"See you, Harry," said Ron, clapping Harry on the shoulder.
"Bye, Harry!" said Hermione, and she did something she had never done
before, and kissed him on the cheek.
"Harry --- thanks," George uttered, while Fred nodded fervently at his
side.
Harry winked at them, turned to Uncle Vernon, and followed him silently from the station. There was no point worrying yet, he told himself, as he got into the back of the Dursley's car. As Hagrid had said, what would come, would come.and he would have to meet it when it did.
*That's right. I'll meet it, and I'll meet it alone this time.*
Pain not in the least blurred by the lenses of his glasses flickered in his emerald gaze, was reflected back at him by the car window, but only for the merest of ephemeral moments as he forced himself to think of nothing save the scenery as Muggle London fell behind through the glass. It was then that the youth swore to keep his mind firmly in the present where it belonged, where it was sorely needed this summer, for it did not do to dwell on the past.
** That was technically yesterday, when it was easy to make promises, easy not to feel pure panic and fright when daylight streamed innocently in through open windows with curtains billowing in the breeze, causing shadows in the daisy sunshine pooling on the walls and floor. Then the shadows lengthen, the light becomes fiery, a beautiful reminder of the artist's painting pleasing all who gaze into the west as it hangs in the sky. And then dusk fades into dark, starless, moonless. A travel-worn body calls for rest, and so Harry had succumbed.
But with nightfall come those unspeakable terrors that every child fears.and these terrors had yet to relinquish their firm grasp on the soon- to-be fifteen year old Harry Potter.inescapable nightmares that loved to sneak up on him when he least needed them.
A quick glance at the clock told Harry that it was 3:47AM, and Harry resignedly went back to counting sheep --- exactly what he'd been doing since 11:26PM. Sleep remained elusive, and in all honestly, Harry was quite grateful, as it was not an overly reassuring solution. Not when a pair of unseeing yet gentle blue-grey eyes and a face frozen forever in time in an expression of shock mocked him from within his mind whenever he closed his own eyes - green eyes that at the moment did not glitter like the precious jewels they once so resembled. Now dulled with pain and lack of sleep, no sparkling fire shone from their seemingly infinite depths.
*It's my fault.*
Voldemort's return seemed in all respects to be Harry's fault and his alone. Cedric's death, the deaths yet to come - Harry would have to take the blame, the Savior and the Crucifier.
And he would fight alone.
**
'*Hurry!*'' was the thought foremost in his mind, yet his fingers would not obey, fumbling, trembling as he hastily grabbed the little he needed and shoved it as quickly as his weakened strength allowed him into his open trunk containing a jumble of belongings commonplace and oddly comforting to a fifteen year old pureblood wizard. Thanking whatever god protected his kind that the wards around his ancestral home thoroughly prevented the Ministry from detecting any underage wizardry on the vast grounds, as it would make his poorly planned, apt-to-go-wrong (as everything had since yesterday - was it really only yesterday? Not even) escape much easier, he threw the last book in this trunk grimly, having taken it out of there only hours ago, and straightened up, only to immediately regret it as searing pains burst through the recent raw wounds on his back.
Biting his lip to keep from crying out, he sank to the level of the trunk's ornate keyhole -- silver inlaid with emeralds, dragons twisting round in a dance of power - drawing with him the lid of the trunk, and withdrew from the ragged robes framing his body an equally entrancing key of beauty, and in doing so locked away his lifeline before heaving himself to a standing position despite the pain that longed to lull him into dreamless unconsciousness - not that he thought he'd know the word "dreamless" after everything that had occurred.
Hand shaking, he retrieved his wand from an ebony nightstand and performed a simple yet effective shrinking charm on the trunk, finishing by hiding the miniscule thing deep within a pocket of his tattered garments. Without a backward glance at the room he'd known all his proud life (though that backward glance would have left him not recognizing the room, now so different having been torn apart by its owner's frenzy), the silver-blonde padded swiftly toward the window and threw it open. Feeling slightly queasy, he assured himself that the second story wasn't much of a long fall; besides, he'd fallen farther off moving broomsticks in the past. He hesitantly put one foot on the ebony sill and ---------
"DRACO!!!"
