Dark Beginnings

The rest of the week passed without incident. Harry remained unconscious in the hospital wing but Draco didn’t seem the slightest bit concerned about this. He visited, as far as Snape could determine, two or three times each day and was even found sleeping on the floor beside Harry’s bed.

He said, whilst communicating silently with Snape, that he slept better with either Harry or Snape beside him. Immensely glad that the young man couldn’t say that out loud, Snape nonetheless had to concede that it certainly seemed true.

The night after Harry’s attack, after serving detention with Filch, Draco had gone to his own bed but had suffered the worst nightmares to date and so had arrived, shivering and wild eyed, at the Potion master’s bedroom door again. So Snape had allowed him to sleep in his bed but had forced himself to sleep as far away from him as possible, resting uncomfortably on the very edge of the mattress.

The next night saw the same pattern: Draco went to bed with a brave tilt of his chin that might have fooled anyone but Snape, who saw the raw element of fear in the young man’s eyes. Then, just an hour and a half later, Draco re-emerged from his room, drenched in sweat and unable (or unwilling) to communicate in any form.

So, without a word, Snape had put aside his third year assignments and had led Draco into his room. It had taken a gentle nudge, however to get him moving; Draco seemed caught and transfixed by his nightmare and Snape wondered yet again what he dreamed.

On the Friday, Snape had a staff meeting and didn’t return to his rooms until ten o’ clock. The sitting room was lit by one soft lamp and Fistandantilus hooted his gentle greeting as Snape came in. Apart from the owl, the room was empty.

Moving on silent feet, Snape moved towards the door to Draco’s room and listened. There was no sound. Wondering if this might be the first night that Draco would sleep undisturbed, he went to his own room, opened the door and rocked to a standstill.

Draco was already lying in his bed. Sound asleep, the young man’s platinum blond hair framed his face in soft little flicks and tousles that would seriously infuriate him, should he see it.

Snape sighed and shook his head a little. This was getting ridiculous! All right, so the young man wasn’t jail bait; he had at least reached the age of consent. But his presence here, in Snape’s wide, canopied bed, wearing his customary black silk pyjamas, was more than enough to get Snape kicked, unceremoniously, out on his ear.

But, he argued with himself, this was what Draco needed. Sleeping draughts wouldn’t solve the problem; they’d only postpone the symptoms. And it was early days still. It wasn’t even four weeks since the attack; it was unreasonable to expect the trauma and the night terrors to fade yet.

As the young man’s guardian, could he be waived the customary investigation and almost certain dismissal?

Snape sneered and toed off his shoes; someone else maybe; someone who hadn’t been a Death Eater; someone who was a popular, upright pillar of wizard society like Albus Dumbledore or Minerva McGonagall.

He moved to the wardrobe in the corner, opened the door and began to undress; hanging up his robes and throwing his shirt and trousers into the laundry bin for the house elves to collect. It wasn’t until he’d pulled on his nightshirt and turned once more to the bed, that he realised that Draco was dreaming again.

As Snape watched, Draco kicked the covers down his body and lifted claw-like fingers to his throat, as if in agonising pain. Well, no points for guessing what he was dreaming right now, Snape thought.

Then, perhaps as another dream intruded itself, the young man twisted, pushing the side of his face into the pillow and screwing his eyes up tight. And all the time, he mouthed the same words…

Snape stared, trying to make out what Draco was screaming. Moving without thinking, he sat on the edge of the bed and touched Draco’s head with his wand hand.

‘LEAVE HIM ALONE! LEAVE HIM ALONE!’

Draco’s silent shout jolted Snape so much that he jerked his hand away and accidentally woke the young man in the process.

For a long moment, they stared at each other in shock until Draco heaved a trembling sigh and pushed a hand through his tousled hair. He swallowed then and looked up at Snape, reaching out with his wand hand.

‘Thank you. In my dream…you came in and rescued us.’

“Us?” Snape raised an eyebrow, “Who else?”

‘Harry. They were…’

And then, abruptly, Draco withdrew his hand and all communication ceased for a while.

He lay calmly on his side now with one hand beneath his cheek on the pillow, his pale grey eyes watching Snape with a steady gaze.

“So you thought you’d just move in?” Snape remarked then, changing the subject and pulling the covers straight once more.

Draco shrugged with one shoulder, not changing expression. Snape sighed and settled himself down, only then turning to look at his ward. And then he stopped the next acidic little comment that he’d been about to utter. For Draco was still watching him but something behind his calm eyes was beginning to shatter.

Snape went still, unprepared to deal with this – now…here. To pull Draco into his arms whilst lying in bed with him would be just…too much, a little voice whispered in his brain. Wrong, he asserted, trying to quash it, repeating to himself that the boy was his responsibility; he was his ward, his charge…almost his son. It would be wrong to hold him close whilst lying in bed.

Not such a boy, whispered the immoral little voice. He’s a man now, you know he is.

With an inward snarl, Snape pushed the voice away along with images of Draco as he’d seen him this week: a half naked youth emerging from the bathroom, wearing only a pair of soft, loose trousers; Draco sprawled, sleeping soundly, with one arm cast with casual elegance and not a hint of self consciousness, across Snape’s chest.

He moved then to sit up, with the intention of walking around to Draco’s side of the bed. Then at least he would be out of bed and there would be no (temptation) chance for any misunderstandings. But Draco was moving towards him with pain in his over bright eyes and a tremor to the hand that reached out for him.

Snape sighed, finding himself cornered, and then gave up. He accepted Draco into his arms and lay back against the pillow once more as Draco pressed his head against his chest.

‘I saw Jenna today.’

Draco’s wand hand lingered against the side of Snape’s head and the Potions master went still.

