Dark Beginnings

“Albus, I really don’t have time for a long winded discussion,” Snape began as soon as he sat down in the Headmaster’s office. “I have marking to do and a pair of teenage boys to speak with, this evening.”

“That,” said Dumbledore, “is one of the things I wanted to talk with you about. First, though, I want to know what you plan for Draco. You said today that you were his legal guardian, now?”

Snape nodded silently.

“Is Draco happy with that arrangement?”

“Yes.” Snape replied honestly. “We’ve always had something of a rapport, shall we say, and, considering Lucius’ decision to try and kill him, he’s more than happy to come under my guardianship until he finishes Hogwarts.”

“Hm.” Dumbledore frowned a little, “And what then, I wonder? If Lucius hasn’t been recaptured in the meantime, he’s sure to come after his son again, don’t you think?”

The Potions master nodded, “But with Dark Arts, Draco will be able to defend himself – even without a voice.”

Dumbledore made a little face, clearly still unhappy with this decision, but nodded anyway.

“The immediate consideration, however,” Snape continued, “is how to protect him now. His fellow students have made two attempts on his life in less than a month. It only takes one of them to be lucky once.”

“What would you suggest?” the Headmaster asked.

“There are other rooms that join onto my own,” Snape pointed out, although Dumbledore surely knew about them. “I propose that we give them to Draco. He can attend lessons as usual – after all, he’ll be well protected by the staff or by Harry.”

“Yes…Harry.” Dumbledore said, thoughtfully, “How long has that been going on?”

“Not long.” Snape shrugged, “but they seem genuinely interested in making a go of it…whatever ‘it’ might be.”

“Ah.” Dumbledore nodded and it seemed to Snape that very few things ever shocked the old man. “Well, I’ll consider your request, Severus, but it really is most unusual to allow students and staff to share personal quarters.”

“Albus, as Draco is my legal ward, there surely can’t be any suggestion of improprieties?”

“We’ll see.” Dumbledore responded gravely. “Now, concerning improprieties, I need to speak to you concerning Harry.”

Snape raised one eyebrow.

“Dr Litworth is a well respected Magical Psychologist,” Dumbledore went on, “and I’m reluctant to let you continue with this impromptu counselling with Harry.”

“I see.” Snape gnawed at the inside of his cheek, scowling slightly.

“Do you?” Dumbledore stared intently at him over his glasses. “I wonder. Severus, I know that Harry is reluctant to talk with Jenna. But it really will be good for him, so I need you to encourage him to discuss certain issues with her – and by that, I mean such issues as that which came up this morning in your Potions lesson.”

Snape lifted his head and regarded Dumbledore with shuttered, cautious eyes. He hadn’t told him anything of what Harry had confessed. Nor had he even mentioned the episode that afternoon when the young man had almost broken down. As far as he was concerned, it was no one’s business.

“So what would you suggest?” he asked coldly, “When Harry next feels the need to tell me something of his experiences, should I tell him to wait until he next sees this doctor that he neither likes nor trusts?”

“Indeed.” Dumbledore said firmly, “You are not a trained counsellor, Severus. Anything you say or do could force Harry to sink deeper into the Darkness. He needs careful handling – by you especially as he appears to trust you.”

“Exactly!” Snape pounced, black eyes alight. “He trusts me! How, then, am I to keep his trust whilst advising him to talk to Dr Litworth?”

“You’re to make him trust Dr Litworth.” Dumbledore responded sharply, “Convince Harry that she is trustworthy.”

Snape said nothing but simply sneered.

Dumbledore, in turn, drew himself upright in his chair and glared at the Potions master, “For the last time, Severus; you are not to counsel Harry Potter.”

Snape paused a moment as if weighing up his chances with a response. The next minute, however, he gave a very short, sharp nod of the head and stormed silently from the room, letting the door slam shut behind him.

