Rating:
R
House:
Schnoogle
Ships:
Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Characters:
Draco Malfoy Harry Potter Hermione Granger Original Female Witch Original Male Wizard Ron Weasley Severus Snape
Genres:
Drama Slash
Era:
Harry and Classmates During Book Seven
Stats:
Published: 04/30/2007
Updated: 05/10/2007
Words: 19,870
Chapters: 2
Hits: 1,100

Harry Potter and the Redemption of Foes

Lucy-Liza

Story Summary:
Back and better at writing after a long absence! This fic is continuing where HPB left off. The war is heating up, Harry returns to Hogwarts, Draco's shady loyalties are finally confirmed, Ron gets kidnapped(!) and so much more! A fresh new story, co-written by myself and my good friend Vi. Slash warning.

Chapter 02 - Chapter Two

Chapter Summary:
This fic is continuing where HPB left off. The war is heating up, Harry returns to Hogwarts, Draco's shady loyalties are finally confirmed, Ron gets kidnapped(!) and so much more! A fresh new story, co-written by myself and my good friend Vi. Slash warning.
Posted:
05/10/2007
Hits:
414
Author's Note:
Thank you to those who have reviewed so far! It's so appreciated. Hope this chapter does not disappoint. xxx


-Harry Potter and the Redemption of Foes-

Chapter Two

"FRED! GEORGE!" shouted Mrs Weasley from the second landing in the Burrow. The visiting brothers never stayed out of the dog house for long, and they were certainly in the bad books at the moment as Mrs Weasley brandished a rubber chicken threateningly while she searched the rooms for the twins.

The youngest Weasley son shook his head wryly and headed into the kitchen below, peering curiously into the bubbling saucepan on the cooker, catching the wooden spoon that was stirring the mixture to give it a little poke.

"Careful, Ron!"

Ron startled and turned quickly. "Mum! Thought you were trying to ground Fred and George again," he quipped, smiling faintly and leaning back against the counter next to the cooker as his mother took control of the cooking once more.

"Oh, those two!" Mrs Weasley tutted - the rubber chicken had obviously been disposed of. "If only I still could! All my babies will be moved away soon...." She sniffed.

"Muuum," Ron sighed, cutting up a few tomatoes to be useful. "Don't. We're not all moving away; I'm still at school, thanks to Dumbledore telling Harry to stick around a bit longer and Ginny won't be going anywhere for at least two more years."

Mrs Weasley said nothing immediately, just hummed quietly, then sighed herself. "Right, well ... Are you feeling any better?"

Ron shrugged slender shoulders slightly, still lanky and almost gawky, which did nothing but prompt his mother to try and feed him all the time. "Yeah. Potions helped - it was just a bit of a cough."

"I'm still convinced you should go along to your father's doctor friend. He's a wonderful healer, you know. And this just isn't natural. You're picking up every whiff of a bug that's going around! Are you sure you're-?"

"Mum," Ron interrupted, pushing the chopped tomatoes into the pan, "I'm fine; just a cough. I don't need to see a doctor!"

Mrs Weasley looked uneasy, set the wooden spoon self-stirring again, then reached over to gently cup her son's thin cheek, rubbing a thumb over the faint freckles that it appeared he was going to grow out of. "You're a lot like your father, you know," she murmured. "He was so much like you when he was young." She looked a bit teary, then reached forward and hugged him. "What would I do without you, Ron? What would I do without any of you?"

It wasn't the first time she'd said such things. With the threat of war came the fears of many, and like any other concerned wife and mother, Mrs Weasley seemed to feel the pressure.

Ron would still never get used to it, though. He didn't think he'd ever been hugged so much during one summer holiday in his life! He sighed as he wrapped his long, slender arms around her back and patted it as she clung to him. She clung as if to let go would mean losing him forever.

The summer had been such chaos this year. On the up-side, Harry had spent virtually no time at the Dursleys' and had been in the Burrow by the middle of the second week. It had been nice to have Harry for the length of the summer, but it was hard to enjoy it... His dad had spent more time at the Ministry than at home, Ginny had spent most of her time in her room to avoid Harry, and his mum had - well - been acting like this.

He didn't fail to notice she acted this way around him more than anyone else too. She gave Ginny the odd cling-fest, and had even stopped chiding the twins long enough to give them hugs once or twice (until they suggested she was going through menopause, after which she chased them around again with threats of grounding). But it was more often than not Ron who got this special treatment...

Because he was the one who had nearly died.

"Mum - s'okay," he insisted quietly, and allowed her to pull back. "Here, um - have some tea," he offered, which managed to get her to crack a smile. Not his fault he took after her; tea was all he could think to offer people in distress!

"I'm fine, dear," she waved off after a moment to compose herself, and straightened his bright red hair a little as it had been mussed from the nap he'd been obliged to take on the sofa.

"Sure?" Ron asked, looking at her as one might watch a bomb.

"Mmhmm, of course. Dinner will be ready in just over an hour. I do hope your father is home with Harry in time for it tonight... He keeps missing meals working late! And I want you to eat everything tonight, for that matter, you're looking far too thin," she fussed, and pressed a potion into his hands. "And take that! We don't want you picking up that stomach flu that's going around on top of that cough."

Ron groaned slightly. Not *another* potion. He'd have more potion than blood running through his veins at this rate!