Silver eyes flooded with fear as the sound of pounding footsteps reached his delicate ears, a sound that promised more pain than the drop from his window. Closing his eyes, he braced himself for contact with the ground. He felt a glimmer of triumph as he landed cat-like on the soft, wet ground, yet he staggered slightly before falling to his knees as he fought to stand. But he could linger no longer - forcing himself to his feet, he raced on foot to the sheltering forest on the grounds, knowing full well that once he reached the cover of the thick growth, he'd be able to use the portkey safely.
Grimacing, he thought of the time his godfather had given him the portkey as a safety precaution - thought of how he'd used his perfect sneer with a proud, "I can assure you I won't be needing this." He only hoped the giver of the portkey wouldn't hold that against him, not now.Crouching among the many bushes and once again fumbling, he drew the opal bracelet off his wrist and pulled out his wand, which he raised.
Behind him in a distant place he could not see through the undergrowth, Draco heard his ebony door burst magically open, as well as his father's scream of pure unadulterated rage at finding an empty room.
Without thinking, the boy tapped the bracelet twice, and felt the familiar pull just behind his navel, felt his feet leave the ground, felt the world dissolve.
** Severus Snape stood silhouetted impressively in front of his fireplace, casting huge grotesque shadows on the walls behind him. Absentmindedly his ran his fingers lightly over the angry Dark Mark on his left arm, and, unbidden, his thoughts returned to the night's events, everything that had occurred since the Mark had burned black for the first time since the Triwizard Tournament's fateful Last Task. He shuddered as he recalled the meeting, recalled those mad glittering rubies emanating malice and promising suffering - eyes that were very much alive.
Oh, yes - Voldemort had been most surprised when Severus had apparated at the call of his "Master", facade complete with his heavy black cloak and iron mask. With a hurried excuse (*That must have been the first mistake*, he voiced to *himself, you never rush the Dark Lord*) claiming he had not been present to witness his Master's glorious rebirthing due to the simple fact that one cannot apparate or disapparate within the Hogwarts grounds, he recounted his first hand tale of the demise of Voldemort's "most devoted servant", Barty Crouch, and then went on to tell of the rift between Fudge and Dumbledore.
Needless to say, Voldemort was pleased with neither Snape's story, nor his excuse. And although Snape was no stranger to the Cruciatus, it still did not leave one feeling at the top of the world. However, he wholeheartedly believed that he had been fortunate. Others had not been, and it was one of these that was foremost in his mind. And what's funny is the fact that when the object of his musings appeared as if on cue, sprawled on Snape's drawing room floor, he was not entirely taken by surprise.
The pale head, whose hair was still flecked and matted with blood, slowly raised. Ice grey met coal black. *At least*, Draco thought, *at least something's gone right*. And that was the last thing he remembered.
** He heard them first, those raised voices, but he didn't dare open his eyes or make a sound, lest his presence be noticed. Instead, he listened as the clamoring came nearer. Recognition of the voices dawned sharply on him, and he felt an icy fist grasp his heart; he felt his breathing hitch painfully. *They're here*.
"Damn the brat! The Lord will have my head for his escape, but it's nothing to what I'll have from, as must I call him, my son! Mark my words, Severus, I *will* find him, and then he will pay dearly for my embarra---"
"Really, Lucius, the boy has indeed been foolish, but after our Lord's reprimand, he surely couldn't have been able to have run too far. Are you quite sure you searched the Manor and its forest thoroughly?"
"Severus, you *know* how I search - you know that there *isn't* a forest anymore! As for the Manor, the only creatures it cannot play its little tricks with are the house elves, and they learned long ago to be loyal only to me. He is not is the Manor. He is running, not hiding, but when he is back in my embrace, he will no longer run, my wand will see to that."
Draco blanched; he knew his fath - no, *Lucius* was dead serious. He shrank under the blankets encompassing his slender body, knowing that they'd be no protection against Lucius' wrath. Scrunching his eyes tighter, he let the sound of the footsteps beating closer and closer fall over him, along with Lucius' continued harsh words. Listening, listening as the footsteps drew even, they passed, they faded.
Draco was quite alone.
**
Time passed slowly, it seemed, so that it was an eternity later that returning footsteps and a whispered password left Draco feeling a slight draft as he heard a wall slowly grind open and slowly grind closed again. Then the voice of his keeper rang out clear as a bell, despite the fact that the man's voice was far from raised.