*~*~*

Fifteen years ago, when he had come to Dumbledore with a proposition that could cost him his very life, Snape had told himself that he would always – always – listen to the old man and do his bidding, whatever it might be. That, he had reasoned, was the best way for him to stay alive and atone for some of the crimes he had committed.

Therefore, this evening, as he stamped angrily back to his rooms, he was more than a little disconcerted to find himself about to disobey Dumbledore in the biggest way possible. The Headmaster had said don’t counsel Harry; well, Snape thought that that was positively dangerous and was going to do just the opposite.

It was his intention to offer the young man a shoulder to lean on, whenever he needed it. If Harry didn’t feel able to talk with Dr Litworth (and who could blame him, Snape thought with a sneer) then Snape wasn’t going to force him. He personally felt certain that Harry would rather keep such pieces of information to himself than share them with Dr Litworth. And, as that would put Harry at even more risk of losing his sanity and magical control, Snape was prepared to risk Dumbledore’s wrath by lending the young man a sympathetic ear, it that was what he needed.

So, having made up his mind, Snape lengthened his stride and headed straight for his rooms. There was also the matter of Draco’s living quarters and he thought that if he was going to be hexed for one crime, he might as well be hexed for two. He would tell Draco to move his belongings in this evening.

*~*~*

As soon as he let himself into his rooms, Snape was immediately aware that he was walking in on an argument. All right, there wasn’t much actual shouting going on, but the atmosphere was tight and chill. Moving through into his sitting room, he found Draco and Harry standing straight and rigid and glaring at one another.

With a flickered glance at Snape, Draco tapped his pad with his wand and, after reading it, Harry glared once and then stalked away to throw himself into an armchair.

Neither of them then looked at Snape until he said, “We need to talk.”

“You too?” Harry raised an eyebrow, “You come to tell me I’m stupid and antagonistic too?”

At once, Draco turned a jabbed his wand at his pad and large angry letters appeared, smoking on the paper.

“Oh for -!” Harry exploded, jumping to his feet again, “If I remember rightly, your exact words, Draco, were ‘Harry, you’re a bloody fool for antagonising Weasley’ and ‘Harry, you can’t go around alienating everyone who cares about you’!”

“Well,” Snape sighed, “he does seem to have a point.” As Harry spun on him with fury in his dark green eyes, Snape held up a hand, “Don’t say it. You know we’re right. If it was your intention to push everyone away from you – everyone who cares about you – then you are succeeding.”

Harry glared and turned, pacing away towards the bookcase on the far wall.

Draco sighed and moved to sit down on the hearth rug; folding his legs and drawing his knees up towards his chest. He looked sadly at Harry’s back and then up at his Head of House.

‘Kissing me like that,’ he wrote, ‘won’t win him any popularity contests. And he needs people on his side.’

Snape nodded and sat down in the chair beside Draco. He looked over to where Harry was still glaring at the books with his arms wrapped tightly around himself.

“Harry,” Snape sighed and dimly registered Draco’s surprise at his use of the young man’s given name.

“What?” Harry muttered sullenly and then glanced back over his left shoulder.

“Come here.”

Harry scowled and turned back to the bookcase.

“Potter, stop being an utter prat and do as you’re told!” Snape snapped sharply and this time Harry obeyed.

His eyes shifted to Draco and then to Snape before taking the other chair beside the fire. And so they sat: Snape in one armchair, Harry in the other and Draco huddled on the rug between them, looking cross and unhappy.

At length, Snape drew a deep breath and said in a calm voice, “I want you to know, the Headmaster has just told me that I can’t talk with you anymore about…well about things that might be on your mind.” Before Harry could angrily interrupt, he went on, “But you should also know that I don’t have any intention of doing as I’m told.”

Harry stared at him incredulously, silently stunned – and somewhat impressed.

“I will say this, though.” Snape looked seriously at him, “I’m not a counsellor. I’ve never had any training and I may not be able to do very much more than listen to you – should you need to talk. I can’t offer you solutions and I can’t make whatever happened to you go away. Mind you,” he added with a hint of a smile in his eyes, “I’m not certain that the esteemed Dr Litworth could do that either.”

