Dark Beginnings

Draco sat in a wing-backed chair, barely listening to his Head of House and the Headmaster as they talked about what had happened. Instead, he looked across at Potter.

He was sitting low in his chair, slouched and sort of curled in around himself. Like he’s trying to hide, Draco thought suddenly.

Potter’s eyes were constantly on the move. They looked from Snape to Dumbledore, from Dumbledore to Snape and then over at Draco and then back. Every time those vivid green eyes raked across him, Draco felt something in his chest give a little lurch but he chose to ignore it. For now.

Considering what Potter had just done, he might not be in Hogwarts for much longer, Draco thought. He glanced again at the two professors and then looked once more at the other young man.

Still with his ceaselessly moving eyes, Potter was now chewing on the skin beside his thumb nail. It was a nervous habit that Draco had seen him repeat occasionally in school over the years and one that he’d seen a lot this summer.

Don’t think about it, he berated himself. Bad enough that the images came to him during the night when he couldn’t hold them off, but that he choose to relive them during waking hours…

“Headmaster, what would you suggest?” Snape demanded then, sounding exasperated and drawing Draco’s attention. “If you expel him, how long exactly do you think the boy will survive before the Dark Lord picks him up again?”

“He wouldn’t get a chance,” Potter muttered but Dumbledore replied as if he hadn’t spoken.

“Of course I’m not going to expel him, Severus.” He said, sounding irritated, “But I can hardly turn a blind eye when one of my students casts Dark magic in the Great Hall.”

“It’s not as if I meant to do it,” Potter interjected, looking between them. He looked at Draco then, “I didn’t even aim it a person.”

A tiny glimmer of a smile tugged at Draco’s mouth. No, Potter hadn’t meant to do it, had he? He hadn’t had time to even think about it; he saw the danger and reacted. Easy.

“And now you want to teach Harry more Dark Arts?” Dumbledore raised his eyebrows, still talking to Snape, “To increase his repertoire, so that next time, he can curse the perpetrator as well as the missile being thrown?”

“I can do that already.” Potter shrugged and this time, Snape and Dumbledore stopped talking and stared at him.

“What did you say, Harry?” Dumbledore enquired politely.

Potter, however, looked as if he truly regretted volunteering that information and it was very reluctantly that he spoke again. “I said I could already curse the one who threw a missile at Draco. I didn’t, though, because the knife had already been thrown. It made more sense to curse the object, rather than the person.”

Dumbledore frowned, his thick white eyebrows coming down low over his blue eyes. “And where did you learn this, Harry?”

Potter pulled his head in towards his chest, though and said nothing, going back to biting his thumb nail.

Draco pulled his pad out of his pocket and tapped it with his wand before showing it the Snape: ‘Ask him why he wants you to teach him Dark Arts.’

Snape looked closely at Draco and then turned a little in his seat to look at Potter.

“Potter, why did you ask me to teach you Dark Arts, if you already knew it?” he asked closely.

For a moment, Potter went still and only his eyes moved. They went briefly to Snape’s face and then to Draco’s. Then, coming to a decision, he sat up and pushed his abused hand between his thighs.

“Because I want to improve my skills,” he said. “I have all this knowledge but no way of controlling it. I can…I can feel it – in here,” he touched his forehead, “but I can’t make sense of it. It’s not until something happens and then I just react with the best spell to hand. If I have better control, then I can use it as a proper weapon in the war.”

Dumbledore made no comment about using it against Voldemort. He did, however, ask “So you’ve used it before?”

Draco saw Potter start to draw into himself again and passed him a hastily written message: ‘Tell them about Avery.’

Potter read it and then frowned. He started to shake his head but then paused and met Draco’s eyes.

Glancing at Snape, Draco then tapped his pad once again and tried to show it to Potter without the Potions master seeing too: ‘Tell them ONLY about Avery. You did nothing wrong – only what you were made to do.’