"I know you're awake, no need to try and hide it." He continued in a softer voice that not many had heard before. "He's gone, Draco. And soon, too, will you be. Dumbledore has found a place for you to stay in the meantime, a place where not even Voldemort, let alone Lucius, will be able to touch you. You're in for a long summer, if I may say it myself, but there's nothing to be done about it while your safety is the top priority. Now roll over, *gently*, and let me check over your wounds."
Stormy eyes fluttered open, glancing around the room quickly, making sure that Snape was telling the truth that no one else was present. There was no need, as his eyes darted with the speed a Snitch around the lab room, which was filled with potion ingredients and materials, and devoid of human souls save for his godfather, on whom his gaze now rested.
"Why did he do it? Why did they laugh?" Draco's voice cracked, yet he furiously fought the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes.
"The Dark Lord does not take disappointment and dissention easily. To him and his Death Eaters, that was an evening of sport, of amusement. There was nothing I could have done, with or without having been put under the Cruciatus, for had I shown support, I would heighten Voldemort's suspicions of Albus Dumbledore's interference in Voldemort's circle. And because I did nothing, because of my cowardice, I will not be able to forget it, unlike the many times before." His voice hardened. "Enough. Roll over so I can examine your back."
Draco shifted, wincing involuntarily at the pain the movement awarded him, pain that he had to admit had diminished, though, despite the now familiar throbbing, burning sensation. Snape's rough callused hands descended and began to move with the strange delicacy acquired after years of potion making, a delicacy that Draco was the only person to ever have felt. Bandages being changed, cool salves being applied, and tiny spells to keep all of Severus' work in place calmed Draco's fear and worry, and relaxed the lump in his throat.
Minutes stretched on, and Draco fell into a quiet rhythm under Severus' ministrations. When at last the task was complete, the weary underage wizard heard his guardian and professor pull himself heavily to his feet and march to one of the numerous stone shelves lining the walls. There was the lightest, most delicate chink of glass on wood, a gentle glug as liquid was poured. Snape returned to his godson's side, placing a roughly hewn goblet on the table next to the bed.
"Dreamless Sleep Potion. Drink it all Draco, you'll need your rest, especially when you arrive at Dumbledore's -" his voiced sneered, "safe little haven. I'll wake you shortly before we leave to give you time to change and to rearrange your belongings."
With that, he left through the wall, black robes billowing in a non- existent breeze, without even bothering to make sure Draco had or would consume the potion. *Wherever I'm going, Severus doesn't like it. This doesn't bode well*.
He sat up slowly so as not to damage Snape's careful work, and reached for the goblet, which he downed completely before collapsing against the pillows.
**
"BOY! UP! NOW!!" Ah, yes. The first words of the day.
Harry groaned - he'd heard the Dursleys bumbling around half an hour ago, but he'd been too engrossed in his own depressing thoughts, haunted by those eyes, to care. He slid off his bed with as little grace as humanly possible and crossed to the wardrobe. Without glancing at his reflection in the wardrobe's mirror - he knew those purple rings under his eyes existed and did not need confirmation - he dressed in clothes five sizes too big for his rather wispy frame.
In next to no time -- it wasn't worth the effort anymore to try to tame his hair -- he slouched out of his room, down the staircase (jumping the bottom step to avoid the creaking noise that would surely anger the Dursleys), and set out in search of the voice that had called him from his very comfortable cocoon of misery. No one voiced acknowledgement of his presence when Harry entered the kitchen, but his aunt's bony finger was pointed in the direction of the stove and a smoking pot. All eyes were fixed on the TV, staring in fascination, almost without blinking, at some talk show. Harry himself stared in disgust at the oatmeal bubbling glutinously away in the pot, stirring carefully with a seeming grace gained after four years of Potions, no matter how fiercely he maintained that he'd learned nothing from Snape.
Breakfast was a quick-and-quiet affair.at least, Harry's was, with the smallest portion. Dudley seemed to have realized that the slower you ate, the fuller you felt as an end result, and so was actually dividing his time between the TV and his oatmeal rather than multi-tasking. However, while free time meant more TV for Dudley, on Harry's part, it meant more work the Dursleys didn't have to do. And so, his summer began, another two months of manual labor, snide comments, and the occasional, yet mercifully rare these days, imprisonment in the cupboard under the stairs. *At least that's all I'll have to contend with - to contend with alone*.
That was, he dealt with it quite alone until 1:13PM that afternoon.
