Summer 8:   Part E

     

“You should eat something.”

The boy shook his head quickly and continued staring at Draco.  It was very disconcerting.  Snape had left an hour ago and the boy, whatever his name was, was still huddled in the corner of Draco’s little room, his arms wrapped around his knees, staring intently, almost as if he expected Draco to grow a second head, or attack him at any moment.

Pulling his wand out from under his pillow, and flicked it at the boy’s direction.  He didn’t miss the violent shudder that went through the boy, but he ignored it, going back to staring at the deplorably low ceiling of his room while the little plate of biscuits appeared in front of the boy, who made no move to touch it.

“Think we could talk?”  Draco looked out of the corner of his eye and saw that the boy was now staring at the plate, a very odd expression of restraint tightening his features.   “Go on, eat it.  You’re practically skin and bones.  The house elves would have a fit.”

At the mention of house elves, the boy looked at him sharply and his face hardened, but he did reach forward and take a biscuit, carefully biting into it and chewing slowly.  He swallowed thickly as Draco turned fully to watch him, hoping that his eating was a sign that he was ready to converse.

Instead, of eating however, he placed the biscuit back on the plate and stared at it, as if waiting for something to happen.  What could he possibly…?  Suddenly, Draco remembered second year when Vincent and Greg had eaten cupcakes that had been floating in midair and ended up knocked out for several hours.  Afterwards, they were very wary of cupcakes; of course, what they should have been wary of was food randomly floating to them, but this was Vincent and Greg.

“It’s just biscuits, there’s nothing in it.”  The boy looked at him, his eyes hard, and his breathing determinedly even.  Draco got off the bed and took a biscuit from the plate, biting into it before setting it back down.  “See, nothing to worry about.”  He hadn’t even finished speaking when the boy grabbed it from the plate and shoved it fully into his mouth.

As Draco watched him, he decided that he had to find something to call him, because ‘the boy’ was getting annoying, even in his own head.   “Do you really not remember your name?”

The boy stopped chewing for a minute and looked at Draco, measuring him with his eyes.  Finally, he swallowed the biscuit and looked at the plate silently.

“I have to call you something.”

The boy shook his head and went back to staring at the wall.   After a moment, Draco reached forward and took another biscuit, taking a small bite from it before setting it on the plate.  As before, the boy immediately grabbed it, eating the whole thing as if he expected it to be taken away at any moment.

With a sigh, Draco took each biscuit, biting into them all and dropping them onto the plate before sitting back on the bed, watching.  “Alright, I’ll make something up then.  Waldorf.”

The boy screwed up his face and Draco nodded.  “Okay, how about Aidan.”

The expression didn’t change and Draco frowned.  Several minutes later, he stumbled across Jordan.  He didn’t think it was the boy’s name, but it got a raised eyebrow and Draco thought that was better than a pursed mouth or a scrunched nose.

“Alright, then, Jordan it is.”  He watched Jordan eating the biscuits.  After the first few, he’d slowed down, taking small bites and watching Draco as intently as Draco was watching him.

“So…” but Draco couldn’t think of anything to say beyond that.  What did you say to someone who didn’t talk?  “I wish Harry were here.”

“Harry Potter?”

Draco didn’t realize the boy had spoken at first.  Although, ‘spoken’ was too strong of a word for it, it had been more of a breathy whisper than anything else and it had been quickly followed by a flinch.  The biscuit in the boy’s hand snapped as he tightened his grip, but he didn’t seem to notice.

Draco looked at him in surprise, “You know Harry?”

Jordan shook his head, pulling himself into a tighter ball than even before.

“But you said Potter, that’s his last name.”

Jordan only shook his head again and Draco sagged on the bed, deciding that perhaps it was better to drop it, because the boy was beginning to get a panicked look in his eyes.

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop asking questions.”

He really did wish Harry were there, though, because Harry would know what to do.  Harry had always been so good with people.  He’d always been able to put even the most nervous first year at ease after a few minutes.  Of course, there were those times that he didn’t get those minutes, or where he simply didn’t want them, because he was too tired of the star struck eyes staring at him; but given the chance, he had no doubt that Harry could have made the boy talk, if only to give his real name.

Draco put his chin on his folded arms, trying to decide what to do next.  “I wonder what’s taking Snape so long.”

Snape had gone to rescue Harry from Draco's father, he’d gathered that much, but what made him think his father had Harry?  He watched Jordan reach out and pick a crumb off the plate.  He flicked his wand, filling the plate again and ignored the boy’s flinch.

What had happened to him that was so bad he refused to speak, that he flinched at every movement of a wand, that he was afraid to eat?

Something clicked.  His father had shown up, leaving this boy behind, this boy that looked remarkably like Harry and then Snape had left, saying he had to save Harry from his father.  Whatever had been done to this boy, was that what was being done to his Harry?  He watched Jordan, sitting on the floor, tentatively chewing only the food that Draco had already tasted.

