“That’s preposterous.”

“Why?”

“My father would never do something that obvious.”

“It’s not like I’m saying he took out an advert in the Sunday.  Besides, if Dobby hadn’t hinted at it, I might not have figured it out at all.”

Draco frowned, “Dobby?  You mean the nervous little house elf that was always talking to himself and slamming his fingers in the doors?”

“Yes, that one.”  Harry flushed a little, remembering how odd Dobby had seemed to him at first.   Of course, that was no excuse for Draco, who had grown up around house elves.

“That thing was mental.  He was always going on about being a bad house.  One time, when my father was angry with me, I asked Dobby to hide me and he did, he put me in a hall closet and stood in front of it.  When father came by and asked where I was, he just started banging his head against things.  That was the worst caning ever and all because that stupid little creature couldn’t just say ‘no’.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, “Did you ever consider that maybe he’d been told not to lie to your father?”

Draco brushed it off with a wave of his hand.  “That isn’t the point.”

“Then what is?”

“That he’s a mental house elf and you could hardly take his word for anything.”

Harry sighed and shook his head.  Being amiable to Malfoy was like pulling teeth from a ghost.  It was impossible.  Every time they sat down to chat, Malfoy had to open his big mouth and say something entirely too stupid for Harry to even properly express his feelings about it.

Like just now.  They were trying to play a game of chess and Draco had asked him.  “So what was with you and second year?  I know you’re not the heir to Slytherin.”

Harry, in the spirit of their maybe/would-be friendship, had told him.  There had been a great deal of interruptions, especially when he got to the part where Ron and he had used polyjuice to interrogate him, and in the end, Draco had been impressed, insulted, and had refused to believe that his father had any hand in it.

“Look, I’m telling you that he did.  He didn’t even bother to deny it.  When I gave him back the diary, he just said ‘Prove it’.”

“Could you?”

“Could I what?”

“Could you prove it?”

Harry sighed in frustration and fought not to roll his eyes.   “Don’t you think he’d be in Azkaban by now if I could?  It’s not like I had a tape recorder on me at the time.”

“A what recorder?”

“A muggle thing that… oh, never mind.  You’ll just have to face up to the fact that your father is not a nice man.”

“Of course he’s not, he’s a Malfoy.  Malfoy’s are not nice people in general.”

It was absolutely infuriating.  Finally, Harry gave up.  “Whatever, Malfoy, you’re move.”

Draco shrugged and looked down at the board.  Over the last two weeks he had learned a great deal about Harry.   For instance, he’d learned that he already knew more than he thought he did.  Six years had taught him the tilt Harry’s voice took when he was getting frustrated, and the look on Harry’s face when he gave up. He knew that Harry didn’t like peanuts, but loved peanut butter (only the creamy kind).  He knew that when Harry had nightmares, his eyebrows synched together in his sleep and his mouth moved just slightly.  He knew that when Harry had nightmares, it was best to get out of the range of his arms, because he would eventually swing them.  He knew that Harry hated the attention he got for his scar, but hated being ignored almost as much.  He knew that Harry’s favourite thing in the world was flying and he knew, above all else, that Harry blew at chess.

“Check.”

“Bloody hell, how did you do that?!”

“Well, I moved the queen from over there to…”

“Shut it, Malfoy, you know what I meant.”

He smirked, “It’s about forethought, Potter, something you obviously lack in.”

Harry frowned, but didn’t say anything else and Draco felt a stab of guilt.  “You have to think ahead.  Like, what were you going to do next?”

“Well, I was going to move my king out of the way.  Over there.”  He sounded dubious and he was looking at Draco as if he’d grown a second head.

“If you do that, what do you think I’ll do?”

Harry looked at the board for several minutes and Draco was just beginning to get annoyed when he spoke.  “You’ll move you castle over and it’ll be a check mate.”

“So, what else can you do to keep me from taking your king?”

“I can move my pawn in front of it.”

He did so and Draco promptly moved his knight.  “Check.”

“Bugger!”  The game stretched out another ten minutes and although most of the time was spent with Harry staring at the board, trying to analyse his next move, it was kind of fun watching him scrunch his nose in concentration.

By the time he managed a ‘check mate’ it was almost time for him to leave.  In fact, he had just looked at the clock when Professor Snape knocked on the door.  “We’ll be out in a moment, sir!”

‘We’ was a word that Snape had been hearing a great deal of lately, even from Potter.  ‘May we be excused from the table,’ ‘we’ll be back later,’ ‘we would like go outside.’  He had no idea what had caused this sudden change in attitude, but he knew damn well that it had happened in that tower.

The tower incident, as he had dubbed it, had nearly given him a heart attack, which would have been a horribly muggle way to die.  He’d woken up that morning, bemoaning the fact that the stomping of teenage boys around the castle would now destroy his peace and quiet.

When they hadn’t shown for lunch he had been relieved.   It meant another few sacred hours that he could spend to himself.  As evening drew near and they still had not come back, he became uneasy.  Had it been just Potter, he could have brushed it aside as the boy having lost track of time on his broom, but Draco would have gotten bored by then and wanted to come inside to play chess or any other number of things that didn’t involve the sun.