‘We…talked…’ Draco said softly, his words filtering into Snape’s mind, even as he kept his face averted.

“About the attack?” Snape asked, his voice very quiet.

‘About a lot of things.’ There was a long pause where Draco said nothing but Snape nonetheless caught flashes of his thoughts and memories.

Draco and Jenna flying. Draco feeling so alive and free and careless. Draco’s sense of triumph and smug victory when he stole the Snitch right from under Jenna’s nose. Then sitting together on the Stands and talking – or at least Jenna had talked…asking questions…

The connection broke suddenly as Draco pulled his hand away again but Snape caught his wrist and held it firmly.

“What, Draco?” he demanded, struggling to hold on the mixture of anger and trepidation, “What happened next?”

Draco shook his head and scooted away, back to his own side of the bed and Snape bit back a sigh, telling himself he was happier to not be in such close physical contact.

“Draco, is it helping? Is talking to Dr Litworth helping you?” he asked, rolling onto his side to look at the young man beside him.

For a long while, Draco stared up at the canopy and didn’t respond.

“Tell me…” Snape paused and then started again, “What did you dream, just now? There’s something wrong – something deep inside – and you hid it before letting me hear your thoughts.”

Now Draco did look at him. He turned onto his side and met Snape’s eyes with his own and then reached out once more to touch his temple.

‘She asked me about my time with my father – as a Death Eater in training, you know? She wanted me to tell her what it was like, what I had to do…’

Snape froze, his eyes blacker than black, and he fought fiercely to hold onto his temper. How dare she? Just who did she think she was? Her job was to help Harry and if the young man didn’t want her help (and, as he’d said, he really didn’t) then she should just give it all up.

He was certain he’d kept these emotions out of his eyes; after all, he was an old pro at keeping secrets from Voldemort. So it was a considerable shock when Draco silently answered his thoughts:

‘She knows Harry doesn’t want to talk to her – that’s why she was talking to me. She thought that by getting me to talk about what happened at Death Eater meetings, she could help me and learn about what Harry went through.’

He shifted closer then so that he didn’t have to stretch his arm so much.

‘And she wouldn’t ever just give it all up. She’s a born Gryffindor and determined to stick it out to the bitter end.’

Shaken, Snape stared at Draco. “You heard my thoughts?” he said, looking thunderstruck. “You didn’t cast Legilimens or anything. You just heard them through this…connection, didn’t you?”

Draco nodded, keeping his eyes on Snape’s and then slid across the last intervening gap until his body lay flush to the other man’s. It wasn’t until too late, that Snape thought about getting up and out of bed. But then, he told himself, Draco would probably just follow him.

‘I would follow you.’ Draco smirked and slid one leg up between Snape’s. ‘But don’t worry – I’m not asking for much. I want Harry to be my first – even though I won’t be his.’

This shocked Snape so badly that for a couple of seconds he floundered, trying to catch both his breath and his wits. Just when he thought himself capable of a retort to put Draco back in his place, the wretched boy kissed him.

It was actually a series of kisses but after the first, Snape was rendered incapable of doing anything to prevent the next…or the one after that…or the one after that.

At first, Draco kissed lightly, his lips caressing Snape’s with a tickling, hesitant touch. And then he broke away, flicking his gaze up to search the Potion master’s eyes. Whatever he saw, he went back for another kiss; this one slightly firmer, lips soft and pliant.

The third, he opened his mouth a little and tasted Snape’s bottom lip with his tongue. The fourth, however, he actually pushed his tongue inside and released a breathy little sigh that, had be had working vocal chords, might have been a moan. His lips now pressed, open and moist, against Snape’s and the man felt the youth’s thigh rising slowly, even as he wriggled and ground himself against Snape’s hip.

His conscience had deserted him, Snape found, but he didn’t waste much time mourning its loss before rolling Draco over onto his back and pressing down on the young man, returning the kiss with full attention to detail.

Draco’s hands wound up and around his back and shoulders. His eyes closed and his hips continued to roll and grind with wild abandon.

It was, in the end, the change in Draco’s breathing that hauled Snape back to his senses. The young man beneath him was writhing and pressing his not-inadequate erection against Snape’s hip and he was clearly on the brink. If he didn’t stop this now, then…

“Draco,” he said, his voice more of a soft murmur than he’d intended it to be. “Draco, stop. Stop!”

He pressed his hand against the silk clad hip and pushed, forcing the young man to cease in his helpless thrusting. Looking wild and confused at the sudden halt, Draco blinked up at him before bringing his hand up to cup the back of Snape’s skull.

‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

“This!” Snape responded, rolling away, “This is wrong. This whole picture!”

Having lost touch, Draco could only sigh to demonstrate his displeasure and he glared at Snape for a moment.

“Besides,” Snape said then, “what about Harry? You think he’ll be happy with all this?”

Draco shrugged, not looking the least bit guilty or repentant.

“You’re impossible!” Snape growled and sat up with his back to him. A moment later, he shot over his shoulder, “Are you aware of what would happen if we were caught? Once news of this hit the media, the Headmaster would have no option but to fire me; the school governors wouldn’t have it any other way. It was by his will alone, that I was given this position in the first place!”

Draco sat very still, his eyes on the bed clothes between them.

“So I would be out of Hogwarts and you, once again, would be in the spotlight. Or is that what you’re after?” he snapped. As soon as he’d said it, however, he knew that it was the wrong thing to suggest. Of course, Draco wouldn’t want something like that.

“Draco, I –” he started to say, turning. But Draco had leapt out of bed in a flash of angry indignation. He stormed furiously around the bed and towards the door but Snape caught hold of him before he could leave.