Harry smiled and lowered his eyelashes in a silent gesture of agreement. When he looked up, he clearly had a question to ask but left it unvoiced until Snape raised an eyebrow.

“Dr Litworth – Jenna – said that she knew my mum and dad and Sirius.” He said, with only a very slight tremor on the last name, “If that was the case, then you must have known her too.”

“Hm.” Snape grunted and said nothing. He could, of course, well remember Jenna Adams, as she’d been then, but wasn’t sure he should let on just how he knew her.

“Jenna told me that she’d been bullied,” Harry said then and looked closely at the Potions master. When there was no reaction, he said, “And I just thought that of those most likely to bully -”

“I should stop that thought right there,” Snape interrupted, staring hard at Harry. Between them, Draco was looking incensed.

Harry just shrugged, however. “Okay. Whatever you say.” And then he grinned and looked away.

Yet another difference in his personality, Snape thought with an unexpected twinge of sadness.

*~*~*

Harry hadn’t hung around Snape’s rooms very long. Following his argument with Draco, he was feeling restless and unsettled. He wanted to somehow make peace with him – he knew that - but he needed somewhere calm to put his thoughts together first.

So he had gone out onto the Quidditch pitch and had sat in the Spectator Stands, staring into the darkness and thinking.

Draco was right, Harry felt that deep within his chest. He’d been wrong to draw Draco into his row with Ron and he’d been wrong to use Draco as a means to hurt Ginny. But Ginny, he thought, hadn’t really seemed that upset; there could have been better ways to get up Ron’s nose.

Somewhere, deep inside, a tiny voice asserted that Ginny had been upset and it remarked that the old Harry would never have even attempted to upset Ron; would rather, in fact, avoid upsetting his friends. But Harry scowled at the voice and squashed it firmly, telling himself that the old Harry was the one foolish enough to get caught by Death Eaters, in the first place, and forced to…

He sighed with a small discontented sound and shook himself. He had to be tougher. Twice today he’d cracked and that was no good at all. At least, he told himself, it had been with Snape and not with Jenna Litworth. Snape had said himself that he wasn’t a trained psychologist and so he couldn’t and wouldn’t try to make Harry anything he wasn’t.

But still…the fierce hug from Snape had been a surprise, hadn’t it? Of all the people to offer such a demonstrable sense of comfort and consolation, Severus Snape was the very last that Harry would expect to step forward. But then, the man had already proved that he was capable of tender human emotions by saving Draco’s life. And for that, Harry was grateful.

He shivered, realising that at some point, he’d got cold. His robes were damp and chill and so he decided to go to bed. He would go through the common room – at this late hour, it would be mostly deserted – but he wouldn’t speak to anyone in any case - and then he would simply lie in the darkness of his bed and try again to get his head straight.

It was trudging up the last staircase on his way to the portrait of the Fat Lady, that Harry realised too late that his acquired Dark Art senses were screaming at him. He’d been too caught up in thinking of his row with Draco.

So the initial attack came out of nowhere and the solid impact of something against his ribs knocked him sideways and backwards. He fell, feeling nothing but air beneath him as he scrambled to try and save himself.

“Yren nia pfeath -” was as much as he was able to cry out before the landing came up to meet the back of his head and after that, there was nothing but darkness.

*~*~*

Draco lay awake in the darkness of his new room, buried beneath a torturous mixture of emotions. He was thinking about Harry and regretting losing his temper with him; regretting even more, though, letting Harry go off still thinking that Draco was angry with him. He wasn’t…not really. Not anymore.

It had just taken him by surprise to be snogged in the middle of the Great Hall, in plain view of everyone – including the teachers. And whilst he had played along with Harry’s twisted game and had responded to what was, after all, an incredible kiss, he had felt an instant flare of irritation.

