's trust.

"I'll come back for you during the Christmas holidays," he said softly.

The boy looked miserable at that but Snape was proud of his effort to put on a brave face afterwards. "Are they nice?" Harry whispered.

Something tore inside Snape when he forced himself to say, "Yes. They are. And they'll take care of you better than I can."

But whatever that was, it was instantly healed when Harry looked at him disbelievingly and exclaimed, "But you've already taken care of me best!"

Then, realizing what he just said and how loud he had said it, turned beet red.

The warmth that bloomed in Snape's chest terrified him.

At that moment, the Floo blared to life with green flames and out came Sirius Black and Remus Lupin.

What happened next was a series of quick events that Snape was too detached from to experience properly.

What Snape saw clearly, however, was the array of emotions that crossed Black's face when his eyes landed on the boy. He didn't even make notice of Snape. Black's face transformed from disbelief, to despair, and to relief in a matter of a second and he had immediately dashed forward, on his knees, to hold the boy to his chest and sob.

It was probably his crying – a big man crying and sobbing his heart out – that prevented Harry from flinching away from the sudden touch.

Snape couldn't muster enough hatred within him to feel happy at the sight of Black in tears.

"Severus," Lupin greeted politely.

Snape nodded at him shortly and quickly went to business, speaking in low tones so that Harry wouldn't hear. Although, with Black howling "Harry, Harry, Harry" in his ear, he wouldn't have heard even if Snape spoke in his normal volume.

"He knows the alphabet now. He can read and write although he's a bit slow. Start teaching him math. And magic. I haven't taken him outside of the Manor, nor have I told him…" he trailed off with a vague wave towards the boy, who was standing stock still, green eyes wide and confused as to why the big man was crying.

Snape cleared his throat, aware of Lupin's too inquisitive gaze.

"He's a stranger to touch," he said instead. He met Lupin's eyes levelly. "Reprimand him if need be, but do not yell at him, do not raise a hand at him, and do not show any acts of anger in front of him, lest you want all of us to go back to square one. And for Merlin's sake, do not let him near any cupboard under the stairs or do any household chore on his own."

Lupin's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, no doubt wondering about specificity of Snape's instructions. "Why…?"

"Muggles." Snape sneered.

He let the implications of his words dawn on Lupin and was satisfied when the werewolf's eyes widened and his breath hitched. He rummaged into one of the front pockets of his robes and pulled out two miniature suitcases.

"His potion against the sun," he said, holding the black suitcase up between his thumb and forefinger. "Give it to him on days that he wishes to go out. And –" He held the brown suitcase up this time. "Your Wolfsbane potion."

Lupin's eyes widened once more. "You finished…?"

Snape nodded stiffly, not knowing what to do with the gratitude in Lupin's face. "Owl me how it fares if you wish."

Lupin took both suitcases and put them in the pocket of his trousers. "Thank you," he whispered earnestly and glanced down at Harry, who still had Black all over him but was now looking at the two of them in confusion. Lupin wore his best smile and directed it at Harry, even as he spoke his words for Snape. "And for Harry."

Snape nodded. "Now leave. I opened the wards for you to apparate Harry through."

Moments later, as they all stood to leave, Black – who had wiped his face clean of snot and tears – nodded awkwardly at Snape. "Thank you," he said gruffly.

Snape said nothing and glanced at Harry. He was surprised to feel a sense of possessiveness and jealousy at the way the boy was holding on to Black's robes.

"Chris'mas?" Harry asked unsurely, shyly.

Snape tried to keep the corners of his lips from twitching upwards. "Christmas," he confirmed.

With two pops, he was finally left alone in his Manor.

Just like he had always been.

He wasn't sure just when he had gotten attached to the boy, but giving the boy away, even if it was only temporary, stung.

There was only one way to describe the pain:

It felt like losing Lily all over again.

Sirius Black certainly hadn't expected meeting James' son again to turn out like this. The boy had been just a baby, barely three months old, when Sirius last saw him.

He had had so many plans for this child.

He had planned on showering him with all kinds of toys, taking him for daredevil broomstick rides around London behind his parents' backs, and teaching him how to be a mean Chaser. He had dreamed of the child as a toddler, chubby and goofy smiles, to squeal in joy whenever Sirius would transform into a dog and back.

He had dreamed of buying the kid's first broomstick and of James and Lily admonishing him for spoiling their son rotten.

But then Halloween happened and… Dumbledore said that the boy was safer off living with the Muggles.

For the past six years, Sirius had plenty of time to imagine what life with the Muggles was like for his godson. He had imagined… no, he had wished for them to be just like James and Lily. That the Muggles would love Harry and care for him like he was their own and that toy cars and action figures would take the place of broomsticks and toy Snitches.

That was how he comforted himself – how he appeased his guilt of not being able to take care of his own godson.

But seeing the boy again… It opened up that dam of guilt that he had desperately tried, for six years, to hold back.

It didn't help that the boy was so quiet.

Harry wasn't supposed to be quiet.

That wasn't part of Sirius' plans or dreams for the child.

He was supposed to be energetic, exuberant, bursting with activity and life, just like James and Lily had been. He was supposed to be mischievous like Sirius, clever like Remus… He wasn't supposed to look so fearful all the time.

That first night, after they had sent the child to bed, Sirius stayed up all night, unable to sleep, unable to keep the excitement, the relief, the dread down. They finally had Harry. James, we've got him, he kept on saying in his head.

At around two in the morning, Remus bid him good night. But Sirius knew better.

He knew Remus wouldn't get a wink of sleep either.

As for him, he spent the hours away in front of the fireplace, biting his nails, pacing, keeping his hands from trembling. He was terrified. He had no idea how to take care of a child.

They both knew Remus was going to end up doing all the boring stuff, like teaching the kid math. Sirius wasn't cut out for that. He didn't know what to do.

He had had so many plans.

But none for the following morning to come.

So he did what he only knew to do.

The next morning, he taught the kid how to fly.

Remus thought he was doing a fine job teaching the boy things about the Wizarding World. He had told him about Hogwarts and the wonder of the place and how Harry was going to study there when he turned eleven, just like his mom and dad, just like Sirius and Remus, just like Severus.

"But you're going to have to call him Professor Snape once you're there," he had said with light humor.

Harry's nose had scrunched up. "That'd be weird," he had replied, to which Sirius – who had been sitting in on their 'class' that day – guffawed loudly at.

Remus also told him about wands and potions ("Severus is exceptionally good at them.") and magical plants and owls and House Elves and creatures big and small that Muggles believed only existed in fairytales.

"Muggles have made up all sorts of things about magical beings," he had explained. "For example, mermaids aren't very nice at all."

He liked to think he was doing a very good job teaching Harry all about the Wizarding World. It also helped that Grimmauld Place held a very large library with a wide variety of books and that Harry was an ever curious student.

But it was only three months into Harry's stay that he realized just how much.

"You're a werewolf, aren't you?" Harry asked him one night after the full moon when Remus had lain in bed, still too weak to continue their lesson on subtraction.

Sirius was downstairs trying to get Kreacher started on dinner and chicken soup for Remus, which left the latter alone with Harry's curious eyes that shone bright against the darkness with only the light of the moon from the window.

Remus shivered from the cold both outside and within him.

But then Harry breathed out with a shy, tentative grin: "I think it's cool." Then, afraid that Remus might take it the wrong way, quickly added, "But I don't like how you always get hurt every month."

Remus released the breath that he hadn't realized he was holding. Relief flooded through his whole system so unexpectedly that his eyes started to get warm. He had long since forgotten what acceptance felt like. He only ever got it from Sirius now but it was different to get it from someone whom you haven't known for decades.