**
*Ow..Ow..Ow..*Every scrub of the carpet left Harry's arm seizing up in pain. *No, the damn machine isn't good enough for them, no, I just have to do this by bloody hand.* His thoughts continued savagely in this vein as he listened to the gentle clink of silverware on china as the Dursley's finished up their lunch of Campbell's 98% Fat Free Chicken Noodle soup with a serving of tofu. The Diet was still in effect, as Dudley's habit of sneaking food at school totally reversed last summer's effects, and no amount of whining or violent temper tantrums had weakened Aunt Petunia's resolve to prove to the Smeltings school nurse that one "never goes up against a Dursley".
Uncle Vernon had just put down his spoon, letting out a sigh that said clearly that he was NOT satisfied and content, thank you very much, quite the contrary. However, he reluctantly pulled himself to his feet and said, "Well, Petunia, Dudders, I'll be in my office finishing up that repo-"
Just then, the doorbell cut Dursley Senior off.
Harry glanced up, rather perplexed. He hadn't heard a car or anything, not even the crunch of footsteps on the gravel. A sense of utter foreboding fell on him - the only thing that could appear so suddenly was -
"Well, don't just sit there, boy, get the door!" Uncle Vernon barked into the living room at Harry.
Sighing resignedly, thinking *Oh, well, Voldemort would have caught me sometime - but all he had to do was catch me cleaning?* he slouched to the door and threw it open.
"One word, Potter," Snape hissed almost inaudibly, so only Harry could hear him, "one word and I assure you I will gladly make Potions next year such hell that you'll save me the trouble and throw yourself into your own boiling cauldron."
Harry closed the jaw that had dropped open at Snape's appearance with a snap, but his eyes remained wide in shock.
"Good," Snape murmured, and then continued in a raised voice that carried with it a slightly cultured accent which only Hary could see through. "Ah, yes, is Mr. Vernon Dursley in?"
Mr. Dursley came bustling over to the door with surprisingly agility for one so beefy. "Hello, hello!!" he said, faking pleasant joviality very poorly, nowhere near as convincing as Snape, who now spoke.
"Mr. Dursley, I presume? Thanks heaven we found this address without getter lost - you give very good directions. Well, we've got the boy for you, all ready to spend the summer in your excellent house and company - oh, he's so very excited, babbling the entire car ride here on how pleased he was to make your acquaintance."
Harry could have sworn he heard an ill-disguised cough from somewhere behind his Potions master.
Vernon spoke this time, the smile having become rather fixed on his over- sized face.
"Boy? What *boy* do you speak of?"
"Don't you remember, my good sir? The summer-time student you agreed to take in?"
"I recall no such thing!" spat Uncle Vernon, half indignantly, half panicked. Snape's face fell, and he began chewing on his bottom lip rather uncharacteristically. Harry quickly looked at the ground - he'd never seen his hated teacher show any sort of vulnerability or concern, and Harry strongly suspected that he himself would burst out laughing, only to risk the considerably wrath of Uncle Vernon and Snape's promised vindictiveness. Snape, meanwhile, had turned to the hidden shadow behind him and said, "Well, my boy, looks like you're out of luck. Perhaps the neighbors would consider taking you and the money."
If Vernon Dursley had been born a dog, you would have seen his ears prick forward as if he'd heard his master's call.
"Money?" Snape wheeled around.
"Yes, of course, sir, the money given in our gratitude for your taking care of the boy!! Some 1000 pounds for the two months, more if he enjoys his stay -"
"Oh, THAT boy!! Yes, yes, I remember now, how silly of me, filled out that form weeks ago, how could I have forgotten that today was the day!!"
Snape's facade slipped, an amused smirk gracing his thin lips. "Excellent."
Aunt Petunia and Dudley had stuck their heads around the dining room wall in order to eavesdrop better. They then flickered little glances at each other that clearly said, *What boy?*
From within his black Muggle jacket, Snape now withdrew a thick manila envelope that clearly contained 1000 pounds in cash. With a flourish reminiscent of Lockhart, he handed it to the practically salivating Vernon. Lastly, he turned to the mysterious 'boy' behind him and chimed, "Well, come, dear boy, and meet your new family!! New experiences await you!"
Out of the shadow, a slender form stepped; pale eyed, haired, and toned, he stood and smiled serenely at all around him.