“Hold on,” he murmured. “I’m sorry. That was a stupid thing to say. Come here,” he muttered and pulled Draco towards him, pulling him into the circle of his arms like he used to do when Draco was very small. Draco would stand like this and tell him, very seriously, about all that he’d done since he’d last seen Severus. In an effort to recall for Draco those happier times, he began smoothing one hand up the young man’s back.

And, all the while, he called himself an idiot for giving in to Draco’s demand for a kiss…and more besides.

Draco, however, remained rigid with indignation at first but, with Snape continuously murmuring apologies and regrets, he started to relax and leaned against Snape’s broad chest.

They remained like that for a while, each lost in his thoughts and neither of them inclined to return to the passion of earlier; Snape least of all.

“Draco,” he said finally, “you said something earlier. You said that Harry would be your first.”

‘The first to make love to me.’ Draco responded, touching Snape’s temple lightly. He spoke silently, without even a hint of embarrassment. ‘Not the first to…you know…get off with me, blow me or whatever.’

With this statement came accidental images that Snape, as Head of House, really didn’t want to know about his students.

“Goyle?” he said, though, unable to stop himself.

‘Greg was a good friend,’ Draco defended and then added, ‘or at least, I thought he was.’

So Draco had lost even more than family and friends, Snape thought. He’d lost lovers too. And Gregory Goyle’s father had been one of the Death Eaters present with Lucius when they’d come for Draco.

“And Harry?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

‘We’ve only kissed.’ Draco responded primly and that drew an unexpected chuckle from Snape. Draco decided, at that point, that he’d make Snape laugh as often as possible.

“You also said,” Snape began, wondering just why he was having this conversation, “that you wouldn’t be Harry’s first. I didn’t realise that Potter was quite so experienced. Who was it, Ginny Weasley?” That would explain the little scene at dinner on Monday.

Draco, however, had gone extremely still. He brought his hand away so as to communicate nothing – not words, not pictures, not thoughts.

“What is it?” Snape asked and then, suddenly, with dreadful, awful certainty, he realised a truth behind both Draco’s trauma and Harry’s state of mind.

“No.” he growled, very low in his throat. “No, no. Not that. Draco, tell me they didn’t – that the Dark Lord didn’t…”

He couldn’t say it. Couldn’t voice the horror, the perverse acts that Voldemort would demand of one in his control.

But he didn’t need to. With a shuddering, silent moan, Draco placed his hand on the back of Snape’s head and through that connection, he saw the young man’s memory of Harry; images that he simply couldn’t hold onto any longer.

Harry naked. Bound by magic, the Dark Arts swirling around him, coursing through his veins and forcing him to do whatever Voldemort wanted.

The Death Eaters had had their turns with him and, high on magic and God knew what else, Harry had responded to their lecherous advances. But Draco had seen in his eyes that Harry hated himself for this; for not being strong enough to resist, to fight; for responding with moans of his own; for reaching climax after climax. The magic or a potion, Draco didn’t know which, kept him from falling limp and useless. So he could take as many people as wanted him.

And Harry had met Draco’s eyes and there had been a question, a plea, a desperate ache for release. But all Draco could do was to refuse when Voldemort offered him a chance of his own with Harry. And they’d laughed; laughed at the teenage boy too young and immature to want a part of this.

Lucius had taken part, however. Crueller than most, he had taken Harry by force; binding the young man’s hands behind his back and biting deep into his shoulders, deep enough to draw blood. But that wasn’t the only place from which Harry had bled.

Draco suddenly broke the connection and pushed himself out of Snape’s arms. Trembling and shaking, he wobbled a moment and then tried to catch hold of something. A moment later, and he collapsed, sitting down with a thud onto the floor.

“Draco…” Snape whispered, finding himself shaking. He remembered for himself, the horror of such meetings and had, thankfully never been forced to take part. That Harry had been the unfortunate victim and Draco had been forced to watch…well, this explained so much.

He looked then at Draco and asked quietly, “Did you tell any of this to Dr Litworth?”

Instantly, Draco’s eyes came up to meet his in a fierce glare as he shook his head vehemently. Of course not. Draco probably hadn’t even intended to tell Snape about what had happened to Harry…not at first, anyway. Perhaps now, though, sharing this knowledge would help Draco.

“And will you tell Harry that I know?” Snape asked then.

Draco shook his head slowly, his gaze steady.

“Perhaps that’s for the best,” Snape nodded, his head spinning with this newest revelation. “If Harry got the idea that we know, it might be enough to undo all the good we’ve done so far.”

‘The good you’ve done.’ Draco replied, coming back towards him and touching his forehead. ‘I haven’t done anything very much.’

“You’ve done plenty.” Snape said firmly, “Without you, we’d never have found Harry. Without you, Harry would be entirely friendless. Have any of his old friends been to see him at all this week?”

‘Granger was there on Wednesday.’ Draco shrugged, ‘But she left when I got there.’

“Hm.” Snape responded shortly, “Well, we’ll look at helping Harry rebuild bridges when he eventually wakes up.”

‘It won’t be long.’ Draco replied but refused to say anymore or to explain how he knew.

*~*~*

Snape woke with a start, early on Saturday morning and looked around, immediately aware that Draco wasn’t in the room with him and wondering what had awoken him.

He lay still for a little while, thinking quietly. His dream had been particularly peaceful for a change – perhaps having Draco around was as good for him as it was for Draco?

After last nights…he winced…moment of indiscretion, he had transfigured the ottoman into a second bed for Draco. It seemed that the young man slept just as well there, without actually being in bed with Snape.

He shook his head, damning himself for giving in to his baser desires the previous night. Why hadn’t he thought of creating a second bed earlier? Rules, governors and Dumbledore aside, he had a responsibility to Draco and, if all that wasn’t enough, he was old enough to be his father!