“Jordan.”  The boy didn’t look at him and Draco frowned.  “Hey!”

Jordan looked up, eyes wide.

“My father hurt you, didn’t he?”

Jordan looked down and put the biscuit he’d been eating back on the plate.  It wasn’t a nod, but it was enough of an answer.  Draco sat up and looked at his knees.  He knew what his father was.  He’d been raised by Death Eaters, expected to be one himself.  He should have realized it sooner, but all of those stories about torture and rape and bringing the inferior down to their appropriate level had felt like just that, stories.  Surely with the war over, those things had been forgotten and put away.  Only, here was the proof that they hadn’t been.

“Do you like ice cream?”

Jordan stared at him blankly, a look that Draco was realizing meant distrust.

“There’s only chocolate and vanilla, but if you want some…”

He still didn’t say anything and Draco closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before opening them.  He mumbled softly, “What would Harry do?”

Jordan’s eyes lit up and he sat forward a little, as if trying to hear what Draco was saying.  Draco found himself smiling.  That was it.  Jordan was interested in Harry.

“Do you want me to tell you about Harry?”

After several seconds, Jordan nodded.  It was the closest Draco had gotten to an answer to anything and he was suddenly very unsure were to start.  “Well, Harry’s… Harry.”

Jordan frowned, his head tilted to the side and Draco chuckled.   “He likes books, but not school books or anything, he likes silly muggle books, like… The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe.”

The boy suddenly smiled, perking up and something else clicked into place for Draco.  A wizarding child would have been hard to conceal for so long.  In pain and confusion, he might use wild magic.  Not to mention the safety spells and location charms that parents put on their children.

“You’re muggle aren’t you?”  When Jordan only blinked, Draco clarified, “Can you do magic?”

He shook his head and Draco’s stomach dropped.  His father had kidnapped a muggle boy to torture and rape?   It didn’t make any sense.  Hadn’t Lucius Malfoy told him that muggles weren’t worth the mud wiped from the bottom of his shoe?

“Draco, show him your arm.”

Jordan leaning closer to him when he’d seen the clear underside of Draco’s forearm.

No, not just his father, Death Eaters.  Death Eaters had taken him and tortured him, his father had just been part of it.  That still left 'why', though.

He looked at Jordan again, wishing he could pick the answers out of the boy’s head.  Only, he didn’t have to, because the answers were there in those bottomless green eyes and that black hair that was several inches too long.  “Harry.  Oh, god, Harry.”

Jordan looked like Harry.  He had a vague memory of his father talking to Severus when he and Harry were twelve, saying something about one of the houses he went to having something unusual and he’d looked at Harry.   Not a casual, passing glance, but a hard, appraising stare.

Draco swallowed down bile and took several deep, steadying breaths.  He couldn’t think about that.  There wasn’t anything he could do to help Harry now.  The only thing he could do was sit and wait for Severus to return with Harry, hopefully hole, if not unhurt.  Please, at least alive.

The boy’s curious face was tilted at him.  Oh, that’s right, he’d been about to tell him about Harry.  It was as good a thing to do to pass the time as any.

“Harry likes to play Quidditch, he’s the seeker, youngest Hogwarts has had in a century and he’s good. In fact, he’s better than I am, but I’ll never admit that to him.”

Jordan just looked confused and after a moment, Draco realized that he probably didn’t even know what Quidditch was.  “Quidditch is a wazarding game, it’s played on brooms in the air.”

The boy eyes went wide and Draco couldn’t help but smile.   As he explained the sport and in specific, Harry’s roll in it, a ghost of a smile graced Jordan’s face.  Draco let himself get lost in talking and in the boy’s expressions of interest and awe, because it was the only thing he could do take his mind off what might be happening in his father’s dungeon.

 

 

__________________

 

 

When Draco heard the door slam open downstairs, he considered running.  Severus had said to get on his broom and fly as far and fast as he could if he heard anything suspicious.   Surely someone slamming open the door could be considered suspicious, but he hesitated, because it slammed shut just as noisily.  Anyone trying to sneak up on him probably wouldn’t make that much noise, and anyone breaking wouldn't have bothered closing the door.

Jordan had fallen asleep on the floor at some point, his arms tucked under his head.  Draco considered waking him, it would make things easier if it turned out to be intruders, but then Jordan had tossed and mumbled in nightmares for nearly an hour before settling and Draco couldn’t bring himself to disturb the sleep.

Opening the door to his room, Draco held his breath and listened for any sounds coming from the house.  There was the thumping sound of a stack of books falling over, followed by a loud exclamation of, “Bloody fuck!”

That was Snape!  Racing out of the room, he went down the short hallway and nearly barreled into the Professor, holding up the slouched figure of what could only be Harry, the tattered remained of his Hogwarts cloak wrapped around him.

“What are you doing out of your room?”

Harry lifted his head a little, but through the fall of dirty black hair, Draco couldn’t see his eyes.  What had happened?  Why was Snape holding Harry up?  Was Harry all right?   Draco couldn’t make the words come out.