*What the ---!!* Harry's stomach plummeted, as did his jaw. *Smiling serenely is NOT how one is supposed to describe Malfoy.*
Harry winked at them, turned to Uncle Vernon, and followed him silently from the station. There was no point worrying yet, he told himself, as he got into the back of the Dursley's car. As Hagrid had said, what would come, would come.and he would have to meet it when it did.
*That's right. I'll meet it, and I'll meet it alone this time.*
Pain not in the least blurred by the lenses of his glasses flickered in his emerald gaze, was reflected back at him by the car window, but only for the merest of ephemeral moments as he forced himself to think of nothing save the scenery as Muggle London fell behind through the glass. It was then that the youth swore to keep his mind firmly in the present where it belonged, where it was sorely needed this summer, for it did not do to dwell on the past.
** That was technically yesterday, when it was easy to make promises, easy not to feel pure panic and fright when daylight streamed innocently in through open windows with curtains billowing in the breeze, causing shadows in the daisy sunshine pooling on the walls and floor. Then the shadows lengthen, the light becomes fiery, a beautiful reminder of the artist's painting pleasing all who gaze into the west as it hangs in the sky. And then dusk fades into dark, starless, moonless. A travel-worn body calls for rest, and so Harry had succumbed.
But with nightfall come those unspeakable terrors that every child fears.and these terrors had yet to relinquish their firm grasp on the soon- to-be fifteen year old Harry Potter.inescapable nightmares that loved to sneak up on him when he least needed them.
A quick glance at the clock told Harry that it was 3:47AM, and Harry resignedly went back to counting sheep --- exactly what he'd been doing since 11:26PM. Sleep remained elusive, and in all honestly, Harry was quite grateful, as it was not an overly reassuring solution. Not when a pair of unseeing yet gentle blue-grey eyes and a face frozen forever in time in an expression of shock mocked him from within his mind whenever he closed his own eyes - green eyes that at the moment did not glitter like the precious jewels they once so resembled. Now dulled with pain and lack of sleep, no sparkling fire shone from their seemingly infinite depths.
*It's my fault.*
Voldemort's return seemed in all respects to be Harry's fault and his alone. Cedric's death, the deaths yet to come - Harry would have to take the blame, the Savior and the Crucifier.
And he would fight alone.
**
'*Hurry!*'' was the thought foremost in his mind, yet his fingers would not obey, fumbling, trembling as he hastily grabbed the little he needed and shoved it as quickly as his weakened strength allowed him into his open trunk containing a jumble of belongings commonplace and oddly comforting to a fifteen year old pureblood wizard. Thanking whatever god protected his kind that the wards around his ancestral home thoroughly prevented the Ministry from detecting any underage wizardry on the vast grounds, as it would make his poorly planned, apt-to-go-wrong (as everything had since yesterday - was it really only yesterday? Not even) escape much easier, he threw the last book in this trunk grimly, having taken it out of there only hours ago, and straightened up, only to immediately regret it as searing pains burst through the recent raw wounds on his back.
Biting his lip to keep from crying out, he sank to the level of the trunk's ornate keyhole -- silver inlaid with emeralds, dragons twisting round in a dance of power - drawing with him the lid of the trunk, and withdrew from the ragged robes framing his body an equally entrancing key of beauty, and in doing so locked away his lifeline before heaving himself to a standing position despite the pain that longed to lull him into dreamless unconsciousness - not that he thought he'd know the word "dreamless" after everything that had occurred.
Hand shaking, he retrieved his wand from an ebony nightstand and performed a simple yet effective shrinking charm on the trunk, finishing by hiding the miniscule thing deep within a pocket of his tattered garments. Without a backward glance at the room he'd known all his proud life (though that backward glance would have left him not recognizing the room, now so different having been torn apart by its owner's frenzy), the silver-blonde padded swiftly toward the window and threw it open. Feeling slightly queasy, he assured himself that the second story wasn't much of a long fall; besides, he'd fallen farther off moving broomsticks in the past. He hesitantly put one foot on the ebony sill and ---------
"DRACO!!!"
Silver eyes flooded with fear as the sound of pounding footsteps reached his delicate ears, a sound that promised more pain than the drop from his window. Closing his eyes, he braced himself for contact with the ground. He felt a glimmer of triumph as he landed cat-like on the soft, wet ground, yet he staggered slightly before falling to his knees as he fought to stand. But he could linger no longer - forcing himself to his feet, he raced on foot to the sheltering forest on the grounds, knowing full well that once he reached the cover of the thick growth, he'd be able to use the portkey safely.