He resolutely pushed down his self-persecution complex that reminded him that Harry was just saying that because he hasn't been outside – doesn't know what the Wizarding World thought of werewolves – because what else mattered but Harry accepting him?

"Thank you," he breathed out and hoped his smile was enough for the boy to recognize and accept his outstretched arms as a request for a hug. Harry did and Remus was warmed.

And then Harry asked, so softly and muffled into Remus' shoulder that he almost didn't hear: "I'm a vampire, aren't I?"

The cold returned.

He had taught the boy well.

In one of the many rooms in Grimmauld Place, Harry found a pencil. It was a peculiar thing to find in a magical household. Ever since he left the Dursleys, all he had been writing with were quills that required re-inking every few scratches. Finding a pencil was very strange indeed.

The Dursleys never let him use Dudley's pencils. He was allowed to touch them only if he was going to put them away after Dudley made a mess of them but he was never to use them. He'd seen Dudley write with it or even draw, but Dudley's drawings were never pretty. Mostly, they were drawings of Harry getting hurt by a badly drawn fire or a knife or a rabid dog.

Harry knew it was him because of the crooked circles that made up his eyeglasses and the zigzag scar on his forehead.

Harry itched to try the pencil now but he didn't know what to draw. He was sure he didn't want to copy Dudley's drawings though.

"There you are, Harry," came Remus' relieved voice from the doorway.

Harry stood up abruptly from his crouching position in front of an open trunk and hid the pencil behind his back. He didn't think Remus would get it from him like Aunt Petunia always did but he wanted to be sure. He fidgeted guiltily.

Remus' eyebrow rose at the behaviour. "You really shouldn't go off this far into the house. You might get hurt by some of the furniture."

"Well, I never! We are not barbarians!" huffed the cabinet behind the hairdresser behind one of the tables in the room.

"Sorry," Remus said, still focused on Harry's hand that was hidden behind his back. Then, he looked at the trunk beside the boy and flushed slightly. "Oh, dear, you've gone and found my old school trunk, have you?"

Harry's eyes widened. "It's yours?"

Remus nodded, stepping closer to look down at the contents of the trunk. His things had been neatly arranged when he last left it but was now a haphazard mess. He smiled in amusement. "Did you find anything that you like?"

Harry's ears were red.

Remus smiled wider. "Well, you can keep it."

"I can?" Harry squeaked out, looking at him in amazement. Then, with a guilty shift of his eyes, procured the pencil from behind him. "I found this. I'm sorry I hid it," he mumbled miserably.

Remus was surprised that the object the boy had hid was merely a pencil. The surprise didn't last long, however, when he thought of how the boy must have been longing for remnants of the Muggle world.

"It's alright, Harry," he comforted, reaching out to ruffle the boy's hair. "It must have surprised you to see a pencil in this old house."

Harry nodded. "Aunt Petunia never let me use Dudley's pencils, so I wanted to try drawing…" he trailed off, flushing.

The hot rage that churned in Remus' stomach then was a familiar sensation by now. It happened every time they were reminded of how those Muggles had treated Harry – kind, kind Harry – which was happening a lot more frequently. Remus was happy that Harry was being more open to them now, but it was getting harder and harder to restrain Sirius from going to Little Whinging and hexing the family since Harry's mentions of them were getting more and more detailed.

"I have some more here," Remus said instead, kneeling down and rummaging through the mess of his trunk in an effort to push his anger down. "I'll give them to you and I'll teach you how to draw a dog."

Harry's first drawing of a dog included a messily scribbled 'SIRIUS' on the side.

Sirius laughed so much that tears sprang to his eyes and he hugged Harry in pretty much the same way he did during the first time they met in Snape Manor.

Harry hugged him back, and that, Remus supposed, was probably what made Sirius start crying for real.

"What is this?" Snape asked during one cold night in December.

Harry was sprawled on the floor of the living room in front of the fireplace, parchment and pencils strewn all over the carpet around him. On the parchment were various drawings of… dogs.

Snape valiantly tried to keep his lip from curling in disgust lest he send the wrong message to the boy. The drawings were very nice for a seven-year-old though. They were rather realistic, only a bit rough on the edges, and one can see the parts in the drawing when Harry had pressed the pencil too deeply. However, they all looked suspiciously like… Black.

Or maybe that was just because all the dogs were all shaded rather darkly.

Snape pinched his nose and bit his tongue to keep himself from saying anything that might sound like he was insulting Harry's artistic prowess.

Harry turned beet red and tried to hide the few drawings that he could reach using his small hands. "Uhm, Remus gave me some pencils and…"

Ah. That would explain the over tendency to draw mutts.

There was nothing for it.

He would have to remedy this immediately.

With a sigh, he sat down on the floor next to Harry and took one of the pencils lying around.

He taught Harry how to draw a lily.

And so became of Harry's new life in this magical new world.

During the Christmas and summer vacations, he would stay with Severus. When Severus was required to be in Hogwarts, he stayed with Sirius and Remus. He never really did know why Severus and Sirius didn't like each other very much but they got along just fine as long as they never really saw each other.

They never once took him outside to meet with other people.

Harry never asked.

Without having been outside, he didn't feel the yearning for it. Besides, there was plenty to do in the many rooms of Grimmauld Place and the large expanse of Snape Manor. If he wanted sunlight and fresh air, all he had to do was take his potion and run around the Manor's gardens. Or find a room in Grimmauld Place that had a window that wasn't barred up. Or take the broomstick that Sirius gave him on his eighth birthday and fly above the clouds. He was allowed to fly as long as he didn't talk to anyone or let them see him.

The three men gave him everything he needed – even things he was too shy to ask for.

And, after having gotten nothing during his stay with the Dursleys, he wanted nothing more.

When he was ten years old, in the same room that he found Remus' old school trunk, he found another trunk. It was in one of the corners near the door, wedged awkwardly between two cabinets and hidden by other taller furniture.

DO NOT OPEN, it read, so naturally, Harry opened it.

In it, he found bundles of parchment with graphs and drawings of a lot of circles with small text scribbled around them, but he didn't understand half of the words that he read so he just put them to the side to grab another item.

He went through a box with hourglasses of different shapes and sizes, some dried inkwells and a few broken quills, before he found the golden box with the label that read: L I L Y.

Heart pounding in his chest, he took the box from the trunk, holding it with the utmost care. Severus, Sirius and Remus all had given him the things that had once belonged to his parents – things that they borrowed but never got to return – but they were few and this was the first time that Harry found one on his own.

As if his parents were still alive and Harry was their curious child who wandered off to far in the house when they weren't looking and went through all their important stuff.

Carefully, Harry opened the lid.

That was how he found the Time Turner.

He read all about Time Turners after that.

After he was done going through the Black library, he went through Snape's and kept it his very own secret. He didn't know if they'd still let him keep it if he knew he had one but, judging from the things he read, they probably wouldn't.

He wouldn't use it for bad stuff though. In fact, he wouldn't use it at all.

He just wanted to be able to keep it in his pocket at all times and feel its weight – a reminder that he did have real parents who loved him.

The first time that Draco Malfoy met Harry Potter was during a hot, summer day in August when they were both eleven years old.

His father was supposed to go somewhere in Romania for 'business' and his mother was going to visit a sick relative in Venice for a whole two weeks. They would both be back a few days before the first of September, just in time to accompany Draco in Diagon Alley and buy him new robes and school supplies.