He wondered now where Draco could be. At first, he’d assumed that he had gone to use the bathroom but it seemed that he was entirely alone. Getting up, Snape pulled on his clothes and moved through into the sitting room.

This room, the kitchen and Draco’s rooms were all empty. Even Fistandantilus had evidently been sent on a mission. Snape was just contemplating the idea of taking a mug of fresh coffee back to bed for a rare lie-in, when it struck him that Draco had gone to see Harry.

Quite how he arrived at this conclusion, he couldn’t say, but now that he’d had the idea, it simply wouldn’t leave him alone. Not only had Draco gone to the hospital wing, but he, Snape, should go there too.

At first, Snape simply shook his head and walked purposefully towards the kettle in his kitchen. Then, however, he felt a distinct tug at the back of his brain and he gasped aloud. Whatever this was, it had given up being subtle and was now pushing him about.

With a shake of his head, Snape obeyed the commanding force and made his way to the hospital wing; firmly refusing to hurry, however.

As soon as he opened the door, he realised that something extraordinary had happened. Harry Potter had woken up.

He was sat up in bed, looking just a little pale but otherwise well. Madam Pomfrey was fussing about with pain relief and anti-nausea potions, by the looks of it, and Draco was sitting very happily on the side of Harry’s bed.

“Hey,” Harry smiled wanly, looking over to where Snape had paused just inside the doorway, “I thought you’d never get here.”

Madam Pomfrey looked momentarily scandalised that anyone should speak to a professor like that but, other than shooting a stern look at Harry, she said nothing.

“Are you suggesting that you were expecting me?” Snape enquired in a low drawl, his lip twisting into a sneer.

“No,” Harry shook his head and exchanged a look with Draco, “just that you took more persuading than Draco did.”

What? Snape stared at him, nonplussed and was about to query this when the doors opened behind him and Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall hurried in.

“My dear boy!” Dumbledore greeted Harry with a broad smile and a twinkle in his eyes, “When I received your message, I could hardly believe my own senses. I believe you woke Professor McGonagall from a particularly deep sleep.”

Glancing at the Deputy Headmistress, Snape saw that her feathers seemed more than a little ruffled. Her tartan dressing gown was done up wrong with the buttons askew and her long hair wasn’t yet pulled up in its customary bun. So he hadn’t been the only one to be pulled here but –

“Headmaster, I’m afraid I don’t understand,” he began, his tone politely puzzled with an air that suggested that he had better start understanding soon or he was going to get annoyed.

“Really, Severus, I’m sure you of all people could work it out!” snapped Professor McGonagall and Snape glared at her.

“Minerva, that will do.” Dumbledore interceded. He paused a minute then and summoned four chairs, although Madam Pomfrey appeared too engrossed to sit down right now. “Severus,” he said then, “were you woken with an urge to come down here to the hospital wing?”

“I might have given it a thought,” Snape shrugged, “but then I was also thinking about making myself some coffee and -”

“But you didn’t.” Dumbledore said, interrupting, “Instead, you obeyed the summons and here you are.”

“Summons?” Snape blinked at him, “Headmaster, I’m afraid I still don’t -” He broke off then because Draco, who had been smirking at all of them, was now laughing silently. “What?” Snape growled, feeling that he was the butt of some obscure joke.

“I called you.” Harry replied calmly, his green eyes dark and glittering, “I called all of you…just to let you know that I was awake and bored…and I wanted some company.”

Snape opened his mouth, turned to stare at Dumbledore and then closed it again when he realised that the Headmaster didn’t have an explanation either.

“You used telepathy?” Professor McGonagall asked, looking awestruck.

“Tried.” Harry shrugged, looking self-effacing, “But as I thought most of you would be asleep, I used subliminal messaging instead.”

Snape blinked, shaking his head. “Such a thing…it isn’t possible – even with the use of Dark Arts, the power necessary...” he broke off and then started again, “To manipulate an animal – one’s familiar – takes years of study. But to manipulate a human – you just can’t. There are simply too many levels of consciousness; you can’t…”

“I did though.” Harry replied earnestly and Draco leaned happily against his bent knees in a silent surge of congratulations.

Professor McGonagall was shaking her head, “If I hadn’t experienced it for myself, I would never have believed it.”

“I still don’t.” Snape growled and then glared when Harry sniggered.

“Alright. First of all, I woke Draco with just a little nudge and then told him to come and see me. I also told him slam the door behind him when he left because you were so deeply asleep that all my messages were being merged in with your dreams. Do you often dream about unicorns, by the way? Professor Trelawney would be sooo interested.”

Snape glared even harder and then, to his dismay, he realised that Dumbledore was struggling not to chuckle aloud.

“So you were awake,” Harry went on but was interrupted by Professor McGonagall.

“Just a minute, Potter. Did you say that you asked Draco to slam the door to wake Professor Snape? What was Draco doing in Professor Snape’s rooms, in the first place?”

“Minerva, I think that’s a discussion to have in just a moment or two.” Dumbledore asserted and then looked back to Harry.

“Well,” Harry’s eyes returned to lock with Snape’s, “once you were awake, I just had to send you a picture of Draco being here beside me. I almost had you too,” he grinned, “but your caffeine addiction cut in and it was a struggle there for minute. And then,”

“You tugged.” Snape finished for him, going even paler than usual. He shook his head, “That’s impossible.”

“Not, it would seem, for our Mr Potter.” Dumbledore concluded and it was impossible to tell whether he was pleased or not. “So, my boy, you have us all here at your immediate disposal and I suppose we should next address what we are to do with you next.”

Draco, at that point, looked across at Snape and seemed to be attempting to communicate something with his eyes only. Though, quite what, Snape had no idea.