For Harry had blatantly ignored Draco’s request for discretion and why, he asked himself yet again, did Harry think he’d requested it in the first place? Draco would have loved for everyone to know that his boyfriend was Harry Potter. In an ideal world where there were no dangers, he would have loved to kiss Harry in front of Ron-idiot-Weasley and his sister. He knew Ginny had asked Harry out – just after Harry had been released from the hospital wing – and the delight at having got Harry over her, was intoxicating. But Harry was in danger, simply by his association with Draco.

For, if the Slytherins couldn’t get to Draco himself, then they would hurt him by getting to those he cared about. So far, as far as they were concerned, that had been only Severus and the man was more than capable of handling a group of students. But now they knew about Harry…

He sighed and closed his eyes, wishing that sleep would come and yet dreading the moment that the dreams would arrive.

His new bed and room in general were warm and comfortable and he was eager to show them to Harry – assuming he could be persuaded to forgive Draco, that is. Draco really appreciated everything that Severus had done for him – and for Harry – and he hoped that Harry understood just what the Potions master was risking for them.

These rooms, after all (a bedroom/sitting room, bathroom and tiny kitchenette) had been provided without Dumbledore’s permission; although, Draco thought, the Headmaster must surely know by now that Severus had gone against his wishes.

Draco sighed and rolled over, pulling his pillow down at a right angle and curling into it as he’d done when he was a small child. Then, slowly, sleep stole over him and he sank down into darkness.

He was walking from the library to the Slytherin common room. Following his confession concerning Potter and his secret location beneath the family manor, he had asked for protection. He didn’t mean protection within the school, though; rather he had meant protection whenever he had to go outside the Hogwarts grounds.

As the combination of hexes had knocked him to the ground in a nerveless heap, he suddenly realised that particular error in judgement – both on his part and on Severus’.

Draco stiffened in his sleep and pushed the covers away in an attempt to push at the binding spells that he recalled. He rolled over, coming to slightly and then sinking once more into fitful sleep.

“Traitors will not be tolerated, Draco.” His father stated in a sneering, haughty tone, “You should know that by now. I’m sure, however, that you won’t ever be tempted to give away his Dark Lord’s secrets again.”

“He won’t have the chance,” a deep voice chuckled and Draco shuddered, recognising Mr Goyle’s voice.

And then suddenly he was awash with searing, agonising pain. It bit into his flesh, melting tissue, cartilage and membranes. Draco tried to scream but already his voice was gone and he longed – longed – to pass out but his body refused and he quickly became convinced that he would have to linger through this torture until he died.

Still asleep, Draco thrashed and opened his mouth in a silent scream. Sweat glistened on his forehead and over his torso, dampening his sheets and pyjamas.

Then, seemingly from nowhere, Severus was running towards him as if he had the hounds of hell on his heels. He fired vivid jets of red light at those foolish enough to hesitate at Draco’s side and then…finally…Draco was being lifted into strong arms.

He blinked, staring up at Severus and trying to speak to him. The Potions master’s face was stark white and his mouth was twisted in horror. And the last words that Draco heard were, “Ast il y a stasis!”

*~*~*

“Draco?” Snape opened the door to the young man’s room and peered through the darkness to where the figure lay. He was calm now but his rumpled blankets and thrown pillow bore testament of the nightmare that had gripped him. “Draco, are you awake?” he asked before realising his own stupidity. Of course, the young man couldn’t answer him, so what was the point in asking.

In response, though, Draco rolled onto his side and sat up.

“Lumos sefte,” Snape murmured and the lights came up just enough to cast a soft glow on the new bedroom. “Are you all right?” he asked, stepping closer to the bed.

At first, Draco nodded, rubbing sleepily at his eyes and then, with a little wince, he shook his head. He reached out to his bedside table and fumbled for the pad and his wand.

‘Nightmare.’

“Well, I guessed that.” Snape told him, “I could hear you thrashing about from the sitting room.”

Draco looked apologetic and then yawned, blinking at him.