That finally seemed to work. Pulling himself upright, Potter straightened his back, lifted his head and said, “I killed some - um – someone.” When Snape and Dumbledore stared at him shock, he added, “Avery. You know – he was -”

“I know.” Snape said, looking even paler than normal. His black eyes glittered as he stared at Potter.

“Why, Harry?” Dumbledore asked softly, no hint of recrimination in his voice, “Why did you kill him?”

Potter looked at the floor for a long moment and then looked up, meeting the Headmaster’s blue-eyed gaze. “He made a mistake and I almost escaped. Lucius found me though,” he glanced briefly at Draco, “and took me to Voldemort. Voldemort told Avery that as it was his fault I’d almost escaped, he would die at my hands.” He swallowed with difficulty. His heart was hammering at an alarming rate within his chest and his hands were suddenly sticky with sweat.

“So,” he continued with a shuddering sigh, “I – er – I killed him.”

“And were you in control of your own actions?” Dumbledore asked. His question drew a venomous glare from Draco and even Snape’s mouth dropped open at the bluntness, but his tone was gentle and Potter understood what he meant.

“I was…” he frowned, “I was aware of what was going on. I could see, hear, touch, feel, “ he chuckled softly, “I could even taste. Dark magic has a bitter taste like burnt sugar, you know? But I couldn’t stop him. He would say move this, burn that and I’d just have to do it. It was like Imperio but – gods – so much stronger. Back then, there was no way I could fight it.

“So, when Voldemort said ‘Harry, kill Avery,’ I just did it. He didn’t even have to tell me how. It’s…” he touched his forehead again, “it’s all just here.”

Dumbledore was looking sad, Draco thought then; sad and tired and old. But when the Headmaster looked up suddenly and looked straight across at Potter, Draco was forced to add angry and determined to the list of adjectives.

“You said ‘Back then’, Harry,” Dumbledore said then and Potter frowned, not understanding. “You said that Voldemort’s hold over you was like Imperio but stronger and then you said that, back then, you couldn’t fight it. Does that mean that you could fight it later?”

Potter took a deep breath and looked away. Right now, Draco saw that he couldn’t or wouldn’t meet his eyes and so looked past Dumbledore out to the darkened school grounds. Draco felt cold suddenly; cold and tense and…angry…

Eventually, Potter nodded and then said very quietly, “I did fight it. When Voldemort went…” he paused, frowning and then went on, “I broke the spell and then pretended. The night that I was rescued, I was -” He stopped and looked over at Draco, clearly not wanting him to hear this.

But Draco had already guessed. Filled with a sick swoop of fierce anger, he jabbed the pad with his wand and then held it up. ‘I betrayed them for no reason, didn’t I? You were going to escape anyway.’

Potter said nothing but looked back at him, apparently unwilling to confirm that Draco’s betrayal and subsequent punishment, disinheritance and loss of voice was pointless.

“You didn’t betray them for no reason.” Potter said, shaking his head, “We don’t know that I would have escaped. I might have been caught and killed.” As Draco swallowed around a sudden lump in his throat, he added, “So it was good that you helped me.”

He looked as if he maybe wanted to add more, but Snape interrupted while Dumbledore shifted in his chair, pondering Potter’s words.

“So you want me to teach you how to make better use of the Dark Arts, then?”

Potter nodded, his eyes still on Draco, and then added, “It would be good for Malfoy, too. He’s pretty limited with a wand and no words to direct it. As you know, though, Dark magic can be worked with thought alone.”

This was a surprise to Draco. He’d thought about Dark Arts himself, but hadn’t liked to request it until it was decided whether Potter would have tuition. The fact that Potter had been thinking of him having access too was…intriguing.

But Dumbledore was looking even more troubled than before. He sighed and steepled his fingers. “Boys, I think you should leave us now. Professor Snape and myself need to discuss this in private and then we’ll come back to you.” He looked straight at Potter then, “Let me say this, however: whether I agree to let you learn Dark Arts, or not, I do not ever want to see you use it within my school. Is that understood?”

Potter started to nod but then halted and said, “What about Malfoy, though? Dark Arts would be better for him.”