Draco was used to this. He had been shipped like cargo from one set of relatives to the next all throughout his childhood and he liked to think that, from the experience, he had learned a great deal how to butter pompous adults up. He was very good at buttering, in fact, that he always managed to get his aunts and uncles to relay information that they otherwise wouldn't give to a child.

At age eleven, Draco was smart enough to know that his father really was going to Romania for 'business' but that the 'business' wasn't the financial and economical kind, and that his mother wasn't going to Venice to visit a sick relative because there was no relative in Venice to begin with. His mother just wanted a two-week vacation from the ever tedious task of a trophy wife and the more tedious task of a mother.

But this time was different though because they were leaving him with Uncle Severus, his godfather, and Uncle Severus wasn't a man easily buttered – which was precisely why Draco enjoyed being with him so much and why Draco had looked forward to his stay in the man's Manor more than he had ever looked forward to Christmases.

When he arrived in Snape Manor through the Floo, however, he was stupefied to see a boy – looking roughly the same age as him – waiting with Uncle Severus for him.

He was even more stupefied when he saw the scar.

"Harry Potter?" he blurted out, completely forgetting his manners and ogling.

The boy's green eyes widened behind his large spectacles and shifted closer to Snape, who was watching Draco with wary eyes.

Draco, too caught up with his excitement to notice their expressions, stepped forward and shoved his face in front of Harry's. A big grin was on his young face. "Is it true? Is it true you're a vampire?"

Harry started at the sudden invasion of personal space but otherwise didn't move back. He was confused by the fact that the boy knew him and that he was a vampire, but reckoned that Severus must have told him.

He still felt uncomfortable saying yes though, but nod he did.

Draco's eyes lit up like fairy lights. "Wicked," he breathed out.

Unbeknownst to the two boys, Snape's tense shoulders relaxed. "Draco," he said in a firm voice, giving the blond boy a pointed look down his nose. "Mind your manners."

Flushing slightly, Draco stepped back, and Harry breathed out a sigh of relief at regaining his personal space back. He was surprised when a hand was shoved in front of him instead.

He looked back up at the boy's face and saw the winning smile there.

"Draco Malfoy," the boy said. "I'm terribly sorry for forgetting to introduce myself."

Feeling a little bit silly at the formality, Harry cautiously reached out a hand and shook Draco's. "Harry Potter." Then, he shrugged. "It's alright."

Satisfied, Snape nodded at the two boys. "Harry, show Draco around. I have work to do. Be ready for dinner at six o'clock sharp."

He actually didn't have work to do. It was the first time for Harry to meet someone who was the same age as him and Snape wanted him to get a feel for it on his own. In other words, he wanted the two to become friends, seeing as they were going to be spending the next two weeks together.

More specifically, he wanted Harry to have a friend.

And his boisterous godson seemed to be doing spectacularly well, talking Harry's ear off about Malfoy Manor, oblivious to Harry's surprised but amused look.

Convinced that the two boys were going to be just fine for the next few hours, Snape left for his laboratory with a light heart.

"So, you're really a vampire?" Draco asked an hour later after Harry was done with the tour of the mansion. They were in the front gardens now, where Harry was still touring him around in, but he couldn't contain himself anymore. He had minded his manners for the past hour, listening attentively to Harry's simple descriptions of the boy's room and giving his own comments and comparisons with his own home, and figured that that was good enough.

Uncle Severus should be proud of him.

Harry paused, arm raised halfway in the middle of pointing to the fountain where water flowed from a statue of Panacea, goddess of universal remedy. He didn't know why Draco was so curious. Severus, Sirius and Remus never made a big fuss out of it, so he supposed all wizards didn't think much of vampires, not like how the Muggles did.

He nodded.

Draco's face lit up. "So it's not true that vampires burn under the sun?"

Harry blinked. He looked down at his arms and remembered the days of long ago when he still weeded Aunt Petunia's garden. "We do, but Severus makes a potion for me that allows me to go out during the day. I took one earlier, because he said you might like to fly around a bit."

Draco nodded excitedly. "I'd like that, when we're done with the tour," he said, and, without missing a beat, followed up on his question. "What about blood?" he asked, curious eyes boring into Harry's. "Do you feel like sucking my blood right now?"

For someone who was asking that question, Draco didn't look at all concerned for the possible decrease of the volume of his blood.

Harry's nose scrunched up at the thought. As a child, he had thought that vampires only fed on blood, but just like what Remus had told him once, "Muggles have made up all sorts of things about magical beings."

He has certainly never felt any urges to suck blood and was very happy eating real food.

He shook his head. "I've never drank blood," he said, eyebrows still furrowed together at the thought. "And I don't want to drink yours," he added quickly.

Draco pursed his lips in confusion, as if he was perplexed that Harry didn't want to drink his blood. "But aren't vampires supposed to drink blood?"

Harry shook his head again. Maybe kid wizards were told the same myths about magical beings as Muggles. "Vampires can," he said, remembering what he read in a book once. It was a boring book, one with a lot of small text and no pictures at all, but it told him what he wanted to know – and what he didn't.

"But if we start drinking a person's blood, we'll need that person's blood our whole lives. It doesn't sound very fun, sucking blood," he finished with a thoughtful frown.

The book also told him that at the mature age of 18, vampires start to need human blood, which leads them to biting their First Donor and consequently being dependent on them their whole lives. Harry didn't want to tell this new boy that nor did he want to think about it himself.

The book also told him that being a vampire was a disease.

"No, it doesn't," Draco agreed with a dejected sigh. Then, he immediately perked up again. "Well? What vampire abilities do you have?"

"Vampire abilities? Uhm, well, I have really sharp fangs?"

"Oh, wicked! Can I see?"

Harry looked at him, amused. He could feel the beginnings of a grin threaten to worm its way up to his lips.

This boy was interesting.

"Well, well, I'm impressed, Harry," Draco said two more hours later as they landed on the balcony of Harry's room. Both of their hairs were windblown and their cheeks were flushed, bitten by the wind. Draco collapsed on one of the chairs and leaned his broomstick on the edge of the balcony. A smug smirk was on his lips. "I've never met anyone who could match my speed."

Harry was surprised at how at ease he felt around this new boy and easily smiled back. "Match? I think I bested you during that last run, Draco."

Even the new name rolled off his tongue so easily.

Draco's eyes twinkled at the challenge. "You wish, Potter."

Harry grinned. "Don't have to."

In a flash, they were both off the balcony and back up in the air, their laughter and light taunts echoing in the wind.

From the window of his laboratory, Snape looked pretty smug with himself.

"That's asphodel, not a lily, although asphodel's part of the lily family too," Draco was explaining three days into his stay as they crouched over a small portion of Snape Manor's garden that held a variety of flowering plants.

"My mother's name is Lily," said Harry because he didn't know what to reply to what Draco had just said.

Draco had been talking non-stop ever since they stepped on the garden, naming all the plants and flowers he could identify, and while Harry really was interested, he didn't know he could remember all of them.

The flowers, he might, because they were so pretty and had very distinguishable features, unlike the ferns, which didn't look very different to Harry at all.

"That's a pretty name," Draco said politely. "There! That's a white lily. Your mother must have been beautiful just like it."

He was used to saying pretty words that he didn't mean just to get others to like him, but this was different. Harry had told him all about his parents six hours into meeting each other, mainly due to Draco's persuasion and curiosity, and the longing on Harry's face when he related the story made Draco want to make him feel better.

(Harry had also told him that he had no idea how he had defeated this Voldemort guy, since he was just three months old, and the offhanded way that he had mentioned the Dark Lord's name had made Draco wince.)