Grimacing, he thought of the time his godfather had given him the portkey as a safety precaution - thought of how he'd used his perfect sneer with a proud, "I can assure you I won't be needing this." He only hoped the giver of the portkey wouldn't hold that against him, not now.Crouching among the many bushes and once again fumbling, he drew the opal bracelet off his wrist and pulled out his wand, which he raised.
Behind him in a distant place he could not see through the undergrowth, Draco heard his ebony door burst magically open, as well as his father's scream of pure unadulterated rage at finding an empty room.
Without thinking, the boy tapped the bracelet twice, and felt the familiar pull just behind his navel, felt his feet leave the ground, felt the world dissolve.
** Severus Snape stood silhouetted impressively in front of his fireplace, casting huge grotesque shadows on the walls behind him. Absentmindedly his ran his fingers lightly over the angry Dark Mark on his left arm, and, unbidden, his thoughts returned to the night's events, everything that had occurred since the Mark had burned black for the first time since the Triwizard Tournament's fateful Last Task. He shuddered as he recalled the meeting, recalled those mad glittering rubies emanating malice and promising suffering - eyes that were very much alive.
Oh, yes - Voldemort had been most surprised when Severus had apparated at the call of his "Master", facade complete with his heavy black cloak and iron mask. With a hurried excuse (*That must have been the first mistake*, he voiced to *himself, you never rush the Dark Lord*) claiming he had not been present to witness his Master's glorious rebirthing due to the simple fact that one cannot apparate or disapparate within the Hogwarts grounds, he recounted his first hand tale of the demise of Voldemort's "most devoted servant", Barty Crouch, and then went on to tell of the rift between Fudge and Dumbledore.
Needless to say, Voldemort was pleased with neither Snape's story, nor his excuse. And although Snape was no stranger to the Cruciatus, it still did not leave one feeling at the top of the world. However, he wholeheartedly believed that he had been fortunate. Others had not been, and it was one of these that was foremost in his mind. And what's funny is the fact that when the object of his musings appeared as if on cue, sprawled on Snape's drawing room floor, he was not entirely taken by surprise.
The pale head, whose hair was still flecked and matted with blood, slowly raised. Ice grey met coal black. *At least*, Draco thought, *at least something's gone right*. And that was the last thing he remembered.
** He heard them first, those raised voices, but he didn't dare open his eyes or make a sound, lest his presence be noticed. Instead, he listened as the clamoring came nearer. Recognition of the voices dawned sharply on him, and he felt an icy fist grasp his heart; he felt his breathing hitch painfully. *They're here*.
"Damn the brat! The Lord will have my head for his escape, but it's nothing to what I'll have from, as must I call him, my son! Mark my words, Severus, I *will* find him, and then he will pay dearly for my embarra---"
"Really, Lucius, the boy has indeed been foolish, but after our Lord's reprimand, he surely couldn't have been able to have run too far. Are you quite sure you searched the Manor and its forest thoroughly?"
"Severus, you *know* how I search - you know that there *isn't* a forest anymore! As for the Manor, the only creatures it cannot play its little tricks with are the house elves, and they learned long ago to be loyal only to me. He is not is the Manor. He is running, not hiding, but when he is back in my embrace, he will no longer run, my wand will see to that."
Draco blanched; he knew his fath - no, *Lucius* was dead serious. He shrank under the blankets encompassing his slender body, knowing that they'd be no protection against Lucius' wrath. Scrunching his eyes tighter, he let the sound of the footsteps beating closer and closer fall over him, along with Lucius' continued harsh words. Listening, listening as the footsteps drew even, they passed, they faded.
Draco was quite alone.
**
Time passed slowly, it seemed, so that it was an eternity later that returning footsteps and a whispered password left Draco feeling a slight draft as he heard a wall slowly grind open and slowly grind closed again. Then the voice of his keeper rang out clear as a bell, despite the fact that the man's voice was far from raised.
"I know you're awake, no need to try and hide it." He continued in a softer voice that not many had heard before. "He's gone, Draco. And soon, too, will you be. Dumbledore has found a place for you to stay in the meantime, a place where not even Voldemort, let alone Lucius, will be able to touch you. You're in for a long summer, if I may say it myself, but there's nothing to be done about it while your safety is the top priority. Now roll over, *gently*, and let me check over your wounds."