“Do you need anything?” Snape asked softly and then, realising what his ward needed and realising at the same time that he would never ask for it, he sat down on the edge of the bed and touched Draco’s hair gently.

The touch was soft – barely there – but it had the effect of drawing Draco upright in a rustle of silk pyjamas.

And, for the second time that day, Snape found himself with a teenage boy in his arms. Starting to make a habit of this, he told himself disparagingly and then found himself instantly appalled by just how wrong that sounded. He didn’t…he wasn’t in the habit of bestowing affection on teenage boys! He wasn’t a monster and he’d never…

Snape wanted to push Draco away in an effort to reassert his professional integrity. But the young man, of course, couldn’t know what was going through his head and so wouldn’t understand if he was suddenly rejected. Like Harry, he needed a father figure; a man with whom he could let go of his emotions and just accept whatever comfort was on offer. The young men, both of them, had been through impossible traumas. Draco’s he knew about and was working to help him through it; Harry, however, he was only just starting to get an idea of what he’d seen and done.

So, telling himself that this was right and natural, he tightened his hold on Draco and firmly buried the coldly acerbic side of himself that would ordinarily retreat from such demonstrations of affection.

Where his hands rested on Draco’s shoulder blades, he suddenly realised just how damp with sweat the young man’s pyjamas were. Evidently the nightmare had gone on longer than he’d thought…or else it had been particularly bad…

“You’re going to catch cold.” He said and pushed Draco away from him long enough to reach over and pull a t-shirt from the oak chest of drawers. “Here,” he muttered and offered the garment to him.

Without any hint of self-consciousness, Draco undid his pyjama shirt and shrugged it off, shivering a little. He then pulled on the t-shirt and smiled his thanks.

“Do you want a potion for dreamless sleep?” Snape asked then, “You can’t take it indefinitely but it’ll give you some relief for tonight…”

Draco shook his head, though. ‘Makes me too groggy in the mornings.’ He wrote and looked rueful.

“Would you rather sit in front of the fire with me?” Snape asked and this time the young man nodded, sliding out of bed.

“Here,” Snape said, when they emerged into the bright sitting room. Draco blinked and shielded his eyes as the Potions master repeated his earlier spell to soften the light. Then, as Draco moved to his usual spot before the fire, Snape handed him a blanket. “I’ve got some marking to do so I won’t be going to bed for a while yet.” He explained and sat down on the long, dark sofa.

Draco nodded, grateful for the company. He intended to read and he’d fished out the set of Dragonlance books that Snape had given him for his eleventh birthday – the same ones, in fact that he’d said he’d lend to Harry. Well, he still could; he knew the books well enough to start reading the second while Harry got started on the first.

He hadn’t got through two pages, however, before his eyes started to close. He rested his head down on the open book and drifted, hoping against hope that the dreams wouldn’t come again.

He was inside the school this time. He was going to find Harry, going to apologise for being angry with him. But as he made his way up the last set of stairs, there was something on the first landing. Looking closer, he realised that it was blood, trickling in a fine, viscous thread from the stairs above.

A feeling of dread fell over Draco’s shoulders, making him shiver, but he forced himself to climb higher and there…

“What the -?” Snape exclaimed, startled as Draco jerked awake with a silent yell. “Draco…don’t panic…it’s okay…”

But the young man wouldn’t be soothed. He pushed the blanket away and stood on shaky legs, fumbling with his wand and pad. In a fit of frustration, he threw them aside and leapt towards Snape, pressing his fingertips urgently against the man’s temples.

‘Harry’s hurt! He’s on the stairs! So much blood…HURRY!’

“You can talk…?” Snape stared at him in astonishment, “When did you -?”

‘Stop yammering and go! Help him!’ Draco shouted silently and then ran to the door, pulling the Potions master after him.

“Draco, wait a minute. What are you saying?” Snape demanded, his voice tense.

But Draco wouldn’t stand still long enough to communicate in any way at all so Snape had no option but to just follow him.

*~*~*

‘What’s going on? Why won’t they tell us anything? Is he going to be all right?’