Draco pointed to another bunch of flowers just a short distance from the lilies. "That's a narcissus. My mother's name is Narcissa."

"That's also a pretty name," Harry said to return the favour.

"Ohh, look at this! It's an amaryllis. It's really beautiful, don't you think?"

Harry smiled at the flower in full-bloom, the colour of its petals transforming from yellow at the root to a pure white and then to a soft blush of pink. "It is."

"I didn't think that amaryllises grew here, but Uncle Severus probably uses magic on his garden to keep all kinds of plants no matter the season." Draco rattled on, his cheeks flushed with excitement at all the flora. "Mother and Father just keep our garden nice and pretty, but they don't know much about plants at all."

Harry grinned at him. "And you seem to know a lot about plants."

Draco sniffed haughtily in the air. "I plan to be a great Potioneer like Uncle Severus one day, so I have to. Besides, aren't they interesting?"

Harry didn't have the heart to tell him otherwise. He nodded with a smile.

Draco flashed him a beaming smile right back. "Right. Let's go to the shrubs next."

He stood up from his crouching position and brushed his knees although they hardly touched the ground at all. When he took a step forward though, his foot got caught on a wayward vine and he lost his balance.

He fell on his knees, on top of small rocks, and he cried out in pain as they dug against his skin.

Harry was beside him in an instant, moving him out of the rock's way so that he was on his kneeled in front of him and his panicked eyes stared straight into Draco's. "Merlin, Draco, are you okay? Uhm, I need to call Severus, bloody hell, you're –" He choked, eyes widening at the brightness of the colour red on Draco's knees. "Bleeding."

Draco, who was blushing and just a little bit teary-eyed from the shame and impact of his fall, found his embarrassment slowly ebb away to make way for confusion. His knees hurt but they were really just scratches. If he was in any other relatives' place, he'd have made a big scene and cried his heart out, if only to get the adults to buy him whatever he wanted so that he wouldn't tattle to his parents that they hadn't taken care of him well.

But this was Uncle Severus' place and Uncle Severus never fell for his tricks and, well, Harry was looking really scared and concerned and Draco's never had anyone really worry for him like that.

Not even his own parents. His own parents would have clucked their tongues at him and admonished him for not being careful enough.

Draco peered closely at Harry's panicked eyes. "Do you feel like sucking my blood now?" he asked, blinking innocently.

Harry pulled back and looked at him incredulously, as if he was out of his mind. "No, I don't – ugh, Draco, we need to get you inside – how could you even –"

And then Draco was laughing, laughing so hard that he started clutching at his stomach and bending over sideways to avoid his knees. He could feel tears forming behind his eyes, which was worsened when he chanced a look at Harry and saw that the boy had a gobsmacked expression on his face and was red to the ears.

"Oh, this is new," he heaved out between bursts of laughter.

Harry collected enough of himself to close his opened mouth and to look at Draco indignantly. "Well, if you're so happy, then I don't think I should worry at all anymore."

And with that, he stood up and stomped off.

Draco's laughter was cut short. "Wha – hey – Harry!"

Harry didn't look back.

Draco felt an unfamiliar feeling creep up on him. He frowned, confused. It never mattered to him before if he'd offended any of his friends. He teased Pansy and insulted Blaise all the time. Let's not even talk about Crabbe and Goyle.

He frowned. Whatever this unfamiliar feeling was, he didn't like it.

With a wince, he stretched his bent knees and stood up. Ignoring the slight pinch of pain, he jogged to catch up with Harry.

"Harry!"

Harry probably wasn't trying very hard to get away because Draco caught up to him in no time even with his skinned knees.

Draco reached out a hand to close around Harry's wrist and gently pull him back.

"I'm s –" Draco started and then winced at the fact that he almost said the word sorry. Harry raised an eyebrow. Draco tried again.

"I've never had anyone worry for me like that before," he admitted, fidgeting under Harry's gaze even though Draco was easily the taller one. "It was…" he swallowed, feeling his cheeks slowly warm. "It was nice, okay?" he grumbled out.

At that, Harry's tense shoulders relaxed. "Well, you were laughing at me, so I thought…" he grumbled back, cheeks still red as well. He peered up at Draco through his fringe. "No one's ever worried about you?" he asked awkwardly.

He remembered the Dursleys and thought that maybe Draco experienced the same thing.

Draco shook his head. "No," he sighed dramatically. "Mother and Father just scold me for getting my clothes dirty and then magic away my injuries." He scoffed, jutting his lower lip out in a pout.

Harry tried to keep himself from smiling but figured he probably failed.

"And about the sucking my blood thing," Draco continued, shrugging awkwardly. "I was just trying to make you laugh."

This time, Harry didn't even try to keep the grin back. "It was a horrible joke," he said lightly.

Draco shrugged.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Come on," he said, twisting his wrist to get out of Draco's grasp only for his fingers to wrap around Draco's wrist instead. He tugged him along. "Let's get you to Severus."

"So I'm forgiven?" Draco asked as he beamed at Harry's back.

Harry snorted and looked behind his shoulder as they entered the Manor. "You didn't ask for forgiveness at all."

Draco shrugged again unrepentantly.

"Hey, it was a valiant effort."

On the twelfth day of Draco's stay, mid-morning found the two of them separated by a door.

"Draco?" Harry called for the fifth time, his voice muffled by the fact that he had his nose and lips pressed against the door to Draco's room. He pulled back and pressed his ear next.

Silence.

Harry sighed. "Draco, if you don't open this door, I'll call Severus to open it for me."

The lock clicked and the door opened just a crack – just wide enough for Draco to peer through with one eye narrowed accusingly at Harry. "That's unfair," he mumbled out.

Harry smiled slightly to himself at how red Draco's eye was. He didn't like the idea of Draco crying but the thought that the other boy had cried for him made him feel warm inside. "Come on, let me in," he said and wormed a leg through the crack.

Draco stepped aside for Harry to push the door open and leaned against the wall beside the door frame. He slid down to the floor and curled his knees to his chest, pouting petulantly at the floor.

Harry was amused. He was the one who was supposed to pout petulantly. He closed the door and plopped down beside Draco. "Have you been crying?"

"Absolutely not," came the haughty answer.

"Okay," Harry said to mollify him.

Draco took a deep, shuddery breath. "I forgot you had to take your potion to go out," he said miserably. "I couldn't sleep last night so I waited until sunrise to wake you and drag you outside because I really wanted to fly with you."

Harry relaxed against the wall and pulled his knees up to his chest as well, mimicking Draco's position. He didn't know why, but he just felt really, really warm and happy at Draco's words right now.

"I forgot that you… I'm sor…" Draco cringed and took another deep breath. "I mean, about your skin…" he trailed off, making vague motions with his hand towards Harry's arms that were wound around his own knees.

Harry outstretched his arms in front of him. "It's fine," he said, shrugging. "I'm fine. I heal very fast. It's another one of my vampire abilities," he quipped, using Draco's term for it to get a smile out of him.

He didn't.

"Yeah, well, you wouldn't have needed to heal if it weren't because of me," Draco muttered against the top of his knees. He cringed again. "So I guess I'm… sor… err…"

Harry rolled his eyes. For the past few days he'd known Draco, he never could get past the first syllable of the word sorry. He shifted a bit so that his shoulder bumped with Draco's.

"I forgive you," he said loudly. Draco's head shot up to look at him in surprise and confusion as to why his voice was so loud. Harry swallowed and continued. "And I took my potion already, so if you're still up for that broomstick race…" he trailed off and was relieved when Draco finally smiled.