If he’d still had his voice, Draco would have laughed out loud. Instead, he moved towards Potter with a carefully slow, sensual and slightly swaggering motion, frowning a little and tapping his pad: ‘Back off, Potter. I can fight my own battles!’

Potter bit his lip, seemingly tempted to tell him to shove it then but something in Draco’s eyes caught his attention and he realised he was teasing him.

He looked at the two professors then, “Can we hear your decision tonight? Please.” He added, remembering at the last minute to be polite.

Snape nodded wearily and then seemed to think of something. He turned his head to look at Draco, “Wait in my office for me. Leave me at least a few biscuits and don’t touch any of the papers. You know the password, Draco, just let yourself in.” His eyes shifted to include Potter, “Both of you.”

*~*~*

“Runespoor.” Harry read aloud from Malfoy’s pad, his voice soft. Then, as Malfoy pushed Snape’s door open, Harry muttered, “Lumos,” to conjure light within the darkened office.

Following the other young man in, through Snape’s office and into his sitting room, Harry yawned and rubbed wearily at his eyes.

“God, I’m knackered. And hungry.” He added after a moments thought, “Did Snape mention something about biscuits?”

Malfoy nodded and fetched a glass jar from Snape’s tiny kitchen, along with a pitcher of ice-cold pumpkin juice. Droplets of moisture clung to the outside of the jug and dripped off his fingers as he placed it on the low table.

Helping himself to two biscuits and a glass of juice, Harry looked appraisingly at the other young man. “You know Snape pretty well, don’t you?” he asked eventually. Malfoy simply returned his gaze without responding. “So, did you know him from before Hogwarts?” Harry went on, ignoring the other young man’s reluctance to communicate, “Or was it just from those oh-so-friendly Death Eater meetings?”

Malfoy rolled his eyes and sighed before pulling his pad from his pocket and tapping it apathetically with his wand: ‘I was never a Death Eater. The first meeting I ever attended was the one where I saw you…saw what they were doing to you.’

Harry scowled, “Yeah, well the least said about that the better.” He snarled brusquely. “And while we’re on the subject, what – exactly – did you tell Snape earlier?”

Malfoy sniffed, looking affronted. At length, he wrote: ‘I didn’t tell him anything per se. I just wrote ‘The fusion and coalition of power’. It’s what the process is called.’

Harry’s face reddened, “What? Doing…stuff…to me and then watching while Voldemort made me do…stuff…in return?”

‘No. It’s the name of the process – where the Dark Lord gave you some of his powers. He gave you your Dark Arts abilities and then he would take them back, along with the rest of your powers. All the rest of it was just entertainment.’

Harry was still blushing and looking furious, “Death Eaters are sick.” He stated bleakly.

‘One of the reasons I left.’ Malfoy wrote with a sardonic little sneer.

“One of the reasons?” Harry tilted his head, “What was the other reason?”

But Malfoy simply shrugged and refused to answer. He took another biscuit and bit into it with white, even teeth.

“Well,” Harry said after a few minutes, “I suppose I shouldn’t be too hard on you for telling Snape. After all, he’s going to teach me – us – Dark Arts.”

‘Oh, you’re welcome.’ Malfoy shot him a sarcastic look and finished his biscuit. He sat still then, obviously thinking about something. Quite what, though, Harry couldn’t even begin to guess.

The anger and irritation of before was ebbing now and he thought again about Malfoy’s decision to turn away from Voldemort and his family, betraying them and saving Harry. And, Harry thought with a twinge of guilt, Malfoy didn’t even like him – or at least he hadn’t. Just lately, however, Harry had caught him staring with an unreadable expression.

Pulling him from his reverie, Malfoy tapped his pad and held it up for him to see, just before getting to his feet:

‘I’m starving! I’m going to see if Severus has got anything other than biscuits.’

“So how come you know him so well, then?” Harry pressed, following him into the kitchen, “I mean, you even call him Severus?”