Mrs Weasley tutted sternly, "None of that, now! Take the potion, don't fuss."

Ron sipped the potion with a grimace, shuddered, and suppressed the urge to reply that of the two of them - she had been making a lot more fuss lately. He allowed his mother to tug his grey t-shirt straight and smooth his hair once again, then politely retired to the back garden, needing some air.

~*~

Harry let himself into the house a few minutes later, taking off his cloak and hanging it up on the hook by the door, his face slightly painful from the bruising but it wasn't too bad. He'd cast a few healing charms on the way home so it was feeling slightly better.

He made his way to the kitchen and smiled fondly at the woman at the cooker. "Hi, Mrs. Weasley," he said softly. "Umm ... Mr. Weasley told me to tell you he's working late again this evening and won't be home for dinner. Again," he added wryly with a regretful wince.

The woman sighed and tutted, before turning to give Harry a rueful smile. "Well, at least you made it - My goodness! What's happened to you?" she exclaimed anxiously.

Harry flushed slightly and hesitated. "Umm. I - I ran into a door. Twice."

Mrs Weasley blinked. "Odd thing to do..." she criticised.

Harry hummed. "Yes - umm - those Ministry doors can get confusing," he dismissed and closed his eyes, breathing in deeply. "Mmm - but do I smell something heavenly cooking?" he asked, hoping to distract her with compliments.

"A beef stew; my own recipe," Mrs Weasley smiled, and let the pot simmer for a few minutes. "Ron's outside in the garden, by the way," she informed. "He was just here a minute ago. Still looks too pale to me - but I digress."

Harry tensed almost imperceptivity and went over to lift the lid on the pot, staring into the bubbling stew for a moment unseeingly, before replacing it. "Pale?" he asked casually. "He's - umm - not still coughing, is he?"

"He has been a little from what I gather, yes, but he claims it's easing off," Mrs Weasley sighed wearily, hiding a look of strain as she chopped onions.

Harry paused and looked sympathetic, reaching over to put a hand on her arm.

"He'll be okay, Mrs. Weasley," he assured softly. "His body is probably still recovering and all. He's bound to be sensitive to things right now! It'll pass and he'll be fine," he tried to console, telling her the same thing he'd been telling himself for a while now. He tried to make her believe it, even if he didn't entirely himself.

She looked around, brown eyes hopeful. "You think it might just be temporary? Part of the recovery process?"

Harry smiled slightly and nodded encouragingly. "I'm sure it is," he said confidently.

"Yes, perhaps you're right," Mrs Weasley said, wiping at an eye. "Yes; that'll be it ... yes. Thank you, Harry dear." She kissed the top of his head indulgently, and went back to her cooking, humming this time as she did so, her worries soothed for now.

Harry flushed slightly for the kiss, as always feeling a flutter of pleasure at the attention, and felt guilty for it. He'd never told anyone how much he envied Ron his family. It was a bitter irony to him, how he knew Ron had been jealous of his fame, but Harry would have gladly traded places with his best friend any day of the week. He'd have given anything to have someone worry over him the way Mrs. Weasley seemed to be worrying over Ron now.

He sighed heavily and headed to the back garden to find his friend, pausing to see Ron laying on the grass, his arms raised behind his head, staring up at the sky as the sun faded and the crickets and fireflies started to come out. Harry couldn't help a small smile, warmed by his friend's presence and yet worried at the same time.

Mrs. Weasley was right, Harry decided. Ron was definitely pale, his long, lanky frame stretched out and seemingly swallowed in clothes that were too big for him, which made him look all the thinner.

Harry hadn't failed to notice how Ron moved just a bit slower lately, almost carefully. And he hadn't said a word about his friend's coughs, fevers and sore throats. It seemed not a week went by that Ron didn't come down with something new! Harry was constantly on edge, silently staying close to his friend's side and letting the others fuss, trying to keep thinking positively, distracting him with small talk about stupid things like Quidditch.

He'd done the same thing after Ron had been poisoned. But if Harry seemed to not take it seriously, that couldn't have been further from the truth. In fact, he was downright paranoid; as worried as Mrs. Weasley was. But he knew he'd drive Ron crazy if *he* smothered him too!

Harry approached silently and lay down on the grass not far from him, mirroring his pose and cushioning his head on his arms and closing his eyes, sighing heavily.

"So... still think I was crazy to go?"

Ron didn't look around, didn't have to... He knew when Harry was close; it was like a sixth sense, born out of years of living in the same dorm, of sneaking around under invisibility cloaks together, of facing death and adventure depending on one another.

"Yep," he said.

Harry smiled slightly. "I think you might be right. He hit me. Twice."

Ron did look around then, and propped himself up carefully on a hand. "What?" he exclaimed, tone an odd cross between outrage and concern. "Oh shit!" he added, when he actually saw the evidence and reached over to touch the bruise - wincing when he made Harry wince. "Sorry. That bastard!" he added, angry once more.

Harry rolled his eyes, flushing for the concern. "It wasn't like that! It was ... playful. Well, the second one was! The first one was defensive because I got too close to the truth. But I found out what I needed to know," he said softly.

Ron looked incredulous. "Uh, that you can *bruise*?"

Harry laughed. "Well, I already knew *that*!" he exclaimed. "I meant about him. I found out the truth," he said softly and sighed, shaking his head. "I'm still processing it all. But - I'm pretty sure he's not as bad as we thought he was. I mean, he's *bad*, but - not in a bad way," he said softly and frowned. "I guess I'm not making much sense."