It was on the thirteenth day that Narcissa Malfoy came to Snape Manor unannounced.

Harry and Draco had been back in the garden, collecting the herbs on the list that Severus gave them and getting their hands dirty, when Narcissa called from the terrace.

"Draco!"

Draco's ears had perked up at once and a wide smile lit up his face as he stood up from his crouching position and started walking towards his mother. "Mother! You're back!"

Harry stood up as well, watching how Draco and his mother hugged. Something in him hurt then, but he didn't know if it was the sight of Draco touching someone else after nearly two weeks of having him solely to himself (Severus not included because Severus was… Severus.) or the sight of such motherly care or both.

Would his mother hug him too?

He hoped she would.

Aunt Petunia certainly never did.

With a start, Harry realized that he actually wanted this woman to like him.

"Harry!" Draco called out from the terrace, his grin big and wide. "Come here!"

Despite his nervousness, Harry felt his lips tug upwards into a smile at the excitement on Draco's face – but the smile quickly dissolved into nothing when the woman took one distasteful look at him and quickly ushered Draco inside the house with a firm hand on his back.

Stomach churning, Harry followed.

He was near the living room when he heard mother and son arguing.

"—introduce you to him!" Draco was yelling.

"Do not use that tone with me, Draco."

"…Yes, mother."

"Good. Now, I don't want you near that boy again, do you hear me? Merlin knows you might have gotten his disease. If only I had known that Severus was actually keeping something like thathere, I would have sent you to your Aunt Anabelle."

Harry felt his fingertips go cold. He vaguely heard Draco growl but it was getting harder to concentrate on the words with the loud sound of his blood rushing in his ears.

"Harry is not a thing, Mother, and he is not diseased!"

"Do not use that tone –"

"He's my friend!"

Harry's eyes widened. Friend. They were friends. Draco actually thought they were friends. Harry didn't know how people became friends. Dudley had friends but his friends were never very nice to Harry. Draco was the first and only person his age that he really enjoyed being around with, and Draco said they were friends.

Narcissa's tone as she said her next words were sharp and final. "You will not be friends with a monster, Draco."

A flurry of movement beside Harry made him jump in shock, but he quickly calmed down after realizing that it was just Severus. The calm didn't last for long, however, as all sorts of emotions attacked him then. He felt embarrassment that he had been caught eavesdropping and shame at the realization that Severus had heard the words that Draco's mother had said.

What if Severus started thinking about him as a monster too?

Then, as he chanced a look at Severus' face, the shock returned as he saw the cold fury in the man's face.

Severus bypassed him completely and entered the living room.

Harry kept himself hidden, heart throbbing painfully in his chest but at the same time feeling rather numb about what was happening.

He continued listening.

"Severus! Why didn't you tell me that you've been keeping that creature –"

"Narcissa."

Harry shivered. He had never heard Severus speak like that. His voice was so cold that Harry could imagine the whole of Snape Manor's garden freezing over.

"Refrain from speaking ill of my charge and I shall refrain from throwing you out."

Silence followed. No one spoke. Harry held his breath just in case they might hear it. It was that quiet.

Severus spoke again. "Harry and Draco have gotten along famously well since day one and have, in fact, been inseparable. Let me be the one to inform you that Draco has enjoyed himself a great deal being with Harry – a fact that you may have realized on your own earlier had you actually stopped to listen toyour son."

A sharp intake of breath.

Harry recognized it as Narcissa's.

"Draco." Narcissa's voice was just as cold. "We are leaving. I shall arrange for Dobby to come back and get your belongings. Say goodbye to Uncle Severus and thank him for his hospitality."

"But – I want to stay –"

"Draco."

Another stretch of silence and then…

"…Thank you for your hospitality, Uncle Severus."

Harry felt like crying.

He didn't want to listen anymore.

He covered his ears with his hands, and yet he still heard everything. The shuffling of feet, the sound of cinder being crushed, and Narcissa's parting words:

"You should have never been friends with that boy."

And then the burst of flames.

When Severus emerged from the living room and looked at him, his expression pinched and unsure and concerned, Harry forgot himself and dashed forward to throw his arms around Severus' waist, bury his face in Severus' robes, and cry.

That was the first time he realized that the Wizarding World was not very accepting of vampires.

"Come on, kiddo," Sirius said three days later as he emerged from the Floo of Snape Manor. "Moony's already in Diagon Alley waiting for us. Snivellus isn't here?"

Despite his downtrodden mood, the edges of Harry's lips twitched up slightly at the name. The childish feud between Severus and Sirius amused him more than it made him concerned. "He's working on some last minute lesson plans."

"Ah," Sirius said wisely and waved his hand in a grandiose motion. "Ever the great professor."

Harry couldn't resist anymore. He chuckled.

Sirius looked at him and smiled softly. He kneeled in front of Harry and pushed the boy's chin up with a finger. "Snivellus told us everything," he said lightly.

"Nuh-uh," he tutted when Harry flushed and tried to duck his head.

Reluctantly, Harry raised his eyes back into Sirius'. The man beamed at him.

"Now you don't listen to what my dear cousin told you. She's flown off the bat just like the rest of my family and, well, we all know what my family's made off," he quipped, winking before doing his best impression of Walburga Black's sour portrait.

Harry dissolved into chuckles again before a certain bit of detail caught his attention. "Draco's mother is your cousin?" he asked, gaping.

Sirius' nose scrunched up. "Wish she wasn't." Then, his face brightened up. "But I did have a right good time hexing her skirt into snakes once when we were seven."

Harry matched his grin. Sirius' grins had always been contagious.

Sirius' smile softened. He took away the finger under Harry's chin and used that hand to ruffle the hair on top of Harry's head. "You feeling better now?"

Harry shot him a grateful smile and nodded. Then, he shifted nervously and said what he had been worrying about ever since Severus told him that Sirius and Remus were scheduled to take him to Diagon Alley to buy him his books and school supplies.

"People in Diagon Alley's not gonna be so nice, will they?"

At this, Sirius sobered. He grabbed Harry's shoulders with both of his hands and looked seriously into Harry's eyes. "No, they might not be, kiddo. But whatever they say or whatever they do to you, you remember this, okay? You've never, ever hurt a single hair on top of anyone's head, so you don't have anything to feel bad about. They can say what they want, but we know the truth, and that's all that matters, alright?"

Harry felt warm all over. He smiled at Sirius. "Alright."

Sirius beamed at him and ruffled his hair again. "Good boy. Now, come on. Moony'll bite both our heads off if we're late. Now, step inside the fireplace and you take this powder, yeah? Throw it to the floor at the same time you say…"

Harry had prepared for this day, the day when he would finally be allowed into the outside world. Remus and Sirius had told him all about Voldemort and the craze of the Wizarding World for Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, which just made his nose scrunch up at the time because the thought that he was famous was weird.

And then there was the fact that he was a vampire, just like Voldemort, and well, from what happened three days ago with Narcissa Malfoy, he knew now that his being a vampire was going to be a problem.

His imagination had actually played with the possibility of everyone screaming and running away from him, because that's what the normal people in Muggle stories did, didn't they?

He hoped they wouldn't though.

However, an hour into Diagon Alley, he found that the outside world wasn't quite bad. In fact, it was magnificent and magical and wonderful. There were all kinds of shops selling all kinds of things that Harry's only seen in books before. He saw cauldrons big and small, quills that changed colour depending on the writer's mood and boots that walked on their own.