Malfoy didn’t respond until he had managed to find a large slab of cheese (Brie, by the looks of it), some fruit and some butter. Then, placing the items on the side, he gestured for Harry to grab a loaf of bread out of the bread bin while he wrote: ‘Old friend of the family. Used to come to my Birthday parties. Gave me Fistandantilus when I was eleven.’

“He gave you what?” Harry asked, reading the last.

Malfoy looked up at him and saw that he was fighting to hide a smirk.

“Is that like some kind of nasty rash?” Harry sniggered.

Malfoy sighed and wrote: ‘Actually, it’s the name of my owl.’ He gestured to where a large, dark owl was perched quietly on a ledge in Snape’s sitting room. ‘I named him after a character from a set of books that Severus bought me for the same birthday. They’re really good.’ He paused for a moment then, gazing at Harry with cool, calculating eyes, before adding: ‘I’ll lend them to you.’

“Yeah?” Harry smiled, surprised and genuinely pleased, “What are they about?”

‘A war (Malfoy wrote) and a group of friends that are – Hang On!’ And he broke off.

Then, turning, Malfoy brought his wand up towards Harry’s head.

“Wait!” Harry put up his hands, “What are you doing?”

But Malfoy just gave him a steady look and so, very reluctantly, Harry stood still and allowed the other young man to come nearer. Finally, Malfoy placed the tip of his wand to Harry’s head and mouthed: ‘Can you hear me?’

Harry’s eyes went wide as he found that he could hear Malfoy…no, wait, that wasn’t quite it…he couldn’t hear so much as…

“Um…yeah.” He said, shaken, “How do you do that?”

‘The wand knows what I’m trying to say. Instead of writing it down, though, I thought it would be…faster…to go via a more direct route. Are you comfortable?’

To his surprise, Harry found that it was really quite okay to have Malfoy’s words arrive in his head without going through his ears. He was, however, somewhat disconcerted to have the other young man quite so close.

‘So anyway,’ Malfoy continued as if nothing was amiss, ‘the story’s about a war and a group of friends. Two of them are twin brothers – Raistlin and Caramon. Raistlin is a mage – a wizard, you know? And Caramon is a huge-but-not-very-bright warrior.’

“Oh,” Harry nodded, interested, “so who’s Fistandwhatsit?”

‘Fistandantilus is an evil wizard who Raistlin overcomes so that he can take over his tower.’ Malfoy replied. He looked as if he might add something else but then suddenly he too seemed to notice the fact that he was mere inches away from Harry.

He swallowed and looked into Harry’s eyes, noting absently that he was the same height and…and…

“Listen,” Harry said then, breaking into Malfoy’s thoughts and looking as if he wanted to get something off his chest, “I wanted to say earlier how sorry I am about all that happened to you. I never really got a chance to thank you for -”

‘Potter?’ Malfoy interrupted. ‘Shut up.’ And he pulled his wand away before closing the miniscule gap between them. He brought up his free hand and held the back of Harry’s head as he leaned in and kissed him.

For one fraction of a second, Harry went abruptly still and then softened his lips and tilted his head so that they couldn’t clash noses. Feeling Malfoy caress his bottom lip with the very tip of his tongue, he gave a soft groan and opened his mouth, pushing his tongue forward to touch Malfoy’s.

At the touch, something seemed to spark and flare between them and suddenly Harry had his arms around Draco’s waist and shoulders, pulling him even closer and relishing Draco’s little gasp of breath before they deepened the kiss yet further. Draco brought his other hand up to stroke the side of Harry’s neck and, a moment later, he felt a definite hardness pressing against his own.

Pulling back a little and pausing to catch his breath, Draco stared into Harry’s face, noting the dark, passionate light in his eyes and the full, redness of his mouth. He quirked a smile and retrieved his wand, placing the tip lightly to Harry’s temple.

‘Who would have thought you’d be such an excellent kisser?’ He smirked and went to kiss him again when his stomach growled, making both of them laugh a little. It still seemed as odd to Draco as it did to anyone that his laughs should be silent.