Draco had been demanding answers to the same three questions almost since he and Snape had found Harry’s limp and broken body on the staircase below the Gryffindor portrait.

As always, Dumbledore was never very far away and came hurrying to help as Snape swiftly but carefully assessed the young man. There was indeed a large amount of blood – or at least, it looked a lot to Draco.

Snape, however, had told him that head injuries always bleed a lot and really there was no more than half a pint of blood spilt; it just looked worse.

But now they were in the hospital wing and Madam Pomfrey was still tending to Harry behind closed curtains while Draco went quietly nuts and drove Snape nuts in the process.

“I don’t know, Draco.” Snape sighed, rubbing the side of his face wearily, “Please stop pacing; you’re just wearing yourself out.” And me, he thought but didn’t say. He looked over to where Professor McGonagall was standing silently in her tartan dressing gown and slippers.

‘I want to know who did it.’ Draco wrote on a scrap of paper with Snape’s wand (his own pad and wand still in Snape’s rooms where he’d thrown them).

“You and me both.” Snape growled. He looked then at the pale young man padding back and forth in silk pyjama trousers and soft grey t-shirt. “What I also want to know is how you spoke to me.” He said softly and caught hold of his wand as Draco stepped past him.

Draco sighed and his brow furrowed in irritation. He cast one more glance at the curtains around Harry’s bed and then at Professor McGonagall. Seeing that the woman was absorbed in her own thoughts, he stepped towards his guardian.

‘I don’t know how I do it, exactly.’ He thought to Snape, touching his forehead. ‘So long as my wand hand touches the head of the person I want to speak to, it works!’

“Does it have to be their head?” Snape asked curiously, glad of the momentary distraction that was keeping Draco from wearing a groove in the floor. “Would it work if you held my hand with your wand hand?”

Draco frowned in consternation and then took hold of Snape’s hand. He looked up into the Potion master’s black eyes and stared for a moment. Then, with a little shake of his head, he touched the man’s forehead again.

‘No. Doesn’t look like it.’

He looked back over his shoulder then and sighed.

“You don’t know that,” Snape said and then blinked. “That wasn’t conscious communication, was it?”

Draco looked back at him and shook his head. He was about to tell Snape that Harry could communicate back telepathically and maybe so could he, when Professor McGonagall started from her silent reverie. A moment later, Dumbledore pushed the curtains back and they caught sight of Madam Pomfrey tidying the bed clothes over Harry’s still figure.

“Ah, Minerva, Severus. You’re both still here,” Dumbledore said, glancing swiftly at Draco. “Draco, why don’t you go back to your dormitory? You have lessons in just a few hours,”

‘Tell him I’m staying here.’ Draco growled telepathically, glaring at Snape.

“Headmaster, Draco was the one to raise the alarm. I don’t know how he knew but I believe he has the right to hear how Harry is.” Snape responded, lifting his chin and meeting Dumbledore’s eyes. Beside him, he was aware of Professor McGonagall’s eyes on where Draco’s fingertips lingered against the side of his head. With a neutral expression, he removed the youth’s hand and looked back to the Headmaster.

For a moment, they stared at each other and then, finally, Dumbledore sighed and glanced back to Madam Pomfrey.

“He’ll be fine,” she said seriously, “but he’s going to need a few days in here. I’ve healed his ribs and he evidently has a very hard head because the skull remained intact.” She paused as Draco took Snape’s wand and wrote:

‘Why’s he still unconscious?’

Madam Pomfrey’s eyes shifted uncertainly from Draco to Professor McGonagall to Snape and finally to Dumbledore. “Er…there’s no obvious sign of trauma.” She went on, “But until he wakes up, we can’t do a full assessment.”

Draco pursed his lips, trying to maintain his patience. The idiot woman was clearly refusing to give a direct response to his question and he was sure that a trained medi-witch such as herself must know.

“Poppy, what did you find when you scanned him?” Professor McGonagall asked.