‘He’s telling you to hold onto something solid.’ Harry’s voice told him and he looked over in shock to find Harry’s green eyes looking straight at him once more.

With a struggle, Snape refocused on Dumbledore’s words.

“…Mr Malfoy’s rather magnificent owl, this morning. He actually arrived just as I was hunting for my socks. A very helpful owl, Mr Malfoy.” He nodded at Draco, “Now then, Mr Malfoy informs me, Severus, that you took the liberty of granting him rooms adjoining your own,”

“What?” Professor McGonagall exploded, “Severus, I’m sure I don’t need to remind you of our conversation on Tuesday morning? I believe I made myself quite clear.”

Before Snape could respond, Dumbledore looked from one to the other and smiled gently. “I should perhaps remind you both that very little goes on around here without my knowledge. As such, I was aware of both Draco’s recurring night terrors and Severus’ concern for his well being and personal safety.”

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth to protest further but Dumbledore shook his head. “Minerva, there is nothing inappropriate about ensuring the students safety.” He said firmly, “And by giving Draco rooms of his own, Severus has done just that. In addition,” he added, “I understand that the new accommodation has greatly reduced Draco’s nightmares.”

Snape sat motionless, his expression carefully neutral, whilst his insides crawled with guilt at the thought of the kiss he’d shared with Draco. If Dumbledore knew as much as he claimed, then he must surely know…
But then, the Headmaster couldn’t possibly allow one of his staff and a student…

With a start, Snape realised that Harry was regarding him with a calm, confident gaze and was, in fact, attempting to instil that same confidence on Snape. Had he heard his thoughts?

“Now then,” the Headmaster continued, “Mr Malfoy has asked that Harry be moved in to share his rooms. I for one, don’t have any problem with that. Severus, you and I have discussed the importance of Dr Litworth’s counselling, haven’t we?”

Snape paused a second, ensuring that his face betrayed no emotion whatsoever. “Certainly, Headmaster.” He inclined his head politely.

“Then there is no reason why Harry shouldn’t be allowed to -”

“Headmaster,” Professor McGonagall interrupted with a little shake of her head, “I’m sorry but I don’t understand why Potter should be granted this or why he would want to move out of Gryffindor Tower in the first place.”

She looked then at Harry and, after a moment of studying the bedclothes over his bent knees, he lifted his gaze to regard her in silence for a second. “Since…all that happened to me…I don’t feel like a Gryffindor anymore, Professor. I have nothing in common with any of my friends. In fact,” he added, “Draco and Professor Snape are the only two people that seem to understand me.”

“Potter,” Professor McGonagall responded as gently as she could manage, “we’d all understand you a little better if you would just talk -”

“No!” The exclamation came with a shockwave of magical energy that shattered the glass beakers on the bedside cabinet and cracked every windowpane in the ward. Madam Pomfrey gave a startled shriek and the three professors each took an involuntary step back away from the bed. Only Draco remained still but he looked pained as if his ears stung with the force of a blast.

With a struggle, Harry regained some of his control and, breathing raggedly, shook his head at them. “I can’t.” he gasped, “I just can’t.”

“Well,” Dumbledore said, looking a little stunned, “that’s what we have Dr Litworth for. Not to worry, Harry. You may stay in the dungeons with Draco and Professor Snape for as long as you feel necessary. You may find, as time goes on, that you and your fellow students can find a common ground once more and from there, you’ll hopefully rediscover all the things that you once shared a liking for.”

Professor McGonagall, however, did not look happy. She chewed at the inside of her lip and said nothing.

“Now then,” Dumbledore said and looked tense for a moment, “Harry, do you have any idea of who attacked you?”

“No,” Harry shook his head immediately, “it was such a rush. One second I was just going up the stairs, the next I was hit with something that felt like a Bludger. I tried to save myself – a Featherfall spell – but there wasn’t time.”

Dumbledore sighed, looking stressed and tired again. “Well, short of giving the entire school Veritiserum, we have nothing else to go on. If you should remember anything, Harry, please tell one of us immediately.”

“Or Dr Litworth.” Harry breathed sarcastically, but the Headmaster chose to ignore him.

*~*~*

By the time Saturday evening had arrived, Snape was more than ready for a large whisky. Selecting the Oban, he poured almost an inch into a glass and allowed the first sip to roll over his tongue with its aromatic quality ensnaring the back of his throat with warm and gentle fingers.

It had been a very strange day, full of moving furniture, general upheaval and teenagers who seemed determined to disrupt the usual pattern of his lifestyle as much as possible.

As there was little wrong with Harry other than occasional headaches, he had been released from the hospital wing at lunchtime. Perhaps Poppy was intending to push him into mixing with his friends or perhaps it had simply been accidental that she had chosen to release him just when the entire school was headed to the Great Hall for lunch.

Either way, it was something of a surprise to see Harry appear, pale and edgy in the doorway. He looked at the Gryffindor table, met the eyes of his former partners in crime and then seemed to make his mind up. With outwardly apparent strong, confident steps, he headed straight for the Slytherin table and, with Draco, sat at the very far end; right away from anyone else.

Draco had looked a little shell-shocked at first and kept glancing first at Harry and then up to the Head table, looking nervously at Snape. His fellow Slytherins glowered at him and muttered, nudging each other with meaningful glances. They didn’t, however, make any attempt to hex or otherwise attack him; not with Harry, who continued to live, sitting beside him.

“I trust you’ll take good care of him, Severus.” Dumbledore said quietly, leaning across and looking over at Harry.

Snape ground his teeth and kept from pointing out that the last thing he wanted was to play babysitter for Harry Potter. Instead, he nodded curtly and tried to concentrate on his plate of lamb casserole. After all, he conceded only to himself, he didn’t really mind all that much. The new Harry Potter was growing on him.