“If you’re sure that Snape won’t mind us raiding his kitchen, I think we should eat.” Harry stated, reluctantly releasing the young man in his arms. Draco made a face and pressed close for one last kiss.

They gathered up the bread, cheese and fruit and carried them through to Snape’s sitting room. The fire burned just as cheerily as it had earlier and Harry supposed it must have been enchanted to remain that way all day for Draco’s benefit.

“So you and Snape are quite close then?” he said, a few minutes later as he cut a wedge of Brie, handed it to Draco and then cut another for himself, idly wondering when Malfoy had become Draco. He shrugged and found that he was quite happy with the change. They sat side by side on the hearthrug with the plates of food spread out before them like a picnic.

Draco brought his wand up and tapped it lightly to Harry’s head: ‘Yeah, he’s kind of always been there – bit like a godfather – except that concept was far too Muggle for my parents to consider.’

A godfather. Snape was Draco’s godfather – or as close as. Harry said nothing and ate in silence. He was being oversensitive, he had no doubt, but the loss of Sirius was still too new, too raw and he felt that he needed his godfather now more than ever. And this…thing…whatever it was, with Draco, was too new to risk voicing any of those issues that lay close to his heart.

Draco, however, had always been good at reading people and particularly good at reading Harry – although, in the past, he would have used it to tease or ridicule him. He endured the silence for a while and then, when they’d finished eating, he carefully returned the remaining food to Snape’s fridge.

When he returned, Harry was a little perturbed to see a thoughtful, pensive expression on the other young man’s face.

“What’s up?” he asked, wondering if maybe they’d accidentally broken something whilst kissing in the kitchen.

Without changing expression, though, Draco knelt before him on the carpet and lightly placed his wand to Harry’s forehead, avoiding the scar: ‘There’s nothing wrong with me, Potter. You’re the one who’s been silent for the last quarter of an hour and yet you’re the one with working vocal chords.’

Harry took the hint and gave a rueful smile. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, “there’s still a lot of stuff going on in my head.”

Draco rolled his eyes, ‘Well, if anyone knows that, it’s going to be me, isn’t it, Potter?’

“Harry.” Said Harry firmly, “You used to called me Potter when we hated each other. And we don’t hate each other now, do we?”

There was a stretched moment where Draco kept him dangling for a bit while he pretended to consider that. ‘No. I don’t hate you.’ He paused then before placing his wand to Harry’s head again. ‘And you proved that you don’t hate me the moment you stopped that knife from going through my skull.’

“Damn,” Harry teased, “so that’s what gave me away?” Draco nodded and shifted a little closer.

Just before he kissed him, Harry very briefly thought of Ron and Hermione and whether they’d be worrying about him. Having been hauled out of the Great Hall by Snape and Dumbledore after casting Dark magic, they probably thought he’d been expelled.

But then, he thought as he brought his hands up to touch Draco’s face, they were probably too busy with each other to notice his absence. And hadn’t Snape told him to wait here with Draco? Right now, it suited him to be obedient, he thought with an inward smile.

As their lips brushed hesitantly with a light, ticklish touch, Draco touched Harry’s head with the hand still holding his wand.

‘What are you thinking about?’

‘Nothing. Just doing as I’m told.’

And then they pulled apart with a jolt, both realising simultaneously that Harry had responded telepathically. A swift, delighted smile flashed across Draco’s face and he touched Harry’s head again – not with his wand, but with his wand hand.

‘Do that again!’

‘Do what? Do this?’

And then, surprising Harry enormously, he heard Draco laughing inside his head. The young man’s shoulders trembled as he laughed silently on the outside but his bright, silvery laughter bubbled over and over within Harry’s head.

Impulsively, he pulled Draco to him and kissed him with open-mouthed passion, his tongue plunging and seeking Draco’s with an insatiable hunger. With a delighted little sigh, Draco melted against him, pushing his fingers into Harry’s messy, unruly hair.

‘Again! More!’ He encouraged and sank backwards onto the floor, pulling Harry with him.