He went to the Quidditch Pitch to prove to himself that they were there, only to find it empty.  He hadn’t panicked, because it would be like Potter to get something to eat after playing all afternoon, even when dinner was only an hour away, but the kitchens were empty except for the house elves.

It wasn’t until he had gone back to the Pitch and discovered that no one had been inside the broom shed that he became truly worried.  His mind filled with visions of Lucius lewdly stroking the little Potter look-alike, who was now his favourite toy.  ‘He’s so docile, Severus, no fight left in him at all.  We’ll have to substitute him for the real thing before long.’   Lucius would never, not from Hogwarts, not with his son watching.  He couldn’t possibly… but Lucius would, because like a true Malfoy, Lucius took what he wanted when it pleased him and imagined that his money could keep him clean.

Less than thirty minutes later, he had found them, mussed up and talking about Quidditch on the Astronomy Tower.  Whatever had happened up there (and Snape had tried very diligently to ignore the stiff residue on their untucked shirts), Draco had taken it upon himself to take the blame and the two had not separated since.  Oh, he had heard them arguing, but it was no longer with the same spitfire temper that Potter was known for, or the same arrogant annoyance Draco displayed when he was truly upset.

Sitting at his desk, he cleared a space and dipped his quill in ink, setting about to review his lesson plan.  Not that it ever changed, but he thought about it every year.  Ten minutes later, the door to the bedroom open and Draco came out, a smug grin on his face, followed by a red-faced Potter.

Snape fought the urge to put his head on his desk, reminding himself that it was almost over, just a few more hours and he could breathe a sigh of relief as the Malfoy carriage took one of his charges away, leaving him alone with… Potter.  He looked over at the boy again.  The red in his face was gone, leaving only the golden tan of sun-kissed skin in its wake, the bright green eyes flashing happily as he and Malfoy ate their sandwiched and whispered back and forth.

A lock of black hair fell in his face and Potter didn’t move it away.  Snape had to fight the memory of the other boy, who constantly forced his slightly longer hair to cover his eyes like a shield, whose voice was softer and deeper than Potter’s, ‘How can I serve you, sir?’  He was so pliant, so malleable.

“Sir?”

Giving in to every request, because he’d learned by now that nothing less would be acceptable.  He wasn’t permitted to flinch or show distress, he was there to serve and serve he would until his visage was no longer close enough to Harry Potter’s to afford his status there.

“Sir?”

Snape looked up, brought out of his thoughts by Potter’s voice.  The boy looked at him oddly and he hoped he hadn’t said anything aloud.  “What?”

Potter glanced at Draco, who was fixedly staring at the table, and sighed.  “The house elf, sir, it said that the Malfoy family carriage is arriving.  Shouldn’t we go up to meet it?”

Draco didn’t seem at all thrilled by the idea, but he did stand up and slip his shoes on, straightening his robe around him.  Potter did the same, smoothing his shining black robe and picking a piece of white lint from it carefully, his brow knitted in concentration.  Damn Narcissa to hell and back.

Despite the speed with which they made their way up the stairs, Lucius had managed to get out of his carriage and look bored before the arrived.  “There you are.  I was wondering what kept you.  Not Draco, I hope?”

“No.”  Snape smiled down at the blond Slytherin and put a hand on his back.  “Draco is never a problem.”

He felt Harry tense next to him.  From the slight raise of Lucius’ eyebrow, the boy had seen it as well.   “Good, and how is young Mr. Potter fairing this afternoon?”

Potter grit his teeth and forced a poor attempt at a smile onto his face.  “Fine.”

Snape saw the pale hand around the cane twitch just slightly and imagined that man wanted nothing more than to wipe the look from Potter’s face.   “I’m glad to hear it.  Well, Severus, we should be returning.  Narcissa is waiting.”

He didn’t doubt she was waiting, but for what, he didn’t know.  Certainly not for the return of the son she ignored at every given opportunity.  “I look forward to seeing you soon, Lucius.”

“Tomorrow, if you can find a babysitter.  Mr. Lawrence is throwing a soirée for his most valued customers.  You will, of course, attend with me, won’t you?”

“If I can tear myself away.”

Lucius chanced another quick glance at Potter, who bristled at the attention.  Snape couldn’t help but be thankful for it.  The further Potter stayed from Lucius, the less likely it was that he would be captured or hurt or… he refused to let him think about it further as Malfoy’s carriage set off, taking Lucius and Draco away.

He glanced down at Potter, reassuring himself that the boy was safe and at his side.  Potter didn’t outwardly flinched at the attention, but he did step back.  “I’ll just… go entertain myself, then.”

Snape nodded absently, “Be in the dungeons before sunset.”

Without another word, Potter turned around and pulled open the doors, running inside and out of sight.  So, the boy was safe from monsters for another year.  But how long would it last?  If he knew Potter, not for long.

-tbc-