With an audible sigh, Snape brushed past him, grunting as he hauled Harry with him, and headed towards the master bedroom. “If you’ve nothing intelligent to say, you can make yourself useful by opening the door for me.”

Draco didn’t hesitate.  He opened the door and followed the Professor into his private rooms.  He only took the barest moment to reflect that he would have to reconsider his personal definition of derelict, because if his room had been horrible, this one was an absolute nightmare.  Snape helped Harry onto the bed, carefully laying him on his back.

Harry’s face was tight with pain and paled.  Snape looked at him for a moment before sighing.  He opened his bedside table and pulled out a small vial filled with a deep purple potion.  Harry’s face turned a funny shade of green and his eyes clenched tighter as Snape helped him to sit half up.

“Potter, I need you to drink this.”

Harry’s eyes flickered open, but they were glazed and dilated.   He licked his lips and didn’t resist as Snape tipped it into his mouth.  Almost immediately, Harry’s collapsed into unconsciousness and Snape sighed grateful, resting the boy back onto the bed and beginning to remove his clothes.

Draco felt the room tilt a little, but managed to steady himself by gripping the edge of the dresser.  Lacerations covered Harry’s chest, arms and thighs, some barely more than a scratch and others deep and bleeding freely.  There were bite marks on Harry’s chest, but Draco couldn’t quite tell if they were human or not.  Honestly, he didn’t think he wanted to know.

“Go into my washroom and get me a damp clothe.”  When he didn’t move immediately, Snape turned on him. “He will live, Draco, now you can either be of assistance or you can leave.”

He didn’t want to leave, so he forced himself to walk across the room and through the half open door into the lavatory.  It was as dirty and disgusting as the rest of the house had been and dark to boot, as there were no windows, but he couldn’t dwell on that, not with Harry bleeding in the next room.  He found a cloth and cast scourgify on it before putting it under the tap and soaking it.

Racing back into the room, he gave it to Snape and watched as his former Professor slowly ran it over Harry’s skin with the kind of care that he generally reserved for delicate potions work.  He dabbed over the cuts and then ran his wand over them, disinfecting and sealing them shut.   Draco stood silently at the foot of the bed.

The room fell into silence, punctuated only by the sounds of Snape working.  Draco had never noticed it before, but there was a certain intensity in the way that he looked after Harry.   Even when they were younger, there was no one who could rile Snape like Harry.  Well, him and Sirius Black, if Harry’s stories were to be believed.  It was… unsettling.

Draco thanked his better judgment for not having sat down, or he would have jumped five feet in the air when a little gasp echoed through the room.  Jordan was standing in the doorway, his arms wrapped around himself, staring at the bed.  Snape gave Draco a look and he didn’t need to be told to get him out.

“Come on.”  Taking the boy by the arm, he led him away from the door and closed it.  It wasn’t fair that he couldn’t be there with Harry, but at this point he didn’t think there was anything he could do and maybe it would be better to have something.  “Let’s go to the kitchen.”

He hoped Harry woke up soon.
 

 

__________________

 

 

By the time Snape came back down the stairs, Draco and the little catamite were sitting on the couch, starring at the stairs intently.  While Draco perked up at seeing him, however, the other boy shifted closer to Draco and tensed.

“He has several broken rips and a good amount of internal damage.  He’ll need to stay in bed for several more days before he’s well enough to be moved.  You may see him now.”

Never in all his years had Severus seen Draco move that fast.  He vaulted from the couch and past Severus before the Potions Master could blink, leaving the little Potter look alike sitting on the couch alone, looking up at Severus apprehensively.

For several minutes, the two stared at each other impassively.   It was the boy who moved first.  He slid off the couch and sat on the floor, his head bowed.  It was meant to be a respectful position, but Severus could see defiance in the stiffness.  Through years of abuse, the boy had refined the art of subtle defiance.

“Sit up.”

The boy immediately moved to follow the instructions, though he did not lift his head.  Severus watched him carefully.  The boy did as he was told, but just.  He sat straighter, lifted his head a fraction, but he did not look at Severus and the neutral set of his face didn’t waver.

“Look at me.”

With obvious reluctance, the boy lifted his eyes and looked at Severus.

“I will not be returning you to Lucius.”

After several moments, he nodded, almost dejectedly, and his hands played with the last button of the shirt he was wearing, as if contemplating taking it off.  For the love of… “Neither will I require that you be my whore.”

Surprise registered on the face and the little mouth moved marginally, as if longing to say something.

“You can speak.  I won’t punish you for voicing your thoughts.”

The boy shook his head and Severus stepped forward, intending to go into the kitchen to take stock of his various healing potions.  With his first step, the boy moved, scrambling over the back of the sofa and watching Severus with a hard glare as the man walked past him.

“I won’t hurt you.”