There was a brief moment when Harry thought that snogging on the Potion master’s sitting room floor was nothing short of suicidal, but Draco brought his leg up between his legs and the firm, slim thigh pressing against his erection was enough to destroy all thought processes.

*~*~*

Realising that they had missed dinner by a long way, Dumbledore had a house elf bring up cheese, pate and biscuits for himself and Snape.

“There’s half a bottle of red, if you’ll join me?” he asked, gesturing with the bottle.

Snape pondered for a couple of seconds and then nodded with a grateful smile. “As it’s Friday,” he noted, sounding tired. “Potter tried to tell me that professors should take Friday evenings off, you know. Told me that, as students didn’t do homework on Fridays, professors shouldn’t have to mark it.”

Dumbledore gave an indulgent smile, “He may have a point.” He gave Snape his wine and then sat down opposite him, helping himself to a water biscuit and a little piece of stilton.

“Hm.” Snape responded sourly, “He then tried to convince me that I should take him and Draco on an educational fieldtrip to the Three Broomsticks, would you believe.”

At first, this made Dumbledore chuckle; no doubt as he imagined the Potions master teaching two sixteen year old boys about persuading Madam Rosmerta to sell them alcohol. He quickly grew serious, however, as it dawned on him that there was no way Harry would have suggested such a thing a year ago.

“He’s changed, hasn’t he?” he said grimly.

“Potter? Undoubtedly.” Snape nodded, selecting the Brie and wondering if the boys in his rooms had raided the fridge yet. Draco certainly would know to help himself.

“Do you have any idea what’s happened to him?” Dumbledore asked, “I know he came to see you after Dr Litworth left. Did he talk about it?”

“He mentioned that he was to have regular sessions with the doctor.” Snape said, frowning, “He isn’t enamoured with the idea of talking about what happened, though – not with anybody.” He thought a moment and added, “You should have seen the look he gave Draco earlier – when he thought he was telling me what they’d done to him.”

“What did Draco tell you?”

“He wrote: ‘The fusion and coalition of power’.” Snape stated and allowed that to sink in while he took a sip of wine. Having been opened a while, it had lost its sharp tartness and smoothed roundly over his tongue with a dark, mellow undertone.

Dumbledore scowled. “So that’s where Harry’s sudden ability in the Dark Arts stems from. And presumably, all this business with practicing with Dark magic -”

“The process,” Snape began, falling automatically into lecture mode, “is to provide the subject with an element of your own powers, encourage him to work and build on them and then to reabsorb them, along with everything that the subject had before; thus bleeding him dry of all magical ability.”

“And knowing Voldemort, he’d take the young man’s life-force with it and use it to rejuvenate himself.” With a bang, Dumbledore brought the heel of his hand down on the desk, his face dark with rage.

Snape took a breath, “Well, at least we got Potter out in time to save his life.”

Dumbledore didn’t look consoled. He pushed away from the desk and stalked towards his glass case.

“There’s nothing we can do to remove Harry’s knowledge of these Dark Arts, is there?” he asked without turning.

“None.” Snape said gravely.

Dumbledore sighed and then turned with a hopeless little gesture, “Then our only alternative is to teach him control and self-restraint. Severus, I hate to ask it of you – you’ve done so much lately…”

Snape shook his head, “I’ll teach him.” He said quietly, “There’s no one else qualified, except you. Lupin could have managed it but I’m afraid our current Defence Against the Dark Arts professor is…” he wrinkled his long, hooked nose and said no more.

“Professor Fraser was one of the few to apply, Severus.” Dumbledore chided. “And, as for Remus, well he has enough on his plate, right now.”

Snape gave the Headmaster a particularly intense, searching look and, after a moment, Dumbledore sighed.

“Severus, the night before Harry was abducted, Remus went to the Ministry of Magic,” he began, rubbing at his eyes behind his glasses.

Snape said nothing but sat in stony silence, not sure he wanted to hear any more.

“That night, with only a handful of assistants from the Order, Remus went through the Veil in the Department of Mysteries. The very same through which -”

“Albus, I know what you’re talking about!” Snape snarled abruptly, “Please get to the point – what are you trying to tell me?”