"'Much'?" Ron echoed, nonplussed, crossing his legs and quirking a red eyebrow slightly. There were African tribes untouched by civilisation who would be making more sense to him right now.

Harry sighed and shook his head. "I don't think he's evil, Ron!" he exclaimed. "He told me himself; he *couldn't* kill Dumbledore. He lowered his wand. He has a conscience! And I'm pretty sure his life hasn't been all roses either, despite what he's pretended."

Ron considered for a moment, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "Okay, rule number one when it comes to bad guys, Harry. They tend to *lie*!"

Harry shook his head. "No," he said softly. "No, Ron, he was telling the truth. He *tried* to lie, to convince me he's still a bad guy! He said that Snape beat him to it and that's why he didn't. But that wasn't the truth and we both knew it. He admitted eventually that he just couldn't and he looked almost - ashamed," he said softly and winced, shaking his head. "He's pretty bad off now, Ron. He was wearing *jeans*! And he's freezing in that cell. He looked almost delicate! I felt - almost bad for him," he said hesitantly.

Ron sighed and shook his head. "He's just telling you whatever you want to hear, Harry! And he's acting to get a sympathy vote."

He paused to cough into a hand, then sighed, inwardly annoyed by how run-down he felt. He had barely been awake an hour and he felt ready to take another nap already. "I just think he'll take advantage of you if you let him, Harry. I wish you hadn't gone ... You've opened a can of worms here."

Harry frowned at Ron's cough. "I don't think so. He doesn't want sympathy from me. He doesn't want *anything* from me! I'd think he'd be insulted if I offered it," he said softly and sighed. "In any case, why aren't you in bed?"

Ron looked wry. "Because it's not even dinner time and therefore a little early to be going to sleep?" he suggested and sighed, carefully lying back on the grass again, staring up at the sky; which was now a dark-blue colour, high-lighted by the orange and pink clouds moving slowly with the wind that, at ground level, was merely a breeze that ruffled his red hair.

Harry sighed and lay back down, resting on his side, propping his head up on an elbow and watching his friend silently, biting the inside of his cheek thoughtfully and trying to think of how to tactfully suggest he rest without sounding like a nagging mother.

"Are you, umm - still tired? 'Cause, you know, if you *are*, I could have your Mum bring it up to your room and we could eat up there," he suggested.

"Bit tired, but I took a nap while you were out, so I ought to be fine now," Ron murmured, still watching the sky obliviously. He coughed softly once and cleared his throat a few times to try and disperse the soreness in his throat that still lingered from the week before.

Harry winced softly for it and silently summoned his cloak from inside the house, reaching over to put it over his friend.

"Your mother will have a fit if she knows you're outside in the night air like this," he said softly. In truth, *he* was having an inner fit! But Ron had been inside for a while now and he didn't have the heart to suggest they leave.

"Ugh," Ron said eloquently. "She already had a fit; a clinging fit, getting weepy again and all sorts," he said, trying to make a bit light of it, though the real cause for it lingered like a grey cloud overhead. "What you giving me this for? I'm not cold," he added indignantly, and pridefully handed it back.

"Yeah but - your Mum asked me to make sure you stayed warm!" Harry lied, putting it back over his friend. Damned if Ron would catch cold out here and make his throat worse.

Ron sighed softly. "Typical. Knew she wouldn't be satisfied with a potion."

Harry hummed, tucking the cloak over him fussily. "Yes, well ... good that she's worried, I suppose. I mean, mums are supposed to do that sort of thing, right? So she's just doing her job."

Ron was quiet for a moment, awkwardly propping himself up on an elbow and waving Harry's attempts to tuck him in off. It was too humiliating. It seemed like a better idea to sit up and just put the cloak on - which was eventually what he did, though it looked odd to wear a cloak over his plain t-shirt and his faded-blue jeans. He tugged the sides of the cloak forward over his chest a little, then sighed.

"Yeah, guess she's just doing what she has to," he agreed, made very aware of the fact that he should just be grateful he had her at all; unlike Harry.

To earn the truth, Ron had done a surprising amount of growing up over the last year or so. He had their fight to thank for that; it had made him acknowledge his own pettiness and so he'd been careful since then not to go down a similar path - not to fall into the same traps. And, soon enough, there just hadn't been time for childish envy.

Adventures turned to nightmares. It wasn't a matter of saving the school anymore, not as simple as getting taken in a chess game or navigating the grimy tunnels under the school in search of a basilisk. Ron had grown up very quickly all of a sudden. Least, he liked to think so. Part of that growing up was being a lot more aware of those around him, more sensitive to them.

Harry was unaware of these thoughts and bit a lip thoughtfully, looking down at the grass and picking at it nervously. "Actually - umm - I lied."

"Huh?" Ron asked, blinking out of his musings.

Harry sighed heavily. "Cloak was my idea. I didn't want you to get too cold and make your condition - worse."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "My 'condition'?" he echoed, and narrowed his eyes a little. Sensitive or not - he could still be indignant, stubborn and prideful when the need arose. "It's just a bloody cough, Harry! And it's on the mend, not like a little fresh air will kill me!"

Harry frowned. "Damn it, Ron! It's not just a cough!" he snapped tensely.