Surprisingly, the boy smiled.  It wasn’t a happy smile, or a comfortable smile; it was a cynical sort of smile that spoke volumes.  He didn’t believe Severus, but then he didn’t have any reason to.  Giving a tired sigh, Severus went into the kitchen and began his work, trying to ignore the proof of his sin, huddled protectively behind the furniture in the other room.

 

_____________________

 

Draco looked down at Harry.  His brain had gone numb the moment he’d walked into the room and the only thing he had managed to really process were the words ‘oh, god.’  If he’d thought Harry would look better once he had been cleaned and treated, he was mistaken, because if anything, Harry’s clean skin made the cuts and bruises stand out even more.

Hesitantly, Draco leaned forward, put his chin on the pillow next to Harry’s head and watched his closed eyes.  He wasn’t sure what he expected to see by doing this, but it did put him closer to Harry without having to touch him and he was desperately afraid to touch him just then.

“Your breath stinks.”  The voice was cracked and hoarse and Draco pulled back sharply to find himself staring at Harry’s very open eyes.  “You should have brushed your teeth before blowing up my nose.”

Draco just managed to suppress a grin.  “This coming from the boy who used to have burping contests at Snape’s dinner table.”

Harry’s lips turned up, “I never - you refused to go along with anything so ‘plebian’ and I never hung around with anyone else, especially at Snape’s dinner table.  Speaking of which, I still maintain you had no idea what plebian meant.”

Draco huffed and turned his head a little away, making sure he could still see Harry out of the corner of his eye.  “I did too.”  There was a long pause and Draco finally dropped his pose, turning back around with his shoudlers slumped.  “How are you doing?”

Harry shrugged as best he could. “I’m fine.  Sore and it hurts like fire when I breathe, but otherwise alright.”

Draco leaned over and put his chin back on the bed.  Harry didn’t comment on his breath this time.  “What happened?  I mean, I know it was my father, but…”

“He came to the Dursley’s pretending to be you.  He said he’d been tortured and managed to escape… well, himself, I suppose.  When we stepped out of the wards to go to Ron’s, he used a portkey.”

“Oh.”  Draco looked down at the bed sheets, but didn’t move away.  It was comforting being able to smell Harry, even if he thought he could smell a bit of sickeningly familiar cologne lingering on him as well.  “Snape says my father’s dead.”

Harry looked at him and the depth of the confusion there frightened Draco.  “He killed him.   He came in and your father apologized for keeping him waiting and I thought… but when he offered me to Snape, Snape cursed him, just like…  He didn’t even have time to draw his wand.”

Draco nodded and moved one of his hands along the edge of the raised quilt until he felt Harry’s hand under it.  “I’m glad he’s dead.”

Harry sighed, but didn’t look away.  “Draco, tell me something only you would know.”

The request was simple enough and it shouldn’t have stung - if someone had impersonated Draco, then it was only normal for Harry to be suspicious.   “The first time we met, I kicked you in the shins and then offered you a hand up, which you rudely refused.”

“Tell me something else.”

Draco dug into his memories, trying to come up with something.   “You broke into the infirmary to steal healing salve for me, because my bum hurt too much to ride a broom and then I punched you because I was being a git.”

Harry narrowed his eyes and Draco almost took it to mean he’d said something wrong, except that there was just the slightest hint of humor there.   “Imposter.  What have you done with Draco?”

With an exaggerated sigh, Draco rolled his eyes,  “Fine.  You used to have nightmares about your Uncle and I’d wake you up and then pretend to be asleep, which you never believed, anyway.”

The hand under his turned and he felt the fingers curl up.   “Thanks.  Could you stay here while I sleep?  I don’t really feel like being alone.”

Draco nodded and watched Harry’s eyes close.  It was only minutes before the dark haired boy was breathing deeply and his bruised face was relaxed in sleep.  He’d meant what he’d said about being glad his father was dead.  His entire life he had known the man was cruel, but this…

Squeezing Harry’s limp hand in his, Draco closed his eyes as well.

 

____________________

 

 

“You should eat more than that.  My father only had you for what, six hours, if that?  One can hardly affect this kind of weight loss in six hours.”

Harry frowned, “My aunt and uncle.”

“Those barbaric muggles?  Did they feed you at all?!  I can see your ribs.   Eat the rest of this.”  Draco shoved a bowl of soup under Harry’s nose and Harry fought the nausea at the heavy smell of tomatoes.

“No thanks.”

“I’ll not let you starve yourself.”  Draco waited patiently until Harry finally took the bowl.  “Thank you.  Now, as I was saying, this house is in such decay that I hardly feel safe even using the privy.   The grout, Harry, and I didn’t even know it was called that until Snape told me, is black.  Black, Harry - as in so disgustingly misused that it’s rotting.”

Draco shuddered and Harry felt the corner of his mouth twitch upward.

“Not to mention the state of the bath.  I’d rather spend the rest of my life using scowering charms on myself than sit in that gray thing he calls a tub.  I don’t even think it was originally gray, because if it was, someone did the decor in that room a serious injustice.  Of course, scowering charms are murder on your skin, so I’ve been standing on my toes and taking only showers.”