The people didn't stare at him at all. Harry actually felt a little silly for not thinking beforehand that if he just kept his hair over his scar then no one would know he was Harry Potter. He had actually thought that maybe he wasn't famous at all and Sirius and Remus were just exaggerating with their stories, but a visit to the bookstore changed all that. He actually had a whole bookshelf dedicated to him!

Sirius cackled over a certain edition with a fictitious drawing of Harry Potter on the cover. "Look, Harry, they drew you with a pointy nose! It's even pointier than Snivellus'!"

By the end of the day, he had new school robes, a complete set of the required books for first years, new quills and inkwells, his own cauldron and his own little set of basic Potions ingredients, and – this was the best one – his own wand.

Mister Ollivander was a really friendly man who knew who Harry was even as Harry flattened his hair over his forehead, but he was really nice about it and shook Harry's hands about seven times before he was off between his shelves muttering about phoenix feathers.

Harry was a little bit put-out that Sirius and Remus hadn't let him stop by at the pet shop even though Hogwarts' letter told him that he could bring his own familiar, but his happiness at everything else overpowered that little disappointment.

By the time that he arrived back in Snape Manor, he was actually pretty excited about going to Hogwarts – a feeling that he lost ever since that encounter with Mrs. Malfoy.

"See you on September 1st, kiddo," Sirius said after he had hauled all off Harry's new things to the side of the room. He slapped Harry heartily on the back and nearly knocked his glasses off.

Harry laughed shortly. "Thanks, Sirius, Remus. For all my new stuff and I had a really, really great time," he said earnestly, hoping that his smile was big enough to convey his gratitude.

The two men smiled back.

"Anytime!" Sirius winked and knelt down to plant a really wet kiss on Harry's forehead.

Harry scrunched his nose up, but a laugh was on his lips even when he raised a hand to wipe at his forehead.

Remus rolled his eyes at their antics. He reached out and patted the boy's head. "We had a really great time too, Harry," he said, grinning. Then, he winked as well. "Now, you must be really tired. I suggest you go straight to your room."

Harry's eyebrows furrowed in confusion at Remus' funny tone.

Sirius rolled his eyes and threw an arm around Remus' shoulder. "Come on, old man, you're probably more tired than he is. Joints already creaking?"

Remus elbowed him slightly. "You're actually older than me or have you turned senile and forgotten?"

Harry shook his head in amusement as the bickering continued on, stopping only for them to yell "Grimmauld Place!" into the fireplace. He had no doubt that the argument would continue even after they have arrived at their destination.

Then, curiosity piqued, he ran out of the living room and straight upstairs to his room.

There, in the corner of his room near the window, was a slightly thick wooden stick that shot up straight and then curled horizontally as it neared the end.

On top of the horizontal part was –

Harry's eyes widened.

A Snowy Owl.

Harry let out the breath he didn't know he had been holding. He neared the owl, the grin on his lips getting bigger as the owl blinked at him and cocked her head to the side.

She was beautiful.

"Hello," he breathed out, reaching out to pet with a finger the soft top of her head.

She hooted quietly and nuzzled closer to his touch.

Then Harry noticed the small roll of parchment attached to her leg.

He took the parchment, unrolled it, and couldn't help the bark of laughter that easily slipped from his lips.

From all three of us, but this was actually Severus' idea. – Remus

As much as I hate to admit it.–Siri

Even Severus might hate to admit it, but thank him all the same, Harry. Love, Remus

Love Sirius too!

"Just go through that wall," Sirius told him and it wasn't really Harry's fault that he whipped his head around to look at Sirius disbelievingly because the man did have a starling record of pranks. Sirius laughed at his expression. "I'm serious, Harry!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes, I know you're Sirius."

Sirius laughed harder.

Remus smiled to himself at the scene the two were making. The house was going to be a lot quieter now without Harry around. Of course Sirius would still make it a point to blow things up around Grimmauld and make a racket, just to spite his mother's portrait, but it was still different having a child's laughter ring around the halls.

He reached out and placed a hand on Harry's back to guide him towards Platform 9 ¾. "Sirius is really serious, Harry."

Harry turned his disbelieving stare to Remus. "I know he's really Sirius, Remus."

It wasn't his fault he didn't believe Remus either, because Remus also had a few tricks under his name.

Remus laughed right alongside Sirius. "Well, if you don't believe us… Go on then, Siri. Run right through that wall."

Sirius grabbed the handle of the trolley that was filled with Harry's things. He winked at Harry first before rolling the trolley forward and promptly disappearing.

Harry's jaw dropped.

Remus grinned. "See? I told you he was Sirius."

The Hogwarts Express was majestic. Harry was transfixed with awe just looking at it.

All around him were kids wearing the same robes as he was and parents who fussed about the imaginary speck of dust on their children's faces. Suddenly, he felt a spike of anxiety course through him, fear of this big new adventure ahead of him. What if the other kids didn't like him? What if studying in Hogwarts was hard? What if the things about magic that Remus taught him wasn't enough?

And what if… what if Draco didn't talk to him again?

He looked around for any sight of that white-blond hair but could only see a mixture of brunettes and gingers. The blonds he saw weren't the right shade.

"I reckon he's already inside, don't you?" Remus told him with a wink.

Harry flushed at having been caught.

Sirius grinned, crouched down low in front of Harry and ruffled his hair. "Go find him inside the train and don't let my nasty old cousin ruin your fun, yeah? If she does, you just Owl me and I'll go right up her house and turn her skirt into snakes again."

"Sirius! That's not very nice!" Remus admonished but a resigned smile was on his lips.

Harry grinned. "I'll Owl you guys even if she doesn't."

Sirius matched his grin. "'Atta boy." He ruffled his hair again. "Write lots!"

Harry nodded enthusiastically. He rushed forward and threw his arms around Sirius in a hug that was returned tightly. He did the same to Remus.

"Thanks," he whispered breathlessly when he was done. "I don't know what I'd do without you guys," he said, a shy smile on his lips and his cheeks pink.

Sirius' smile turned soft. "I think you'd be very sad," he joked to keep the mood uplifted.

Harry thought of a life without them, without Severus, and wondered if he'd be allowed to go to Hogwarts at all if Severus hadn't taken him from the Dursleys. Would he have learned of this magical world? Would he have met Draco?

"I think so too."

Despite what Sirius and Remus said, he found himself a bit nervous and shy to check each compartment on the train for Draco. Instead, he found himself an empty one and hoped that he'd see his friend in Hogwarts instead.

Friend.

The word still made him smile goofily.

And yet there was still that nagging thought at the back of his head that told him that maybe, Mrs. Malfoy said something to Draco that made him not want to be friends with Harry anymore? What if Draco thought that he really was a monster? Even though Harry told him a lot of times that he didn't want to suck his blood.

He frowned, his good mood suddenly plummeting down.

At least he was going to see Severus in Hogwarts.

That was a familiar face.

Severus had told him to call him Professor Snape when he was in Hogwarts and no matter how many times Harry tried it in his head, it still sounded weird. What was Severus like as a professor? Harry imagined he'd probably be strict, just like he was at home.

He smiled to himself. That was fine. At least there'd be a sense of familiarity.

The train gave one big hoot and gave a sudden lurch forward. He realized, with a mix of excitement and trepidation, that the train was already moving.

He looked out of the window, looking for Sirius and Remus in the sea of parents waving their children goodbye. He stood up from his seat and laughed to himself when he saw a black dog instead, looking straight at him with its tail wagging happily, totally uncaring of Remus who had a finger up and was probably scolding him for transforming out in public.

Harry grinned and waved at them at the same time that the door to his compartment opened and –

"Harry!"