Stormy eyes fluttered open, glancing around the room quickly, making sure that Snape was telling the truth that no one else was present. There was no need, as his eyes darted with the speed a Snitch around the lab room, which was filled with potion ingredients and materials, and devoid of human souls save for his godfather, on whom his gaze now rested.
"Why did he do it? Why did they laugh?" Draco's voice cracked, yet he furiously fought the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes.
"The Dark Lord does not take disappointment and dissention easily. To him and his Death Eaters, that was an evening of sport, of amusement. There was nothing I could have done, with or without having been put under the Cruciatus, for had I shown support, I would heighten Voldemort's suspicions of Albus Dumbledore's interference in Voldemort's circle. And because I did nothing, because of my cowardice, I will not be able to forget it, unlike the many times before." His voice hardened. "Enough. Roll over so I can examine your back."
Draco shifted, wincing involuntarily at the pain the movement awarded him, pain that he had to admit had diminished, though, despite the now familiar throbbing, burning sensation. Snape's rough callused hands descended and began to move with the strange delicacy acquired after years of potion making, a delicacy that Draco was the only person to ever have felt. Bandages being changed, cool salves being applied, and tiny spells to keep all of Severus' work in place calmed Draco's fear and worry, and relaxed the lump in his throat.
Minutes stretched on, and Draco fell into a quiet rhythm under Severus' ministrations. When at last the task was complete, the weary underage wizard heard his guardian and professor pull himself heavily to his feet and march to one of the numerous stone shelves lining the walls. There was the lightest, most delicate chink of glass on wood, a gentle glug as liquid was poured. Snape returned to his godson's side, placing a roughly hewn goblet on the table next to the bed.
"Dreamless Sleep Potion. Drink it all Draco, you'll need your rest, especially when you arrive at Dumbledore's -" his voiced sneered, "safe little haven. I'll wake you shortly before we leave to give you time to change and to rearrange your belongings."
With that, he left through the wall, black robes billowing in a non- existent breeze, without even bothering to make sure Draco had or would consume the potion. *Wherever I'm going, Severus doesn't like it. This doesn't bode well*.
He sat up slowly so as not to damage Snape's careful work, and reached for the goblet, which he downed completely before collapsing against the pillows.
**
"BOY! UP! NOW!!" Ah, yes. The first words of the day.
Harry groaned - he'd heard the Dursleys bumbling around half an hour ago, but he'd been too engrossed in his own depressing thoughts, haunted by those eyes, to care. He slid off his bed with as little grace as humanly possible and crossed to the wardrobe. Without glancing at his reflection in the wardrobe's mirror - he knew those purple rings under his eyes existed and did not need confirmation - he dressed in clothes five sizes too big for his rather wispy frame.
In next to no time -- it wasn't worth the effort anymore to try to tame his hair -- he slouched out of his room, down the staircase (jumping the bottom step to avoid the creaking noise that would surely anger the Dursleys), and set out in search of the voice that had called him from his very comfortable cocoon of misery. No one voiced acknowledgement of his presence when Harry entered the kitchen, but his aunt's bony finger was pointed in the direction of the stove and a smoking pot. All eyes were fixed on the TV, staring in fascination, almost without blinking, at some talk show. Harry himself stared in disgust at the oatmeal bubbling glutinously away in the pot, stirring carefully with a seeming grace gained after four years of Potions, no matter how fiercely he maintained that he'd learned nothing from Snape.
Breakfast was a quick-and-quiet affair.at least, Harry's was, with the smallest portion. Dudley seemed to have realized that the slower you ate, the fuller you felt as an end result, and so was actually dividing his time between the TV and his oatmeal rather than multi-tasking. However, while free time meant more TV for Dudley, on Harry's part, it meant more work the Dursleys didn't have to do. And so, his summer began, another two months of manual labor, snide comments, and the occasional, yet mercifully rare these days, imprisonment in the cupboard under the stairs. *At least that's all I'll have to contend with - to contend with alone*.
That was, he dealt with it quite alone until 1:13PM that afternoon.