“That young man,” Dumbledore went on, “is much troubled.”

No, really? Snape only just managed to keep himself from speaking these words aloud. He made a simple, non-committal sound of interest instead.

“And immensely powerful.” Dumbledore noted, now looking at Snape, “You remember what I said on Tuesday morning, after I’d examined Harry? That young man has magic pouring off him in waves. I think you may have been right, my friend and I was wrong.”

Snape blinked then, looking up into the Headmaster’s blue eyes in surprise.

Dumbledore chuckled, “Don’t look so stunned, Severus. We all make mistakes. In this case, you were right to want to teach Harry to control the Dark Arts and I was wrong to doubt that. Now, though, we need to teach him to control that power of his too.”

“I see.” Snape said carefully.

“Get Harry settled into his new room this afternoon,” Dumbledore advised, “and then, if he’s feeling well enough, start his training tomorrow.”

So now, folded into his favourite chair with his glass of whisky in one hand and a book on Dark Arts in the other, Snape sighed and thought about the two young men currently sorting out their living conditions, Harry’s personal belongings and heaven only knew what else.

Taking a larger sip of the whisky, he determined that he really didn’t want to know what else. At the suggestion of placing the two of them in the same room, he had almost objected. Almost. But Albus knew of their relationship and yet he hadn’t seen any reason to forbid their being so close.

‘Better where we can see them, than hiding away doing Merlin knows what’, had been a favourite saying of his aunt’s, Snape recalled from his own youth. That had been her argument to his mother when she’d objected against Snape sleeping in the same room as his cousin and his cousin’s best friend, Col. Of course, at the time, whilst Col might have been his boyfriend, there was little that he and the other boy could do with his cousin, Xavier, there but still…

He supposed that Albus must feel the same way and might even have voiced the same phrase as Snape’s aunt – although Snape doubted that the venerable Headmaster really wanted to see what Harry and Draco were doing. For that matter, neither did he…not really.

He was simply feeling his age and missing the connection that he’d once shared and never appreciated during his younger years. Col, a bright and brilliant, if ruthless, Slytherin, had been gorgeous with thick, rich brown hair and lively hazel eyes. It had surprised everyone – not least of all Snape himself – when Col had chosen him for a lover. But then he had died at the hand of an auror, just before Snape’s defection from Voldemort’s domain.

“Severus, you are maudlin.” He told himself very firmly and settled the book in his lap, turning the pages to find the section on control exercises.

Whilst flicking through, a title caught his eye and he hurried back to it: Sanguinarius Control.

The introduction beneath the title seemed to leap out at him and he set down his glass to hold the book steady in his shaking hands.

‘One of the lesser-known perils of practicing the Dark Arts is the possibility that another wizard can gain control over one’s body.
Dark magic, as detailed in earlier sections, quickly spreads throughout the system until the wizard is ‘saturated’ with it. At that point, when the Dark magic is pounding through the veins and arteries, another wizard can cast the Sanguinarius Control spell and manipulate the victim to his own personal agenda.
At this point, the victim can do little to break free. Unlike the Imperious Curse (see Unforgivable Curses), the Sanguinarius Control spell latches onto the Dark magic already present in the victim’s blood and very quickly spreads to the heart and brain.
By the simple nature of the spell itself, it can in fact control any part of the victim’s body, thus allowing the attacking wizard to coerce the victim into any number of activities.’

Snape finished reading the text and stared in horror at it. He’d heard of this, once – a long time ago – but hadn’t attributed it to Harry’s experiences. When Harry had told Albus and himself of being forced to kill Avery, he had simply assumed that the Dark Lord had used the Will-Altering potion that he, Snape, had once perfected for him.

But, of course, the Will-Altering potion had a limited usage. It certainly couldn’t be used for the entire duration that Harry had been in Voldemort’s custody. And then there was the whole issue of the fusion and coalition of power, that Draco had first told them about.

The door to Draco and Harry’s room opened then and Snape jumped a little before shooting the two youths a glare for daring to disturb his peace. It didn’t make much difference, they weren’t paying him the least bit attention.

Harry was clearly telling Draco a story. His eyes held the other young man’s and he gestured back and forth with exaggerated miming actions. All other communication, however, was purely silent; travelling from one mind, straight to the other.

Finally, at the obvious conclusion of the story, Draco doubled over in silent laughs and Harry finally laughed out loud.

“You know,” Snape growled, “I don’t know why you’re communicating telepathically, Potter. You at least have working vocal chords.”

Harry stopped, turning at the coldness in Snape’s voice. “Well, there’s a reason for it,” he said calmly, “and you agreed to call me Harry, remember?”

Snape’s lip curled but he said nothing.

Harry sighed, “Okay. Draco, come here.” He instructed and led Draco towards Snape. At Harry’s suggestion, Draco then touched Snape’s forehead and smiled at him.

“Okay,” Harry said then to Snape, “tell him a joke and you’ll see why I like talking telepathically with him.”

Snape glowered. “Pott – Harry, I don’t know any jokes.”

Harry sighed impatiently, “Snape, come on; everyone knows at least one joke. Think!”

Snape almost shouted; he almost pushed both of them away; he even nearly told them both to go to their room but the possibility that he might end up sounding like his father was too awful. So instead he sighed and dredged his memory for a joke.

‘Alright,’ he thought to Draco, ‘What do you call a man with a seagull on his head?’

Draco shook his head, looking wide-eyed with surprise that his Head of House was telling him a joke.

‘Cliff.’ Snape delivered the punchline with his usual deadpan expression. It wasn’t a particularly funny joke – when Professor Sprout had told it to him, he recalled that he had stared coldly at her and then walked away, pretending not to listen as she told others to Madam Hooch.