"What do you mean? Of course it is! What else would it be? An elephant?!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "It is just a cough *now*!" he exclaimed pointedly. "But next week it could be pneumonia! Or the flu! Or Parkinson's disease! Or *something*! You've been catching anything and everything and-" he cut off, swallowing thickly and for the first time, the strain seemed to show a bit in his eyes as he looked at his friend tensely.

"What if it's - I mean, it could be serious or something. What if you've got something bad? What if that poison hurt you somehow? I just--" he cut off, closing his eyes. "I just don't want you to take any chances," he said softly, trying to calm himself down.

Ron was silenced. He stared tensely at his friend for a moment, pale and shocked, tense and awkward.... then silently looked down and picked at some grass himself with shaky, thin fingers.

Hermione would have been ecstatic; he was for once at a loss for words.

Harry swallowed a lump in his throat, opening his eyes and looked at his friend sadly. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I - I know you've been getting this from everyone else! You don't need it from me too. And - and I've not said anything because I know you don't need more stress and you're working things out yourself. I'm just worried about you, okay? Everyone is but - me especially."

Ron shrugged a shoulder slightly, raising bright blue eyes, looking through his red fringe. "You didn't say anything," he murmured. "I kind of thought - I dunno," he trailed, thoughtfully, straightening and running a hand back through his hair slightly. "I mean, I got a bit of hysteria from Hermione after the poison - just a little. But *we* carried on as normal so - I thought it didn't matter."

Harry blinked in shock. "What? Didn't *matter*?" he asked softly. "You - you thought the fact that you almost *died* didn't *matter* to me?!"

Ron paled noticeably and held up his hands. "Don't *say* that!" he said, voice almost going high for a moment. Anyone saying he had almost died gave him a twisting feeling in his stomach, even thinking it himself gave him that feeling.

"Don't say what?!" Harry demanded tensely, reaching out to grasp his friend's shoulders and look at him intently. "It's the truth, isn't it?" he asked softly, green eyes glittering. "Don't you *ever* think that didn't matter to me, Ron! Damn it, I had to sneak sedatives from Madame Pomfrey's cabinet! You think I could have been that fucking calm without them?! I was trying not to panic because I knew if I panicked, *you* could! And--" he cut off, swallowing thickly, before doing something that was rare among guys in general, particularly for them, and he pulled his friend into a tight hug.

"Of course it mattered," he said softly. "You're my best friend."

Ron startled slightly, as if not sure what to expect, then his shoulders lost tension and he awkwardly hugged back, daring to defy all of the unspoken 'guy rules'.

He swallowed tightly, barely noticing his sore throat, and patted Harry's back lightly as if in comfort. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "It's really - I mean, it's not - That's not what I meant, Harry. I didn't mean - oh fuck," he sighed, frustrated with himself, and pulled back, gripping Harry's shoulders gently instead.

"Look, I didn't mean I thought it didn't matter to *you*, okay? I meant ... me. I thought - because you didn't freak out - that I could pretend it didn't matter. I wanted to act like it didn't matter," he admitted, looking weary.

Harry blinked, more to clear his eyes of unshed tears and looked confused. "But - it does - doesn't it?" he asked softly.

Ron slowly let go of Harry's shoulders, and nodded. "Yeah," he said quietly, and smiled wanly. "Guess I just can't take it in my stride like you can, huh?" he murmured, with a faint scoff. "I thought ignoring it would be better; it's not like we have time to deal with this sort of crap now. We're facing a war."

Harry shook his head, reaching over to gently put an arm around his friend's shoulders in comfort since the hug had been released, but Harry still felt oddly clingy and was now free to express that.

"I didn't take it in stride. I just freaked out in private!" he exclaimed and sighed. "And yes, we do have time to deal with it, especially considering we won't have the time later," he said softly.

Ron stared at the grass, leaning against Harry's side for covert support, though he felt awkward and oddly sensitive to all touching right now. "I guess so," he murmured softly, then rolled his eyes at himself and raised his free hand to rub at his face though he was anything but tired.

"It's just my own hang-up, really. I mean, it's creepy and a horrible experience to have, but it wouldn't have freaked me out to the point of ignoring it if not for this whole thing about hospitals and doctors in general I have ... Over health issues in general really."

Harry frowned. "Oh?"

"Uhuh, since I was little I've had fairly intense hang-ups about that sort of thing," Ron admitted, but seemed a little uneasy now, and was wondering at which point it would be best to shut up.

Hmm, he'd probably actually exceeded the ideal shutting-up point now.

Harry continued to frown. "You never told me this! What kind of hang-ups? What health issues?! Are you sick *now*?!" he asked worriedly.

Ron frowned slightly and scoffed. "No," he murmured, shifting awkwardly and picking at grass again. "I just had to go to hospital a lot when I was a toddler."

"Why?" Harry asked softly. "What was wrong with you?"

"I was born with a heart defect."

Harry paled starkly. "A HEART DEFECT?!"

"Bloody hell, Harry ... I don't think the *entire* village heard you!"

Harry pulled back and looked at his friend anxiously. "But - but a heart -- I mean ... are you okay?! What was wrong?! Is it fixed?!" he demanded, and reached over abruptly to put his hand over Ron's chest in worry. "Shouldn't you be laying down or something?!"