Snape, meanwhile , was keeping a wary eye on Draco. The young man was practically trembling with anger and frustration.

Again Madam Pomfrey’s eyes shifted uncomfortably and, thinking that she might be more candid if he pretended that he couldn’t hear, Draco stepped towards Harry’s bedside.

“I don’t know what I found,” Madam Pomfrey replied softly. “The skull, as I said, is intact although the skin was obviously broken – hence the blood. The brain, however, is in no danger…he might have some headaches and nausea, but nothing potentially life threatening.” She looked then to where Draco was gazing down into Harry’s pale face.

“But when I scanned him,” she went on, “to observe his brain function in general and his mind state in particular, well…” she looked to Dumbledore and bit her lip fretfully.

“I did a secondary scan,” the Headmaster said sombrely, his eyes moving from Snape to Professor McGonagall and back. “Severus, we knew that Harry had been exposed to Dark Arts. And, Minerva, I explained what had happened?”

She nodded, eyes large and fearful.

“It seems,” Dumbledore said, “that Harry has become considerably more powerful – in addition to his Dark Arts knowledge.”

“You mean that the Dark Lord transferred power to him?” Snape asked warily.

“No.” Dumbledore shook his head, “I think Harry has developed that power himself…perhaps to enable him to work these Dark Arts. I don’t know. But as soon as I began that scan, I knew. The boy reeks of magic; it crackles around him like a tangible aura.”

“What does this have to do with him not waking up?” Professor McGonagall asked, looking perplexed.

“It seems that Harry is keeping himself unconscious. Why, I have no idea. It may be that it is his way of allowing his body to heal itself. I don’t know.” He shook his head.

“Should he go to St Mungo’s?” Professor McGonagall asked softly.

But Dumbledore immediately shook his head, “There’s nothing really to be gained and if stories of this reach the paper…” he spread his hands. “As Harry is in no danger, I feel it would be best to leave him to recover in his own time. As for the sudden increase in magical ability, well we’ll help him come to terms with that in time.”

Snape looked thoughtfully at the Headmaster and thought about what effect this would have on Harry’s abilities with the Dark Arts. When it seemed that there was little more to discuss this night, he bid Dumbledore goodnight and watched as Madam Pomfrey disappeared into her office.

Draco remained by Harry’s bedside and he was about to suggest that they go back to their rooms when Professor McGonagall stepped towards him.

“Severus, could I talk to you? Outside?” she asked and indicated the corridor with a nod of her head.

Wondering what this was about, he agreed and followed her out the door.

“Severus,” she began as soon as they were alone, “you’re relationship with Mr Malfoy…”

Snape frowned, “What of it?”

“Well, I understand from Albus that you’re now the young man’s guardian but…” she looked down at her slippered feet for a second and a hint of pink suffused her cheeks.

“Minerva, there is nothing untoward between Draco and myself.” Snape said shortly. “I’ve known the boy since he was a baby. His father and I were close friends then.”

“Yes, I know.” She looked back at him, “But you have to consider how other people – students, professors, visitors – the school governors – how they will see it. And, considering that it was the middle of the night, how did Draco manage to alert you to Harry’s situation?”

Snape stared at her stonily and said nothing.

“Severus, you must protect yourself. Do you understand what I’m saying?” she asked earnestly.

“Yes,” he sneered, “you’re suggesting that I have an improper relationship with one of my students. When in fact I’m working very hard to build a good relationship with a young man who is suddenly without friends or family.”

Professor McGonagall shook her head sadly. “I’m sorry.” She said honestly, “And, for what it’s worth, I believe you. But when I saw Draco caressing your face, it looked -”

“He wasn’t caressing -!” Snape started to protest and then realised that perhaps he shouldn’t tell anyone yet of Draco’s ability to communicate telepathically. Not yet.

“Well, just keep it in mind.” Professor McGonagall shifted uncomfortably. “Right now, I’m going back to bed. I have a first year Hufflepuff class first thing.”