Now though, as Draco’s surprised laughter filled his head, his face was split by a true smile. Wanting only to hear it again, he came up with another:

‘What do you call a man in a bush?…Russell.’

More delighted laughter bubbled within his mind and his smile grew wider. He was about to tell Draco another (actually, it was his third and last – people didn’t often tell him jokes for some reason), when he caught Harry’s expression.

The dark haired young man had sunk down into the chair opposite and was staring at Snape with a look of wonder.

“You should smile more often,” he said, shaking his head a little.

“What, and ruin this carefully crafted reputation of being a hateful bastard?” Snape sneered, but only half-heartedly.

Looking back at Draco, he impulsively touched his fingertips to the young man’s forehead, mimicking Draco’s own pose.

‘I’ll learn more jokes,’ he promised. His dark eyes were centred on Draco’s and he felt a tremor within at the thought of their forbidden kiss. Too late, he remembered that Draco could hear all his thoughts and – for that matter – so could Harry.

Pulling his hand away and leaning back from Draco’s fingers, he shot Harry a guarded look.

“It’s okay,” Harry shrugged, “I’m not jealous. How could I be? Draco’s wanted to roll around with you since he was thirteen!”

Draco flushed a little and dropped his silver-grey gaze, looking then at the book in Snape’s lap.

“What’s that?” Harry asked then, getting up to come over for a closer look.

Of course, Draco could talk telepathically to Harry now without physical contact and so had obviously read the title.

‘You can talk with me the same way, you know.’ Harry smirked but peered closer at the book, twisting his head round to read the title.

“Sanguinarius Control?” he asked, looking at Snape then, “What’s that?”

“I came across it whilst looking for something else,” Snape sighed. “I think it may be how Voldemort was controlling you.” He stopped suddenly and purposefully blanked his mind, just as in Occlumency. The risk of Harry realising that Snape knew of the rape sessions was suddenly too high now that Harry could read his thoughts.

The sudden blankness, however, drew Harry’s attention even more and he looked at Snape with narrowed eyes and deep suspicion.

“What -?” he started to ask but then a line within the paragraph stole his attention and, after reading it, he stared hard at Snape. “It says that the spell can be used to take control of a victim’s body and that the victim can be,” he glanced down once again at the text, “Coerced into doing anything.” He said very quietly. “That’s how Voldemort forced me to murder those people.” It wasn’t a question; he already knew the answer.

And then, as realisation dawned, he paled and looked slowly from Draco to Snape and swallowed painfully. “You know, don’t you?” he whispered, horror-struck. “You know…you know what else I had to do.”

He shot a swift, heated glare at Draco who was trying desperately to communicate his obvious regret to Harry.

“You saw it all?” Harry breathed, looking back at Snape with nothing but cold fear in his eyes. “All of it?”

“Harry,” Snape said, his own voice no less shaky than the younger man’s, “don’t be angry with Draco. He meant to keep it from me – wanted to keep it all to himself. But a secret like that…”

Harry shook his head and turned to walk away, the book sliding from his fingers to hit the floor with a loud Thwap!

“Harry!” Snape caught his arm and almost recoiled with a startled oath. Dumbledore was right, magic emanated from him like heat waves. “Don’t -”

“I can’t deal with this.” Harry growled, staring down at the floor, “Please, just leave me alone. I…I didn’t want anyone to know…didn’t want anyone to see what I’d done…” He was visibly shaking now, frantically trying to hold onto the Dark magic that was trying to escape in a shocking blast. Snape tried to gain a better handhold but, given just that one brief chance, Harry slipped from his grasp.

“Est ien virae. Y van essua; sia mi aaro.” He whispered swiftly, his expression tragic.

Hearing and comprehending his words at the last minute, Snape made a futile snatch for Harry, only to find his fist closing on nothing. Harry had turned into mist.

*~*~*

It was cold up here, with the northeasterly wind biting deep into Harry’s shoulders even as it numbed his face and hands. The night sky was surprisingly bright, scattered with stars and illuminated by the waning moon.

His breath billowed and swirled before him, much as he himself had done earlier in his alternative form. He didn’t know quite how the words had come to him and couldn’t explain why his mind had chosen to push that particular spell to the fore, but it had served the purpose and given him a chance to escape.

But what to do now?

Snape knew…Snape knew…

It was all his brain could do; simply repeating the same, dreadful truth over and over. He was sure to tell Dumbledore – who would then tell Jenna – and then Harry would have to sit and have her tell him it wasn’t his fault, that there was nothing he could do. Poor Harry.

His frozen lip curled into a sneer as he imagined those hated words on everyone’s lips. Poor Harry. That Poor Boy. Orphaned (twice if you counted Sirius), kidnapped, tortured, forced to kill and then raped…effectively.

Too late, he heard the crunch of footsteps approaching cautiously over the rooftop towards him. He turned his head sharply to see who it was and found Snape coming nearer with a bundle under one arm and one hand outstretched as if he might prevent him from fleeing once more.

“Harry, keep still.” He murmured, edging closer, “Don’t do anything…” he faltered and his gaze slid towards the edge of the roof.

“I’m not about to jump,” Harry shook his head. “I’m hardly suicidal.”

“No one could blame you if you were,” Snape replied and finally came to sit next to Harry on the windowsill of the Astrology Tower store room. The room on the other side of the glass was dark and full of nothing but old chairs, broken telescopes and other assorted paraphernalia.

“I think,” said Harry slowly, “that if I was going to do myself in, I would have done it by now. How did you find me anyway?”

“Hunter spell,” Snape shrugged. It had been the same way that he’d located Draco on the night of his attack.

“Blood magic?” Harry raised an eyebrow, “I’m impressed.”