– someone wrapped its arms around his waist and tackled him back to the chair.

"Oof!"

The white blond hair that greeted his vision was unmistakeable.

He surprised himself by throwing his arms around Draco as well, laughing in relief. "Draco!"

Draco pulled back and grinned boyishly at him. "Malfoy Manor was boring as hell after our adventures in Severus' house. I had to bear my mother talking my ears off!"

Harry immediately sobered at that, peering nervously at Draco. "Uhm, did your mother say…"

Draco waved his worries off immediately with a motion of his hand. He scoffed and planted himself on the seat next to Harry. "My mother doesn't know what she's saying half of the time, so don't worry about it," he sighed dramatically. He turned his head towards the door. "Well, what are you waiting for? Sit down."

Harry jumped as he realized for the first time that there were two more boys standing by the door. They were both big and burly, as if they could break Harry in half like a stick if he got on their bad side. But right now, they shuffled inside the compartment and took their seat across from him and Draco, nodding at him in greeting.

Harry nodded back nervously.

"That's Crabbe and that's Goyle," Draco introduced offhandedly. "I've got two more friends coming over, so –"

"Oh, good, you finally found him," a girl's exasperated voice sounded from the door.

"Speak of the devil," Draco muttered dryly.

Harry didn't have time for his nerves to increase because in one fluid motion, the girl had stepped inside the compartment, shoved her face right up his, and peered into his eyes before her gaze travelled upwards to his scar. She blinked in amazement.

"I thought Draco was fibbing when he said that he was friends with Harry Potter," she said in wonder.

She leaned back, hands on her hips, and Harry finally managed to take in her appearance. Her black hair were cropped neatly just above her shoulders and she was thin and small, just like him. Her face looked… well, Harry didn't want to be mean, but she looked like Aunt Marge's dog.

She held out a hand in front of Harry, a smirk on her face. "Pansy Parkinson."

A bit dumbfounded, Harry shook it on automatic. "Err, Harry Potter."

Beside him, Draco scowled. "I do not fib, Pansy –"

"You're a vampire, aren't you?"

All of their heads turned back towards the door, where a boy with dark skin stood.

Suddenly, all of Harry's insecurities came back to him and he remembered Mrs. Malfoy's words. Monster, creature, thing, diseased –

"He is. Have you got a problem with that?"

Draco's voice abruptly cut through the panic attack that was brewing in him as if dousing him with refreshing cold water.

The boy raised an eyebrow at the tightness in Draco's voice and at the way Draco had moved his body just slightly as if he was protecting Harry.

Snorting to himself, he stepped inside the compartment, closed the door and sat down beside the blond. "Of course not. I just thought it was cool," he said coolly.

He shifted in his seat and extended his hand around Draco's body towards Harry.

"Blaise Zabini. My mother went out with a vampire once. Was absolutely smitten with him as he was her."

He rolled his eyes and sighed exasperatedly, and the silliness of his reaction was what relaxed the tension in Harry's shoulders enough for him to shake Blaise's hand as well.

He smiled slightly. "Harry Potter."

Pansy's exaggerated huff got all their attention. "Go away, Blaise, I want to sit next to Draco," she whined.

After Blaise had dutifully obeyed her and sat next to Goyle instead, Pansy plopped down and started her much-awaited (at least, for her) rant.

"As I was saying, Draco practically sent all of us all over the train looking for you." She looked pointedly at Harry and huffed indignantly at Draco. "Can you believe that? Harry Potter's not been seen for over eleven years and then Draco here tells us to just go scurry off and find him."

Harry grinned, feeling warmth bloom in his chest and across his cheeks. He could actually imagine Draco throwing a tantrum with his friends and demanding things.

Draco's ears flushed red. He opened his mouth to speak but Blaise cut him off.

"He was probably scared that someone else might get to you first, like, I don't know, maybe a Weasley." Blaise sniggered, as did Crabbe and Goyle.

Harry's nose scrunched up in confusion. He didn't know what a Weasley was.

Draco coughed loudly. "This talk about me is interesting and all, but can we please talk about something else?"

Needless to say, Harry found that he needn't have worried about Hogwarts and making new friends at all.

As Crabbe, Goyle, Draco and Parkinson were all sorted into Slytherin, Harry could feel his hands going clammy. He wanted to get into Slytherin too. What was the point of meeting all these new friends if he was just going to get sorted into another house?

At long last, the tall, old woman with the pointy hat shouted his name. "Potter, Harry!"

All conversation died in the hall. It was as if a gust of wind had blown through the whole room and shushed everyone one by one. Harry certainly felt that gust of wind. It froze him to the tips of his fingers and to his toes.

And then, like a lit candle, all conversation returned at once, the hall bursting with excited chatter as they wondered which of the first years was the famous Harry Potter.

The old woman looked straight at him though and Harry almost reached up to smooth his bangs down over his scar.

Stiffly, Harry began walking forward.

It was unnerving how all eyes were riveted to him then. At the Head table, he caught the eye of Severus, who nodded at him approvingly. It was a slight movement, but Harry had been with him long enough to notice it and he told himself to relax.

The hat was placed over his eyes and a voice boomed in his head.

"Ah, Harry Potter. Hmm, difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind, either. There's talent, oh yes. And a thirst to prove yourself. But where to put you?"

Harry's mind immediately procured an image of Draco.

"Ah, Slytherin, eh? Not a bad choice. You could be great, you know. It's all here in your head. And Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, there's no doubt about that."

Please, Harry thought.

He could almost see the hat smirking.

"Very well then, I'll put you in –"

"SLYTHERIN!"

The grin that was about to worm up to his lips was cut short when the hat was taken away from his eyes and he saw the disturbed expressions of the crowd of unsorted first years. He didn't even need to look around the room to know that others wore the same expressions because he could hear them, the words they said –

Voldemort

Of course he'd be in Slytherin

Vampire

Bad blood

Dark Lord

He hadn't realized that he had actually managed the trip from the stool to the Slytherin Table until someone placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't listen to them, Potter," a tall and lanky student told him. Harry raised his eyes to look at him and noticed a badge with the letter P pinned to his collar. The student grinned at him, which really just made him look a bit menacing due to his uneven teeth. "They say those things about everyone who's sorted into Slytherin, so you're not all that different. Thinks they're all goody-goody, y'see, and that we're the bad nuggets."

The girl standing beside him made a noise of agreement. Harry noticed the same badge on her collar. She smiled sweetly and batted her eyelashes at him.

"Don't you worry your little head over it, okay?"

Harry flushed, both from the relief at the guy's words and at the funny way the girl was blinking, and immediately scurried off to sit beside Draco – who greeted him with a smirk.

"You know, for a while there, I thought you were going to get sorted into Gryffindor," Draco teased.

"Nonsense, Draco!" Pansy, who was sitting across from them, scoffed. She grinned at Harry. "Harry's a Slytherin through and through. He might even suck all our blood by tomorrow." She winked and Blaise beside her snickered.

Harry finally completely relaxed and grinned at the joke.

He looked back at the Head Table and saw the proud, if not a bit smug, look that Severus sent him.

He was going to be fine.

Surprisingly, all the hype about Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, was gone after the end of the first week. Everyone was all curious and inappropriate stares at first, but after they realized that Harry was just a plain, old, first year and wasn't about to do cartwheels and magic tricks in front of them, they started minding their own business.

That didn't mean that Harry was any less disturbed by some of the things that the other Houses said about him.

It didn't pass his notice that other students thought he was actually an ally of Voldemort or the next Dark Lord or that he was a danger to them.