Snape gave her a sympathetic look and inclined his head politely as she left him.

Going back into the ward, he found Draco standing by Harry’s side with his wand hand resting over Harry’s forehead. He seemed to be deep in thought and Snape was reluctant to interrupt but then the young man opened his eyes and gave him a weary smile.

“Come on,” he said quietly. “He’ll be fine – you can come back to see him before breakfast, if you like.”

Draco nodded and, no hint of embarrassment, he bent down to lightly kiss Harry’s forehead.

*~*~*

An hour later, having seen Draco settled back in his bed, Snape sat up in his own bed and sipped a glass of whisky. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t dream of drinking mid-week but it seemed unlikely that he would sleep without something to help and single malt whisky tasted infinitely better than any sleeping draught.

He stared unseeing at the pages of his open book and thought about Minerva’s comments concerning Draco. Whilst it must have seemed inappropriate to her at the time, Draco’s touch to his head had been entirely innocent but they would have to find a better way of communicating, he thought. The method of transferring his thoughts onto a pad, using his wand, was acceptable in situations where speed wasn’t the essence but, as had been proved tonight, it could be slow and unwieldy.

Snape sighed and thought of the young man in the room next door. If he was given to such sentimental thoughts, he would admit that he loved him – as a father loves a son, though, and nothing like Minerva was perhaps imagining.

Considering his decision to give Draco rooms within his personal quarters, he wondered if he might be risking his job by defying Dumbledore but, he shrugged, keeping the young man safe was his first concern.

Although, he allowed himself a smirk, he couldn’t see Minerva doing the same thing for Harry.

A light tap on his bedroom door brought him abruptly back to the here and now and he drew a deep breath. “Yes.” He called.

The door opened slowly and Draco stepped calmly through, squinting slightly against the light after the darkened sitting room and his own bedroom.

“What is it, Draco?” Snape asked, remaining still.

The young man came nearer and seemed to hesitate before touching his fingertips to Snape’s head.

‘Can’t sleep. Too many…too much…’ He shook his head, unable to explain but Snape thought he understood all the same.

“What do you need?” he asked, thinking that as he himself couldn’t sleep, perhaps he should try whatever Draco suggested.

‘Whisky.’ Draco’s mouth curled on one side and his eyes glittered mischievously.

“Yes, because that would be the responsible thing to do, wouldn’t it?” Snape responded dryly, “To get one of my students plastered – in my bedroom, I might add.”

Draco just shrugged, unconcerned, and put one knee up on the edge of Snape’s bed; the better to reach his guardian’s head.

‘Can I sit in here with you?’ He asked and then added softly, Please?’

Any number of reasons why this was a monumentally bad idea immediately filled Snape’s head.

‘No one need know.’ Draco added as if he too was thinking along the same lines. ‘And I trust you.’

Of course he did. In a world where his friends and even his own father had turned against him in the worst way, Snape was one of the few people to have remained true.

So, telling himself that he would surely regret this decision, he nodded and watched as the young man moved elegantly into the space beside him.

Sitting atop the covers, Draco produced his book and sat beside Snape as if this was the most natural thing in the world.

A while later and Snape’s reading was disturbed slightly by Draco wriggling his bare feet under the covers.

“Are you cold?” he asked, “Shall I fetch you a blanket?”

But Draco just shook his head and carried on reading. He was reading ‘Dragons of Winter Night’, Snape saw and he smiled, remembering the day he’d chosen the series of books for the young man beside him.

Later, as Snape finished the last chapter of his book and looked over to his empty whisky glass, he realised with a little start that Draco had fallen asleep. What was more, he was sleeping peacefully and had been, by the looks of it, for some time.

He considered moving him, transferring him back to his own bed, but there seemed little harm in letting him remain here and as it was already gone three in the morning, there seemed little point.

Pulling the sheets and blankets up to cover Draco’s chest, he then slid downwards himself and rested his head on the pillow; looking for a moment at the young man beside him before falling asleep too.