“Sirius is back, Severus.” Dumbledore sighed.

Snape hissed, his black eyes cold and full of loathing.

“Don’t start,” Dumbledore grumbled at him, “I know how you feel but just consider for a moment – Remus was desperate without him and virtually useless because of it and the Order now has a member whom everyone thinks is dead and gone. Sirius can go anywhere – with a fairly simple disguise – and that sort of work is invaluable.”

“A disguise?” Snape sneered, “Albus, the man could simply go as a hairy black mutt – there’s no need for a disguise.” He paused then, however, and looked narrowly at the Headmaster, “Potter doesn’t know, does he?”

Dumbledore took a deep breath and shook his head. “No. And Sirius knows nothing of what’s happened to Harry.”

At this, Snape raised his eyebrows, “You think that’s wise? Black isn’t known for his rationality or tolerance of those who antagonise him.”

“Well, perhaps we can get Harry to a state that where there is little to be told.” Dumbledore said but didn’t sound too hopeful.

“And Draco?” Snape asked, “Potter did have a point earlier – the Dark Arts can be used without words.”

The Headmaster frowned, not looking happy. A moment later, however and he looked up at Snape over his glasses. “You teach him how to control it – as strictly as you teach Harry. Treat them just the same, in fact. No favouritism for the Slytherin.”

Snape’s lip curled, “Right now,” he said, “it’s a little hard to spot which one’s the Slytherin. Have you noticed how Potter is choosing to spend less and less time with his friends?”

Dumbledore nodded, “I have. I’m just hoping that Dr Litworth can do something that will return him to something resembling the old Harry.”

*~*~*

It was late by the time Snape returned to his rooms. He felt restless and unsettled after his meeting with Dumbledore and was glad that the next day was Saturday. At least if he couldn’t sleep tonight, he could rest tomorrow.

Pushing open the door from his office to his sitting room, he was greeted with the site of Harry Potter lying sprawled and sleeping in the very same spot that Draco had taken earlier that day. And Draco, in fact, was curled beside him; not quite touching, but almost.

However, whilst Potter was sound asleep, Draco most certainly wasn’t. His cool grey eyes were gazing calmly into the fire, evidently deep in thought.

“Draco,” Snape greeted him softly, sitting down in an armchair.

The young man sat up immediately and gave his Head of House a curious look before looking down at Harry and lightly touching his robes.

“Come here,” Snape said then and watched as Draco obeyed.

Pulling out his pad, Draco asked: ‘You don’t seem happy. What did Dumbledore say?’

“I can teach you both – with an emphasis on control and self-restraint.” Snape replied, keeping his voice low. “We’ll start next week.”

‘Harry will need a lot of help,’ Draco wrote, mouthing at the same time to get his point across, ‘he’s very powerful.’

“Harry?” Snape repeated with a raised eyebrow, “Not ‘Potter’ anymore then?”

Draco shrugged, unconcerned. ‘Things change.’

Yes, they do, Snape thought to himself, watching this young man whom he’d known from a baby. Draco, it seemed, had been forced to grow up of late and then there was Potter, of course.

Clearly thinking along different lines, however, Draco shrugged, ‘And Harry isn’t the insufferable git that he was last year.’

“No. He’s had to face a lot since then.” Snape said thoughtfully, thinking of Sirius’ death and return and the effect that this would have on a young man already only hanging on to his sanity by his fingertips. He stood then and took a pace towards the sleeping Gryffindor.

With a start, Draco leapt forward and seized his arm, ‘Wait!’ He wrote, urgently tugging on Snape’s sleeve, ‘Don’t wake him – let him stay here. I’ll watch him. I won’t sleep anyway.’

With a look that said quite clearly that he thought this was a bad idea, Snape nevertheless nodded and fetched two blankets. He covered Harry with one and left the other folded for Draco, should he want it.

“I think I’ll sit and read for a bit,” Snape said then, heading towards his bedroom, “you know where I am if you need me.”