Ron winced a bit. Yeah, see? This is exactly why he didn't bother to mention little details like that - well - not that it was a *little* detail. It had been a defining experience of his life and the root of many an insecurity growing up, but still....

"Harry - Harry!" he cut him off, raising a hand to go over the one he'd placed to his chest. "Shh, calm down! Just breathe and - be calm!"

"I'm breathing!!" Harry exclaimed, taking several long, deep breaths to calm himself down. "But damn it! Why the hell didn't you tell me this?! This falls under the category of 'Important shit my best friend should know about me'!!"

"Well, your reaction right here is kind of a valid argument. Incidentally, please don't tell Hermione? She'd probably go weird and stuff too...." Ron said.

"Weird?!" Harry demanded. "Ron, worrying about your friend isn't *weird*! It's perfectly normal! Now, what's going on? What defect?!"

Ron sighed and lay back casually on the grass, noting it was a bit moist now in the evening air. Harry's hand thankfully didn't stay on his chest.

"Can't really remember the technical term. Something about a valve that was wrong or - missing or closed.... Not sure. Plus one ventricle is smaller than the other. But in any case, I had surgery on it when I was like three because I was really ill with it. Fixed whatever that valve thing was, so I've been alright since then."

Harry winced softly. "My god, Ron; you were so small! No wonder you're terrified of doctors and hospitals."

Ron nodded, biting on his bottom lip for a moment. "Yeah, well; long time ago now. Don't remember much about it, thankfully.... So are you happy now? I never meant to tell you that," he added, looking almost mutinous.

Harry smiled slightly. "Not happy exactly but glad to know," he said softly and raised an eyebrow. "What other dark secrets are you keeping from me?" he asked almost teasingly. "You're not really a girl, are you?" he teased.

"Yeah. I was actually born with a deformed heart *and* a vagina; just call me Veronica."

Harry laughed in amusement. "Right, okay, Veronica. My, you're handsome for a girl!" he teased.

Ron laughed softly and sat up, giving Harry's shoulder a light shove. "Oh, shut up."

Harry laughed all the harder. "Maybe I should ask you out! Take you to the Yule Ball! You'd look so pretty with a ribbon in your hair!"

"Hey, now that's not funny."

Harry sobered. "You're right. You'd look *ridiculous* with a ribbon in your hair," he said dryly with a chuckle.

Ron smiled a bit, obviously amused, then stood with noticeable care. "Git," he insulted good-naturedly.

Harry put a hand to his chest. "You wound me. Truly!" he exclaimed and stood up as well, pocketing his hands. "Seriously though, we shouldn't keep secrets. I won't pretend everything is peachy when it isn't if you don't keep deep, dark secrets from your best friend. Deal?"

Ron considered, then nodded. "Alright ... deal."

He was halfway back to the kitchen door when he pondered, "Does this mean I should have told you when I lost my virginity?", and had to run in quickly before Harry could take a swipe at him, laughing as he went.

~*~

Severus signed what felt like the millionth piece of documentation, having spent a great deal of time going through the legal red tape to get Draco released that morning after the last judge had finally signed the order.

That done, Severus was escorted to the prison cells, keeping his features carefully blank as he entered the familiar area in which he'd been kept for a total of forty-eight hours before Dumbledore had appeared and cleared his name. He didn't envy the boy and knew he would probably be hungry since the food in this place wasn't fit for a rat.

The guard took out a set of keys and opened the cell door, revealing the dark interior and the blond figure which sat huddled on his cot in the corner, his back to the wall as he slept sitting up, cocooned inside a blanket and obviously emaciated, exhausted and filthy from the grime of the dungeon walls, having not been allowed to bathe more than once.

It was freezing cold, and Severus' first thought was that of silent rage for the boy's treatment. Draco, for all he had suffered, wasn't used to such conditions! He could get sick so easily.

But he was free, which was a miracle in itself, so Severus decided he would let it go for now.

He approached the cot, taking a seat on its edge, his eyes noticeably softening, though the rest of his features remained impassive as he took in the boy's bony frame, his eyes sunken into his sockets, his features all the sharper for lack of food, looking young and fragile.

As always, Severus didn't see the spoiled, arrogant boy Draco portrayed - and was, in some ways. He saw an infant. A helpless, crying infant, small arms outstretched as he lay abandoned in a cot, suffering from a lung infection which no one had cared to treat and asking for nothing more than some comfort and some medicine.

Severus reached for him now as he had then and soothed some blond hair back from his face.

"Draco?" he called softly, almost in whisper. "Wake up...."

Draco turned his face towards the wall on his left, exhaling a shuddered breath and automatically folding his frail arms about himself tighter, the action managing to disturb the blanket around his shoulders and allow it to slip off. He was extremely still once his position was altered, more like a statue than a living, breathing boy.

Severus looked worried as the blanket slipped off, revealing the bony shoulders and his upper torso, which were so thin and bony he was immediately enraged and turned to the guard.

"Are the lot of you blind as well as stupid and incompetent?!" he demanded abruptly. "Look at him! What were you going to do?! Let him starve to death?!"

"We've been feeding him! He won't eat!" the guard protested.

"Of course he won't eat! What you hand out isn't food! It's slop fit only for animals! This is a boy, not a bovine!" he snapped tensely and turned back to Draco, anxiously reaching over to shake his shoulder. "Draco? Draco, come on, son! Wake up!"