Harry sipped the soup and it settled pleasantly enough in his stomach, so he took another spoonful while Draco continued to rant about the condition of the bathroom.  He’d been there for two days now and Draco had spent every day sitting next to his bed, talking incessantly.  For the most part, it was about nonsense, occasionally he broached more serious topics, but either way, Harry couldn’t complain.  Company was better than stifling silence.  At least when Draco talked it was harder to think.

A knock on the door interrupted Draco in the middle of telling Harry about the horrors of the floor matt, which apparently was so stiff it hurt Draco’s delicate feet.  Harry saw Snape come in and his stomach twisted.  He still hadn’t decided how he felt about the man.  There were so many conflicting images in his head that he couldn’t decide which one was real.  There was the Snape that made his life a living hell, the one that delighted in making fun of him, that grounded him continually, that had slapped him across the face when he was nine and locked him in a storage closet overnight when he was ten.  Only there was another Snape, one that Harry was just now beginning to understand.  This one tried to protect Harry nearly every year, starting with threatening Quirell right up to killing Lucius Malfoy.

Harry saw someone peaking around the doorway out of the corner of his eye.  He didn’t have to look to know it was the mysterious boy that was apparently running around Snape’s home.  He’d ask Draco about him the first time he saw the head of black hair appear and disappear too quickly for him to get a good luck.  Draco had only shifted uncomfortably, saying, “That’s Jordan,” before moving onto a new topic.

With a familiar glare, Snape turned to the door.  “Come in.”

For a moment nothing happened, then Harry saw the person reappear, just his head, full of silky black hair and bright green eyes set into a too-pale face.  It didn’t move away this time, but stared at Harry with open curiosity that unnerved him.  It wasn’t the kind of hero-worshipping curiosity that he’d gotten at Hogwarts, it was like… it reminded him of the first time he’d met his Aunt Marge.  He’d been hearing about for a while and he wasn’t sure what he thought of her, so he’d hidden from her until his uncle had grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and made him come out into the open.

Snape went to the door and glared down at the child, who ignored him entirely in favor of watching Harry.

“Boy!”

Jordan looked up, his eyes wide.  Why wasn’t he talking?

“If you are going to insist on helping, then you’ll have to enter the room.”

Draco perked up in his chair.  “He insisted on helping?”

“He took the vials from the kitchen counter and refused to give them back.  I took that to mean that he wanted to carry them for me.  Am I wrong?”  This last comment was directed at the boy, who shook his head, stepping forward.

Harry had assumed he was leaning over, because he couldn’t be more than a year younger than Draco and him and his head only reached to just below Snape’s chest, but apparently that was his true height.  Seeing the full measure of him for the first time made Harry realized there was something about him, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.  He was a scrawny boy, too thin and short for his age.  He swayed deliberately, as if alternating between staying close to Snape’s side and wanting to run away.  His hair was black and unkempt and his eyes were large and bright green.

Draco raced forward, ignoring the boy who winced back a step before Draco caught him arm and pulled him forward to the side of the bed.  “Jordan, this is Harry.  Harry, Jordan.”

Jordan wrapped an arm around himself and stared intently at Harry, a pained expression on his face,  “It’s Josh.”

Draco started and looked at the boy.  He hadn’t made a single sound this entire time, not for days, not even when he’d stubbed his toe on a book, or tripped in the hall.

“He doesn’t look anything like me.”  The vials of potion slipped from the boy’s finger, thumping harmlessly against the carpet, and Draco saw tears brimming in his eyes.  “It’s not fair.  I went through years of… and he doesn’t even look like me!”

His voice was raising and Draco saw that Harry’s face was drained almost entirely of color.  “That’s what he meant when he said substitute.  You’re…”

Snape had been caught off guard by Josh’s outburst.  He had expected a great many reactions, however, he wasn’t quite as good at reading people as Dumbledore had been and so all of his hypothesis were thrown aside.  Draco reached over to put a hand on the boy’s shoulder, but he jerked away from it violently, nearly falling in his effort to get away.

“Don’t touch me!”

Before Snape could say anything, the boy rushed past him, keeping just enough distance between them so they didn’t touch, and ran into Draco’s room, slamming the door shut.  A closed door was precious little privacy, but when Draco moved to follow, Snape held him back.  “I’ll see to him in a moment.  Go downstairs.”

Draco looked ready to put up a fuss, but in the end, he left, giving a very pale Harry one last look before shutting the door behind him.

 

_____________________

 

 

Harry said nothing as Snape looked him over, pealing back the bandages to check the healing lacerations and casting spells that would assess the damage he couldn’t see.  Just because he wasn’t speaking, though, didn’t mean his mind wasn’t racing with questions.  Was he really who Harry thought he was?  Did it really mean what Harry thought it meant?  He’d said years, but how many?