**
*Ow..Ow..Ow..*Every scrub of the carpet left Harry's arm seizing up in pain. *No, the damn machine isn't good enough for them, no, I just have to do this by bloody hand.* His thoughts continued savagely in this vein as he listened to the gentle clink of silverware on china as the Dursley's finished up their lunch of Campbell's 98% Fat Free Chicken Noodle soup with a serving of tofu. The Diet was still in effect, as Dudley's habit of sneaking food at school totally reversed last summer's effects, and no amount of whining or violent temper tantrums had weakened Aunt Petunia's resolve to prove to the Smeltings school nurse that one "never goes up against a Dursley".
Uncle Vernon had just put down his spoon, letting out a sigh that said clearly that he was NOT satisfied and content, thank you very much, quite the contrary. However, he reluctantly pulled himself to his feet and said, "Well, Petunia, Dudders, I'll be in my office finishing up that repo-"
Just then, the doorbell cut Dursley Senior off.
Harry glanced up, rather perplexed. He hadn't heard a car or anything, not even the crunch of footsteps on the gravel. A sense of utter foreboding fell on him - the only thing that could appear so suddenly was -
"Well, don't just sit there, boy, get the door!" Uncle Vernon barked into the living room at Harry.
Sighing resignedly, thinking *Oh, well, Voldemort would have caught me sometime - but all he had to do was catch me cleaning?* he slouched to the door and threw it open.
"One word, Potter," Snape hissed almost inaudibly, so only Harry could hear him, "one word and I assure you I will gladly make Potions next year such hell that you'll save me the trouble and throw yourself into your own boiling cauldron."
Harry closed the jaw that had dropped open at Snape's appearance with a snap, but his eyes remained wide in shock.
"Good," Snape murmured, and then continued in a raised voice that carried with it a slightly cultured accent which only Hary could see through. "Ah, yes, is Mr. Vernon Dursley in?"
Mr. Dursley came bustling over to the door with surprisingly agility for one so beefy. "Hello, hello!!" he said, faking pleasant joviality very poorly, nowhere near as convincing as Snape, who now spoke.
"Mr. Dursley, I presume? Thanks heaven we found this address without getter lost - you give very good directions. Well, we've got the boy for you, all ready to spend the summer in your excellent house and company - oh, he's so very excited, babbling the entire car ride here on how pleased he was to make your acquaintance."
Harry could have sworn he heard an ill-disguised cough from somewhere behind his Potions master.
Vernon spoke this time, the smile having become rather fixed on his over- sized face.
"Boy? What *boy* do you speak of?"
"Don't you remember, my good sir? The summer-time student you agreed to take in?"
"I recall no such thing!" spat Uncle Vernon, half indignantly, half panicked. Snape's face fell, and he began chewing on his bottom lip rather uncharacteristically. Harry quickly looked at the ground - he'd never seen his hated teacher show any sort of vulnerability or concern, and Harry strongly suspected that he himself would burst out laughing, only to risk the considerably wrath of Uncle Vernon and Snape's promised vindictiveness. Snape, meanwhile, had turned to the hidden shadow behind him and said, "Well, my boy, looks like you're out of luck. Perhaps the neighbors would consider taking you and the money."
If Vernon Dursley had been born a dog, you would have seen his ears prick forward as if he'd heard his master's call.
"Money?" Snape wheeled around.
"Yes, of course, sir, the money given in our gratitude for your taking care of the boy!! Some 1000 pounds for the two months, more if he enjoys his stay -"
"Oh, THAT boy!! Yes, yes, I remember now, how silly of me, filled out that form weeks ago, how could I have forgotten that today was the day!!"
Snape's facade slipped, an amused smirk gracing his thin lips. "Excellent."
Aunt Petunia and Dudley had stuck their heads around the dining room wall in order to eavesdrop better. They then flickered little glances at each other that clearly said, *What boy?*
From within his black Muggle jacket, Snape now withdrew a thick manila envelope that clearly contained 1000 pounds in cash. With a flourish reminiscent of Lockhart, he handed it to the practically salivating Vernon. Lastly, he turned to the mysterious 'boy' behind him and chimed, "Well, come, dear boy, and meet your new family!! New experiences await you!"
Out of the shadow, a slender form stepped; pale eyed, haired, and toned, he stood and smiled serenely at all around him.
*What the ---!!* Harry's stomach plummeted, as did his jaw. *Smiling serenely is NOT how one is supposed to describe Malfoy.*