Draco tensed with consciousness immediately at the shaking, grey eyes blearily fluttering open, and cast about for a moment, seeking the source of the disturbance. He was finding it harder to stay alert since the previous evening.

The days and days without rest had been catching up and now he found himself dozing in an almost delirious fashion - not that anyone cared; in fact, he suspected it was a better deal for the guards -- they didn't have to file his many complaints or listen to him insulting them for the hell of it.

It was with the utmost shock, therefore, that he woke to not a guard, nor the interrogator, or even that wretched Potter, but his old mentor.

"Severus--?" he whispered, squinting. He might be hallucinating.

Severus smiled a small, twisted smile that lacked any humour and nodded, frowning as he saw his eyes were almost black. "In the flesh. And that appears to be all that's left of you! Flesh and bone. You've been too long in the dark too, I see," he said softly and took off his cloak, reaching over to gently put it around the boy warmly, the heating charm on it sure to be better than the blanket could have hoped to be. "I've come to get you out of here."

Draco scoffed wearily. "Amusing, yes...." he drawled faintly. "And I ... am the Countess of Cornwall."

"Well, for a Countess you look like hell," Severus said dryly, taking out a handkerchief, wetting it with his wand and reaching over to wipe the grime off the boy's cheek. "I've been negotiating with various officials since your capture. I finally got one of them to listen to me."

Draco was silent for a moment, not reacting to the touch. Indeed, Severus was perhaps the only person in the world he managed not to flinch from. "Seriously?" he murmured softly. "But ... how?"

Severus hummed. "I think they got tired of hearing my belly-aching. Plus, there was a judge who had some sense of decency about him. He's agreed to release you. But there are ... conditions ... to the release," he said softly.

"No killing, raping or pillaging?" Draco drawled, so tired it sounded more like a slur.

"Among other things," Severus said softly and shook his head, tossing the grimy handkerchief into the corner of the dungeon in disgust. "But that can wait until later. Let's get you out of here first! Can you walk?"

Draco considered, then nodded slowly. "Of course...."

Severus looked doubtful. "Let's try it then, shall we?"

Draco nodded and shifted carefully to the edge of the cot and stood, glad for the cloak, as it seemed so much colder to be standing. He could feel his frame attempting to tremble, but frantically repressed the urge and focused on breathing. Just breathe, he thought.... breathe. Dizzy... ugh, breathe...

Severus frowned worriedly at the boy and reached inside his pocket for a potion, putting it into a thin, bony, freezing hand. "Here, drink that. It should steady you a bit."

Draco looked down at the potion, then carefully sipped on it for a moment. He gained a little clarity, but more importantly, seemed to acquire a little more strength to his withered limbs. It was much-needed, and allowed him to remain standing with less trouble.

Severus nodded, seeing he was better, but knew that was artificial and only temporary. Draco was exhausted, emaciated and no doubt getting ill. He needed rest and warmth and food and no doubt a million other things, all of which gave Severus a headache just to think about.

"Come on," Severus said softly, gently putting a hand to the small of the boy's back to guide him to the cell door. "Let's get out of here."

Draco didn't need telling twice. He walked for the door quickly, having not left it for days and even then never with the scent of freedom so close, but the moment he got out into the corridor lit brightly by torches, he hissed and covered his eyes with a hand.

Severus swore softly and reached for him, putting an arm around his shoulders and shielding his eyes with a hand. "Damn it, I should have thought of that! It's alright. Just keep walking, alright? Let me guide you. Just keep your eyes closed," he said softly.

Draco tried to pull his hand away to see again, only daring a squint, but he grimaced and breathed hard, the light so much a shock to the system that his eyes burned with it and actually hurt.

"I can't - I can't see," he breathed, turning on the spot and abruptly reaching out to feel for the walls, the sudden lack of independence scaring him more than the claustrophobic cell ever had.

"Draco, calm down!" Severus exclaimed, reaching for him and gently guiding him carefully. "Keep your eyes closed, damn it! Your eyes are sensitive and you could burn your retinas if you're not careful. I know you can't see. Your eyes have adjusted to the dark and are sensitive to light. Just calm down! I've got you, okay?" he said urgently, hating to see the poor boy in such fear.

Draco lashed out awkwardly with a hand, shaking with tension. "Don't touch me!" he snapped shakily. "I can go by myself!"

Easier boasted than done....

For ten agonisingly long minutes, Draco tentatively felt his way along the corridors using the walls, keeping his eyes shut and his head bowed so he couldn't even see light through his eyelids. His bony fingers gripped and clutched at stones carefully, his only guide.

Severus watched silently as the boy's pride kept him going, feeling much like he had when Draco had started walking. The boy had been so small for his age, truly behind in his physical development thanks to constant bouts of illness which his parents had ignored.

But the baby, almost as though sensing everything in his life would be a struggle for independence and strength, had insistently crawled and fixed small, bony hands to a table and started to try walking on his own. Severus had had to hold himself back, had had to keep himself from picking the child up and putting him in the cot. Instead, he'd hovered, just as he did now, prepared to catch him should he fall.

Draco nearly tripped when his foot encountered stairs, then just adjusted himself and slowly headed up them, being careful to keep the cloak out of the way so he didn't step on it and trip himself. He tensed slightly once he was in the hallway above. There was bright white light here; he could sense it through his eyelids. That would really hurt his eyes if he opened them now....