Snape grunted noncommittally at something his magically induced report had told him.  “It appears that you will live.”

The corner of Harry’s mouth twitched upward before he could stop it.  “Too bad, huh?”

“Indeed.  In another day’s time, we can begin making arrangements to return you to the Weasley’s.”

Harry’s heart skipped a beat.  He hadn’t really considered that actually.  Being tucked away in Snape’s home, even in his room, had been… well, nice.  It smelled like dust, herbs, and a faint musky odor that was probably Snape and didn’t bother Harry as much as it should have.  At least it was familiar.  At least it wasn’t the sickly sweet smell of Lucius’ cologne, or Dumbledore’s candied scent, or the wet-dog smell that sometimes clung to Sirius even after he’d returned to his human form.

Snape was a bastard, yes, but he was one of the only people that Harry had left and one of only two that were already in enough danger whether Harry was around or not.  Draco was the other one, but he hoped that maybe Voldemort wouldn’t fixate as much on a deserter as he would a traitor and his prophesized downfall.

“Is he looking for Draco?”

Snape looked up from the paper,  “Lucius is dead.”

“I was there.  You know who I mean.”

Snape raised an eyebrow,  “At the last meeting, he was mad at Draco, but not murderously so.  If the boy stays well undercover, then he has little to fear.   Even if he were caught, I doubt it would be little more than torture and threats.  As long as he doesn't open his mouth, anyway.”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief.  If he had to return to the rest of the world, at least he’d know that Draco was safe.  “You’ll keep him here with you, right?”

A derisive chuckle escaped Snape before he could stop it.   “Neither of us will be going anywhere until the end of this blasted war.”

“What?”

“Come now, surely your memory isn’t all that addled.  House elves saw me carrying you out of the dungeons and Lucius dead.  The fact that I have not felt a summons is a clear enough indication.”

Harry studied the bed quilt rather than look up.  “Oh.”

Snape raised a dark eyebrow,  “Do cheer up, Potter.  While I’m sure the idea of my not being tortured nightly by that insane megalomaniac isn’t the most exciting news you’ve had all day, I, personally, do not see it as such a great loss.   Although, it does mean you will have to keep yourself from getting into trouble.  If you’re caught again, I will not be there to rescue you.”

“Liar.”  Harry didn’t even realize he’d said it out loud, not until Snape had given him something that might have been called a smile.

It looked strange on Snape, mostly because Harry had never seen him smile before.  Smirked, yes, sneered, definitely, but never anything even remotely open enough to be considered a smile.   It didn’t look bad, though.

 

______________

 

“Lucius is dead.”

Draco stood in the hallway, with his ear pressed against the door.   He’d decided upon closing the door that if they weren’t going to tell him what they were talking about, he’d just have to find out on his own.

“I was there.  You know who I mean.”

“At the last meeting, he was mad at Draco, but not murderously so.  If the boy stays well undercover, then he has little to fear.   Even if he were caught, I doubt it would be little more than torture and threats.  As long as he doesn't open his mouth, anyway.”

He frowned, torn between offense and relief.  Still, Voldemot not being after him was good news.  He’d never of asked himself, because he didn’t want Snape thinking he was a coward, but if he were truly honest with himself, he was a coward and it was some comfort to know that if he was caught it wouldn't be an instant Avada Kedavra.  Not that torture was a good thing by any means, but it beat death hands down.

“You’ll keep him here with you, right?”

With a scowl, Draco barely refrained from opening the door and setting Harry straight.  There was no way that he was going to stay here when Harry left!  He shouldn’t worry, though, because Snape would never go for it; he was as desperate to get Draco out as Draco was to leave.

“Neither of us will be going anywhere until the end of this blasted war.”

What?!

“What?”

“Come now, surely your memory isn’t all that addled.  House elves saw me carrying you out the dungeons and Lucius was dead.  The fact that I have not felt a summons is a clear enough indication.”

Oh.

“Oh.”

Snape was stuck now, trapped in his own home.  The safest wards were those that not only kept others out, but kept yourself in.  Snape was not going anywhere and he didn’t intend on sending Draco with Harry.  Draco wanted to pout, but something nagged at the back of his mind, something he should be thinking about.

“Do cheer up, Potter.  While I’m sure the idea of my not being tortured nightly by that insane megalomaniac isn’t the most exciting news you’ve had all day, I, personally, do not see as such a great loss.  Although, it does mean you will have to keep yourself from getting into trouble.  If you’re caught again, I will not be there to rescue you.”

“Liar.”

Snape said nothing to the accusation, but Draco felt the weight of that statement.  Snape couldn’t save Harry anymore.  He’d been on the inside, he’d known what the Death Eaters were going to do before they did it, but now he was no more useful than any other bystander.

Draco moved away from the door and leaned against the wall, his shoulders slumped.  Not that he was naive enough to think that Snape had been the only spy, but certainly he had been the most reliable and he had been the only one that Draco had trusted.