Draco did his best to comfort him or tell him otherwise, but all the low mutterings and suspicious stares that he got in the halls only fuelled his belief of Narcissa Malfoy's words:

"You should have never been friends with that boy."

However, their subjects, which were endlessly fascinating, did rather well in distracting him from morose thoughts. Harry managed to levitate a feather on the first try easily due to Remus' teachings but struggled a bit with Transfiguration. Potions was a weird affair, with Harry trying to reconcile his image of Severus at home with the image of 'Professor Snape'. On a few occasions, he almost called him Severus in front of the other students. Severus never reprimanded him for those but Harry still felt guilty.

Their flying class was what Harry enjoyed the most, even though they were reprimanded by Madame Hooch after the first class because he and Draco got too excited and flew too far.

Defence was boring, even though Professor Quirrel was such an eccentric person to watch. He stuttered a lot and some of Harry's classmates were actually betting that his turban sometimes moved.

To lessen their boredom and keep themselves awake during his class, they counted all of his quirks and their repetitions. The twitch in his eye, his stuttering, his speech blocks, even the times when his turban would 'move'. Sometimes Harry thought that Pansy was just imagining the movement of the turban but wouldn't say anything when she'd write a line on her parchment.

And that was how they landed themselves detention.

"So who wants te go with Fluffy?"

Pansy immediately stepped forward, right next to Hagrid, the Gamekeeper. Her face was a pale white when she screeched out, "You are not leaving me with a dog as my guide in the Forbidden Forest!"

Blaise took one look at the way Harry and Draco's shoulders touched and sighed. "Well, I'm with Pansy, seeing as you two aren't capable of ever separating."

His pinched expression looked a tad bit relieved, though, when he finally stood beside Hagrid.

"We're going to die," moaned Draco mournfully.

Harry took one look at Draco's face that was drained of colour and it was almost natural for him to reach out and wrap a hand around Draco's. He shrugged weakly and tried for a reassuring smile. "We've got Fang."

Draco clutched at his hand tightly but wasn't reassured. "A dog! There're trolls and clawed creatures out there and we've got a dog!"

Fang yipped cheerfully beside him.

Harry had a bad feeling about this. It wasn't that the Forest was dark and foreboding and was teeming with deadly creatures – or maybe it was that. Still, Harry felt there was something else that was niggling at the back of his mind, making him more anxious with every turn they made and every tree they passed.

His stomach felt heavy.

Even his scar was starting to hurt a bit or maybe that was just his imagination.

He focused all his attention on the feel of Draco's hand in his instead.

"Draco – what – no – oh, God –"

"Ha – arry –"

"No, no, no, no, no –"

"—rry –"

"Don't speak, Draco, don't speak –"

Crying and ugly hiccoughs.

Harry would realize later on that it was his.

Shuffling and then an explosion in the sky.

"They'll be here soon, Draco, hang on – please – Draco!"

Gurgling sounds as blood spurted from the wound on a deathly-white neck.

"Keep your eyes open!"

"Draco!"

"DRACO!"

Eyelids slowly fluttered closed.

Harry felt his very soul being sucked out from his body, his heart squeezed –

"No, no, no, no, no –"

Time Turners cannot revive the dead without ripping the fibres of time,a book from long ago said.

"You should have never been friends with that boy," Narcissa Malfoy had said.

Harry sobbed pitifully.

Hands grabbed at his pocket –

"Don't die –"

– shaking, cold fingertips touching cold metal finally, finally –

"I won't let you die, I won't –"

Eyelids fluttered open.

Frantic fingers turned the Time Turner once, twice, thrice –

"— rry, don't…"

And then it broke.

Harry felt his heart stop.

"NO –"

Harry Potter woke up from his dream with a start and a throbbing headache. He never could remember that part properly. It was still no less haunting though and he took a moment to clear all the blinding, red colour from behind his eyelids.

He never could remember that part properly, but mostly, he just remembered the blood.

"Wipe that snot off your face, Potter," came a soft voice across from him.

Harry blinked rapidly and realized that his eyes were wet. Feeling embarrassment wash over him, he raised his head from the table, sat up properly and wiped his face on his sleeve.

He knew there was no snot. It was just Theodore Nott's kind way of telling him that he had been crying.

"How long did I sleep?" he asked, his voice gruff from the rest.

Across the table, Theodore raised a reproachful eyebrow at him. "Enough that you completely wasted the time that we should have spent eating lunch in the Great Hall or, better yet, finishing our Transfiguration Essay," he finished dryly, waving towards the parchment in front of Harry that he had been sleeping on.

Harry raised his sleeve up to his cheek again just in case there was smudged ink.

"I'm done, by the way," Theodore said with a sigh. "I don't know about you."

He looked pointedly at the two short paragraphs on Harry's parchment. Professor McGonagall had required three feet.

Harry rolled his eyes at Theodore's sarcasm and then winced because the movement caused his head to throb again. "I'll finish it tonight."

"It's starting!" Excited whispers came from the table that was hidden from view by a bookshelf.

Theodore's lip curled up in disgust. "This is the library, for Merlin's sake. Can't they keep it down?"

"Keep your voice down, Pans, you're giving me a headache."

Harry's heart seemed like it jumped in his chest. Four years later and it still happened every time he heard Draco's voice.

"They are whispering, though," Harry commented nonchalantly.

"Alright, fine, then they should have put Silencing Charms around them, just like we did."

"Come on, Draco! Let's go to the Great Hall. It's starting!"

Harry chuckled despite the hollow feeling that had settled in his stomach. "My, one would think you despised your own Housemates."

Theodore scrunched his nose up. They've had this conversation countless times before. "I don't despise them. I complain about everyone, Potter. It just so happens that they're the ones of nearest vicinity at this moment, unless you'd rather that I complain about what a horrid mess you look like right now with your swollen eyes and your red nose." He looked at Harry pointedly.

Flushing, Harry waved his wand and cast soothing charms. He'd learned to be quite adept at them.

"Bad dream again?" Theodore asked, his voice going soft.

Harry smiled to himself. For all his harsh words, Theodore was a very nice friend.

"Ow – don't pull, Pansy!"

"You're too slow!"

There was the sound of a chair scraping the floor and footsteps leaving and Harry found that he could breathe properly again.

"Well, should we go, too?" Theodore was already putting his things back in his satchel.

Harry was confused. "Go where?"

Theodore rolled his eyes at him. "To the Great Hall. The Goblet of Fire's going to be spitting out the names of the lucky contestants for the Triwizard Tournament today."

"What does it matter to us? Our names aren't in there," Harry replied but he started to gather his things as well.

Theodore looked at him as if he was stupid.

"To feel sorry for the poor sods, of course."

They walked out of the library just in time to see Draco Malfoy in the distance halt his steps abruptly and look back.

Harry yearned with all his heart that Draco would look at him but he knew it was stupid.

Draco was looking at the library entrance.

"What's wrong, Draco?" Parkinson's high-pitched voice echoed in the empty hall.

"I left my inkwell," Draco sighed irritably and started to walk towards the library – towards Harry. He called over his shoulder. "Wait for me, Pans."

Theodore waved a hand in greeting as Draco neared them but didn't pause in his conversation with Harry. "—Viktor Krum probably for Durmstrang. Any bets for Hogwarts?"

Draco waved back at Theodore as he passed by them.

Harry shrugged. "Probably Diggory."

Draco didn't even spare him a glance and Harry didn't look back.

But even after four years, he could still remember how it felt when he last held Draco Malfoy's hand.

to be continued