Severus let Draco get to the top of the stairs, but he knew the boy wouldn't be able to make it the rest of the way. There were corridors to navigate, people to avoid.

He reached out abruptly and gently took the boy's hand as they entered the office area. "Come on. I'll guide you the rest of the way, okay?" he suggested.

Draco humiliatedly conceded with a small nod, automatically clutching the hand back, and tugged his cloak tightly around his frame, glad he couldn't see any of the stares he got..

Severus guided Draco out of the building, feeling guilty for the secret little pleasure in his heart at having Draco depend on him and trust him to guide him. There had been many small moments like that over the years, scattered here and there, but so sporadic and unusual that Severus took note of each of them and silently treasured them.

He guided the boy into a carriage that waited outside and pulled the shades closed so it was a bit darker. "You can try opening your eyes now. It should be shaded enough for you," he informed as the carriage started moving.

Draco felt nauseated with the swaying of the carriage but once he'd opened his eyes and was used to the light level in the cabin, it got better, and he nodded slightly. "Thank you," he murmured composedly.

Severus nodded. "You're welcome," he said softly. "When we get to Hogwarts, I'll guide you to your room. It will take a few days for your eyes to fully adjust to light again. You should take things slow."

Draco found the idea distasteful. He could hardly walk around with closed eyes for days and he'd had enough of staying in a room, so that would be out of the question. Still, he was taking things one step at a time at the moment and would cross those bridges when he came to them. He focused on breathing again, appreciating the fresh smells from outside the carriage, the scent of the odd tree or flower.

So nice to be-- Draco didn't finish the observation, asleep again before he could rally all of the thoughts into words, resting his head against the windowpane, not even disturbed by the often-bumpy ride.

Severus smiled almost fondly as the boy fell asleep and spent the rest of the carriage journey in silence, watching him sleep and pondering the great responsibility that now rested squarely on his shoulders. How ironic that he had achieved in Draco's disgrace what he had always aspired to have!

He was now Draco's guardian, his sole source of support. He decided when and what Draco ate, saw to his health, his education, his welfare and protection! The joy of that knowledge - the freedom to do for Draco the things he'd always wanted - was overwhelming.

So he began with the simplest of things, shifting to sit closer to the blond and reaching over to grab his wrist, feeling the gentle, fluttering pulse, which was oddly weak to his way of thinking.

This required more ... advanced ... equipment, he decided silently and reached for his wand to conjure a very familiar shiny, round object used by doctors worldwide. He put the stethoscope to the boy's chest covertly, listening to the heart, whose pulse he had just felt a few moments ago, but heard also the weakness and raspiness of his lungs.

The child had been afflicted with numerous lung infections in his youth that had resulted in heavy scarring. His breathing had always been affected since and he was prone to fainting, hyperventilating and other problems associated with lack of air when under stress. He'd once suffered respiratory arrest which had frankly scared the living hell out of Severus, but that was a long time ago and Draco was a bit stronger now.

In times like these, Severus still worried those old issues might pop up again - but for the moment, he decided the boy was simply exhausted from lack of sleep, low in his immune system, and in desperate need of a few good meals. He would need to be monitored closely for bronchitis or something else equally as bad though.

The carriage pulled to a stop in front of the large castle and Severus gently reached over to soothe the boy's hair back and wake him up gently this time.

"Draco?" he called softly, his eyes dark with worry. "We're here...."

Draco shifted almost immediately, opening his eyes and sitting up straighter. He actually looked a little sleepy this time, which was extremely rare (firstly, because he so rarely slept, therefore rarely woke up groggy - and secondly, because even if he had felt groggy, he would usually have been able to hide it).

"What?" he murmured, rubbing at an eye. "Already?"

Severus silently swore to himself and pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head at himself. Draco was too damn adorable and Severus was just too damn soft.

"Yes, we're here," he said, straightening and looking at him almost tensely now, knowing it would be impossible to ever distance himself from Draco, so he'd never tried. But he couldn't let the boy know that. If he did, he'd have a power over him no one had ever had.

Draco gave the man a brief, calculating glance, but it was only half-hearted and fleeting... He had other matters to attend to just now. With as deep a breath as his lungs could manage, he steeled himself, then opened the door and got out of the carriage, a hand shading his eyes, but determinedly keeping them open.

He saw nothing but white. Burning white that seared the backs of his eyes. Each time he blinked, he saw a burned blotch then white again, but with blinks over a few painful minutes, he saw the first inklings of colour too.

Severus frowned darkly. "Draco, don't go too fast," he said sternly, stepping out of the carriage as well and taking his hand again like he had earlier, guiding him to the castle. "I don't want you damaging your eyes."

"Phhfft," was Draco's soft reply, still squinting hard. He saw a little beyond the white now, but was still relieved to get inside the castle. With the great stone walls holding out most of the light save for what seeped in through windows, he could actually focus for the first time in days.

He saw the familiar floor, the familiar doors to the Great Hall, the stairs and the portraits on the walls. It almost gave him a shiver of familiarity but, though he was pleased to be in Hogwarts again; a place he'd once thought of as a haven, he was also feeling lost. His purpose had betrayed this castle, he felt like he ought to have been shunned by it now.

Severus understood the boy's feelings, perhaps better than anyone. He too had betrayed Hogwarts by killing its Headmaster, and though he'd been under orders to do so; Dumbledore's orders, and all had ended well, he still felt as though him being Headmaster here was a mockery.