A crash sounded against the closed door of his room, interrupting him from his thoughts.  He cursed as something else shattered against a wall and stormed over, opening the door and ducking just in time avoid being hit by a glass.

“Shite!  What the bloody hell?!”

Josh was standing in the middle of the room, his eyes puffy and red, tears streaming down his cheeks and his face twisted in anger.

He dodged as the little dragon statuette that Harry had given him went flying past his head.  Deciding to put a stop to the temper tantrum, he grabbed at Josh, only to have the boy twist away from.

“Don’t touch me!”

Draco wrapped his arms around the flailing boy from behind and pinned his wrists to his sides, dropping to the floor when Josh kicked his shins.

“Let me go!”

Draco tightened his grip to ride out the writhing struggles.   It didn’t take very long, less than a minute, before the boy went limp on him, his head hanging, his fists clenched, but not tightly.  Draco let him go instinctively, but Josh didn’t move away.  He also didn’t speak or turn to look at Draco.

“Jor... Josh?”

“What is going on?”  Snape was standing in the doorway, Harry behind him and standing on his own, though just barely if his pallor was anything to go by.  “Draco!”

Snape drew his attention again and he realized he hadn’t answered the question.  “I… he started throwing things at me, I was trying to get him to stop.”

Harry pushed past Snape and stepped into the room, kneeling down in front of Josh, who was sitting so perfectly still it was frightening.

Draco fidgeted.  “I didn’t mean to hurt him.”  Although, he might have.  Maybe he’d held him too tightly, but bloody hell, he’d gone hysterical, it was hardly Draco’s fault that…

“You didn’t.”  He looked at Harry, who was sitting on the floor, still staring at Josh, though Josh hadn’t returned the favor.  “Give me a few minutes alone with him?”

Snape moved to leave, but returned a moment later to take Draco’s arm and force his compliance.  It wasn’t that Draco wanted to listen in – okay, he did, but that wasn’t the only thing - he just didn’t feel safe leaving Harry alone in a room with someone who had been throwing heavy objects around only moments before.

Snape wasn’t giving him the choice, however, dragging him down the stairs and shoving him towards the couch with all the care of someone discarding dirty laundry.  Sitting on the couch, Draco glared at his former professor and crossed his arms over his chest defiantly.   The problem was, he didn’t feel very defiant.

There had always been something in the back of his mind that was at ease with the danger Harry threw himself into, because there were people that would keep him safe and Snape was one of those.  Who was left now?  Sirius was gone, Dumbledore was dead, the werewolf was too timid to be of much help, McGonagall would be busy keeping the school afloat, Hagrid was hardly help to begin with, that left a few Aurors who had to juggle protecting Harry with orders from the Ministry, a clan of Weasley’s, one insane Mad-Eye Moody, and a mudblood.

‘Muggleborn,’ a voice that sounded suspiciously like Harry correcting him.

He dropped his arms to his side and glared at the floor, feeling ever more helpless than he had after the Tri-wizard Tournament when all he’d been able to do was sit and wait.   Only he wasn’t a child anymore.  Realization hit him like a punch in the stomach and he stopped breathing.  No, he wasn’t a child and there was something he could do.

 

______________

 

What Harry had said to Josh was anyone’s guess, because neither of them would talk about it.  Draco imagined that it had been some heartfelt speech about he didn’t even know what, but he knew that with Harry, sometimes all it took was ‘hello’.  Either way, Josh refused to leave his side.

Although he was still admittedly sore, Harry was no longer in any immediate danger and Snape was tired of sleeping on the couch in his own home.  A few spell and Snape had made the two smaller bedrooms into one larger one.  It had taken a little more convincing on Draco’s part to get him to put the two beds together as well and in the end he only did it because if he didn’t, Draco would and Draco would most likely botch the spell and ruin both of them.  Three nights of waking up with Josh on the floor of their room and Harry convinced Snape to turn one of the plushier chairs into a bed and put it in with them, as well.

That, of course, didn’t sit well with Draco.  Harry may have been too weak for sex and even too mentally damaged to want it at the moment, but years of keeping their relationship a secret meant that Draco was uncomfortable with the idea of showing affection in front of others and Josh counted as others.

“Harry!”

Josh came bolting into the kitchen, having woken up to find no one in the bedroom with him.  It was like having a toddler to take care of.  A rather large toddler, but a toddler nonetheless.

Harry looked over at Josh and motioned for him to join them at the kitchen table where they were enjoying breakfast.  Draco eyed the sandwich of grilled cheese and eggs – well, maybe not enjoying, but it was at least edible.   Wherever Snape was getting his rations needed to be reminded that cheese should not taste like flavored cardboard.

Josh sat at the table next to Harry, contentedly silent again and chanced a smile at Draco, who sneered in return, too put off by what was being passed as food to worry about manners.  Harry chuckled, “Don’t mind him, Josh, he’s just not a morning person.”