Snape made no comment and so they sat in strangely companionable silence for a few moments.

“Here,” Snape said then, as if just remembering. He removed the bundle from beneath his arm and Harry saw that it was his own heavy, black cloak. It was warm around his shoulders and carried something of Snape’s own scent on it. For some reason, this was very comforting for Harry.

He drew a deep breath and leaned his head back against the icy cold glass, closing his eyes against the uncaring stars. “I’m sorry,” he murmured then, “it was stupid to run out on you.”

Snape made a small sound of what could have been agreement but he shrugged then and leaned back too.

“No one could blame you for wanting to keep such a thing secret.” He said quietly. His voice, smooth and dark, rolled across Harry’s senses and sent a shiver down his spine. “But you were wrong to think that Draco could protect your secret too. Some things are just too big for even two people to hold.”

“Yeah, well I just didn’t want everyone looking at me like I’m a freak.” Harry responded bitterly. “They already watch my every move; waiting for me to run amok like a mad, homicidal maniac!”

“No one thinks that.”

“No? Well, they’re waiting for me to do something. Dumbledore’s worried, I can tell.”

“He’s concerned for your well-being.” Snape countered.

“And Jenna will want to hear all about how I feel, how I felt, what I’m thinking…Oh God!” Harry groaned and covered his face with his cold hands.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of!” Snape exclaimed, looking at the young man’s profile, “If anyone should be ashamed it’s the Dark Lord.”

“Well, yeah – except Voldemort didn’t come like a bloody freight train when Bellatrix Lestrange jerked him off in front of a circle of Death Eaters!” Harry snarled, turning to look at the Potion master’s face. “And that was even after she’d cut me into ribbons with a butchers knife!”

Snape held Harry’s gaze and, seeming to have nothing to say, he exhaled a plume of vaporous breath.

“I don’t care how much that secret weighed,” Harry said softly, still not looking away, “Draco should have kept it.”

A shuddering gasp from behind them then and Harry looked around to see Draco kneeling in the open French window from which he and Snape had come out onto this rooftop. His face was pale silvery-white in the moonlight and tears glinted brightly on his smooth cheeks.

“Draco never cries,” Snape breathed, still looking at Harry’s face. It seemed that he had been aware all along of Draco following him here. “Lucius conditioned him out of it when he was only nine. I won’t tell you how; just accept that you’re not the only one to have had a troubled past.”

“Oh, I know all about Lucius’ games!” Harry growled and roughly pulled his shirt open to bare his chest and shoulders under the frozen moonlight.

He turned then, as far as he could whilst perching on the window ledge, and showed Snape the scars on his shoulders. Two matching crescent-shaped scars, to be precise, and he sent Snape his own memory of when Draco’s father had bitten him.

In the next moment, Snape pulled Harry to face him once more and pulled the shirt and cloak back around his body. He held firmly to Harry’s shoulders then, shaking slightly with pent up emotion.

‘Lucius will pay; that I promise you!’ He sent the thought to Harry and watched his face as the young man struggled to comprehend the meaning behind the words. Snape cared; Snape wanted to protect him – him and Draco! And, although Snape might not have intended for the message to come across, Harry suddenly understood that the Potions master had never had any intention of sharing Harry’s secrets with Dumbledore.

*~*~*

“Sleep,” Snape told them, lingering in the doorway, “and if you’re rested enough tomorrow, we’ll start the Dark Arts training.”

Harry peered fuzzily at him without his glasses. “Yeah?” he asked sleepily, “Draco too?”

“Both of you.” Snape nodded and looked to where his ward had settled with his pillow at a right angle, just as he’d always done.

He paused, wanting to say more; wanting to convey somehow that it was better that Harry’s secrets were out in the open now.

“You reckon?” Harry asked, having read his mind.

“Yes,” Snape replied calmly. “Now we know what we’re dealing with, we can work to making things better.”

“Hmm.” Harry sounded doubtful, “But I’ll always be a bit broken, won’t I?”

Unwilling to let that assumption go without response, Snape then moved further into the room and sat down on the edge of Harry’s bed.

“I would have said this earlier,” he began, “but you were too upset to hear it. Listen to me now, though, and believe me.” He emphasised, “Your reaction to the stimuli of those that raped you was a result of the Sanguinarius Control spell. It didn’t matter how repulsed you were in your head, Voldemort wanted you to come, so you came. It’s a simple as that.”

“He wanted to break me.” Harry said numbly, “I think he got what he wanted.”

“Not even close.” Snape shook his head and then looked enquiringly at the young man beside him, “You don’t know what he was planning with the Dark Arts?”

Harry frowned and shook his head. So Snape explained about Voldemort’s intention to drain Harry’s powers. At the end of it, Harry looked faintly sick and Draco’s eyes were huge and dark in the soft light of the lamp.

“So you’re not broken.” Snape concluded, “Maybe a little bit chipped or even cracked slightly, but not broken. Not by a long way.”

*~*~*

An hour after Snape had left them to sleep, both Harry and Draco remained wide awake. They lay in their beds, communicating silently. Draco had apologised profusely and Harry, unable even now, to remain angry for long, had forgiven him.

‘Severus is right, you know.’ Draco commented now, ‘It would take a hell of a lot to break you.’

‘I took a hell of a lot,’ Harry retorted. ‘You saw me.’

Draco sighed at that and replied, ‘My point exactly. After all that was done to you and you’re still whole, you’re still Harry. My Harry.’

‘Yours.’ Harry murmured with a smile and rolled over to look at Draco.

They said nothing further but, at some shared emotion, Draco suddenly got out of bed and padded silently to Harry’s bed and slipped under the covers. Then, after a small amount of wriggling and readjusting, they snaked their arms around each other and fell asleep.