Snape chose that moment to enter and even Harry raised a wary eyebrow at the visage he presented.  Still in his robes from the night before, there were dark circles under his eyes and his face was drawn tight in displeasure.  Draco leaned over to Harry, dropping his voice to a near whisper.  “Compared to him, I’m bloody chipper.”

“I heard that!”  Draco quickly sat up and forced an innocent smile on his face, the likes of which had gotten him out of many punishments during his summers at Hogwarts.   Snape frowned, “Stop that.”

Harry chuckled, but when Draco turned to glare at him, he noticed Josh.   Draco couldn’t imagine what Snape had done to the boy, but he must have done something, because every time they were in the same room together, Josh froze.  He’d put his head down, grip something - the edge of a table, the hem of his shirt – and his breath would become shallow and soft.

Harry noticed it as well and scooted his chair closer to the boy.   “Hey, have a bite.”  When Josh looked dubious, Harry feigned offense. “I made it myself.”

Josh quickly bit into it and chewed.  After a moment his nose scrunched up and he swallowed, looking at the offending sandwich in distaste.  Draco pointed a finger at the boy triumphantly, “Ha!  So, I’m not the only one that doesn’t enjoy this drivel!”

“I just don’t like eggs.”  As always, the voice that spoke was very quiet and subdued, but Draco didn’t miss it.  Sitting down, he crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at the table.

Severus waved his wand and a plate of fruit appeared before the boy, who instantly paled, his eyes glazing over slightly.  He had hoped that he could keep the boy here.  Until the war was over it wouldn’t be safe to return him home and there were very few placed he could go where he would be safe.  Certainly Grimauld Place was one, but he wasn’t sure how Josh would react to being there.  It was generally quiet, because otherwise Sirius’ mother’s portrait would erupt into screaming fits, but there were people constantly coming and going.  However, with the way he reacted to Severus’ presence, there was very little hope that he would recover here.

Sensing the tension, Harry picked up one of the melon square and popped it into his mouth, ignoring Josh, who watching him intently until he swallowed.   If Severus had tried that, the boy would have run from the room and hidden behind the sofa for the rest of the day.  Not to say that he hadn’t earned the mistrust or even that it truly upset him., but it was a concern nonetheless.  What he had done - the tortures and the mind games - had all been better than what they had wanted him to do to the boy.  He had chosen what he thought to be the lesser of two evils and now he was being reminded daily that it had still been evil.

Bugger his conscience; it had always been a bother anyway.  Maybe he should brew something to repress it for the next few days, until he could ship the boy off to the Weasley’s with Potter.

Draco stood suddenly and Snape didn’t miss the way he brushed Harry’s arm with his hand as he turned to leave.  Really, the boy had more intimacy issues that even Severus.  As Draco was leaving the room, Severus saw him glance back at Harry and it occurred to him that the only way to explain the expression on that face was forlorn.

Leaving Harry and Josh, he followed Draco into the living room.  Draco was leaning against the wall, just on the other side.  “I knew you would follow me.”

Severus didn’t bother to ask how.  He watched Draco while the boy sighed and dusted off his shirt.  The gesture reminded him of the way Harry sometimes put his hands in his pockets when he was nervous… or when he was about to do something incredibly stupid.

“What are you planning?”

“What, me?”  Draco followed it with that innocent smile.  Severus deepened his scowl and Draco sighed, dropping the false expression.  “You can’t protect Harry anymore.”

It was a statement of fact, but Severus nodded.  “That is correct.  I am now as impotent as anyone else.”  Somehow, he thought it might be easier if he were dead.  At least then he wouldn’t have to sit in this house and dwell on his childhood while others fought the war.

Draco nodded, “Someone has to keep him safe.”

He didn’t think he liked where this was going.  “They will.  The boy has a slew of protectors.”

“None of them on the inside.”

He definitely did not like where it was going.  “Don’t be so foolish as to assume that I am the only spy.”

Draco pushed away from the wall, holding his chin up and Snape suddenly realized that at eighteen, the boy stood only two inches short of himself.   “None as trusted as you and I’d wager none as deeply undercover.  With you exposed and my father dead, Voldemort will be more cautious with who he trusts.”

As much as Severus wanted to argue with that, he couldn’t.   When he got no response, Draco nodded and headed for the front door.  He stopped just at the door and half looked back.  Severus could see him biting his lip, a very Harry-like gesture.

“You take care of him.  He does trust you or he wouldn’t be here.  Tell Harry I…” he gulped and took a deep, steadying breath, “tell him I hope I don’t see him.”

Severus wanted to say something to change Draco’s mind, but Draco was right.  There was no one currently on the inside that he would dare trust with Harry’s life.  Furthermore, if Harry were to be captured again, there was no one close enough to Voldemort’s inner circle to save him.  Draco had the perfect trump card to slip right in.  Revenge.  Snape had killed Draco’s father and if the boy played it right, he would by one of Voldemort’s right hand men within a month.

In the end, Snape let him walk out.

 

-tbc-