"You'll have a private room for now," Severus said softly, guiding him slowly up the stairs. "Until you've recovered, at least. I don't want you down in the dungeons where it's cold," he informed.

"Or where the Slytherins will beat me up," Draco drawled levelly, tone blunt and composed as he wincingly made his way up the stairs with him. He'd have no friends there anymore. Indeed, the gravity of the situation now that he was not incarcerated anymore was hitting home. Things would be - very different.

Severus hummed. "Yes ... there is that. Perhaps a private room would be best for the rest of the year as well," he said darkly.

"Perhaps," Draco said quietly, shrugging. "Then again ... that would only promote jealousy."

"Yes, it would. But as I'm the Headmaster now, they can just deal with it," Severus said bluntly.

Draco stumbled.

"Damn it, boy! Careful!" Severus snapped, reaching for a bone-thin arm. "If you can't bloody walk straight I'll carry you!"

"Ugh! I'd rather die," Draco retorted, straightening with the help of the support, before drawing his arm free and tugging his grimy clothes straight pridefully. He frowned, "But did you just say you were Headmaster?! What happened to Dumbledore?"

"He's officially on holiday," Severus drawled stoically.

Draco blinked, twice....

"Holiday?" he quirked an eyebrow slightly. "I see. Well, not to criticise the great one ... but planning a break just as war is on the horizon is a little bit - unwise."

Severus smiled slightly. "Indeed. And if you believe Dumbledore is truly on holiday, then you're just naive. He's working on something. Until he's finished, he's left Hogwarts ... incredibly ... in my care," he said darkly, opening the door to one of the suites upstairs.

He stepped inside the luxurious room and went over to close the curtains so as to block the bright light from the windows. "Now... into bed with you!" he directed.

"I need a bath!"

Severus sighed heavily. "You also need sleep!" he exclaimed and then rolled his eyes, heading for the bathroom and started to draw the hot bath. "Fine then. You'll bathe and then you'll sleep. Could you stand to eat some soup as well?"

"No - I'll come back to that," Draco supplied, taking off the cloak with a shaky fiddle of the clasp, then pacing slowly as he waited for the bath to fill.

Severus finished with the bath and put some bubbly soap into it, checking the water to make sure it wasn't too hot for the boy's sensitive skin and nodded. "I'll be just outside. Call if you need something. There should be plenty of soap and shampoo in the cabinets."

"Thank you," Draco murmured gratefully, then went into the bathroom and pushed the door to as he shed the ragged common clothes and slipped into the bath. Now *that* was proper warmth. He tingled all over and leant back so his head was on the edge of the bath.

The bubbles towered on the surface of the water, and for just a few minutes he amused himself by arranging them, then just relaxed as much as he was able and let the hot water do its best to cleanse.

The warmth started to made him feel dozy again; the first true warmth he'd known since before his capture. The soapy herbal scents also made it hard to resist the temptation to close his exhausted eyes. His body was just so unbelievably tired ... so strained and weary....

Draco's hands went limp either side of the bath, and his eyes fluttered shut, leaning back in a comfortable, stable position, or so he thought. Once he'd relaxed with unconsciousness, he started to move - and sink.

One of his arms slid into the water while the other was awkwardly raised, almost so it went behind his head - which also was under the water within seconds, too deeply out cold to wake up even when it wasn't air he was breathing in anymore.

Severus had a bad feeling.

He got them now and then and when he did, he was always sure to pay close attention. He tried to dismiss it as pure paranoia. Anyone who knew him knew he was naturally inclined towards thinking the worst. But his niggling worry persisted and eventually he could stand it no more and knocked on the bathroom door.

"Draco? Are you alright in there?" he asked, fully expecting the boy to come back with a sarcastic, disdainful retort.

The silence had Severus' heart pounding as adrenaline surged, his bad feeling now turning into full-blown nausea as he reached for the door handle, no longer caring about the boy's privacy and opened the door.

Terror wasn't an emotion Severus experienced often. He had grown up in a less than ideal environment and had seen things in his life-time that would no doubt strike fear into even the stoutest of Gryffindor hearts! But nothing could make him lose colour or shake in horror as the sight of Draco in danger could.

Severus rushed to the bath, bending down on his knees next to it and reached for the boy's dead weight, pulling him out of the bath entirely and dragging him to the floor quickly, spilling water over the sides and soaking his trousers, but he couldn't care less.

"Draco! Draco, wake up!" Severus called, cupping the boy's face and seeing that the boy wasn't breathing, and indeed his lips were starting to turn an odd shade of purple.

Severus didn't stop to think as he began administering mouth to mouth, breathing life-giving air into the blond and pressing on the sensitive place just below his sternum. His breaths were hitching in panic, stripped of his precious self-control as he frantically worked to restore life, his mind whirling with horrible thoughts.

What if Draco's lungs weren't strong enough? What if he coughed up the water but went into respiratory arrest again? What if he couldn't be resuscitated? What if he DIED?!

"Come on, Draco! Come on! Breathe! Breathe for me, son! I know you can!" he urged breathlessly, pressing on his the place below his sternum again and almost fainting as he saw Draco start to cough and turned his face to the side so that the water could pour of his mouth.

His relief was short-lived as Draco started to breathe, but only very shallowly, his lungs weakened from the strain and Severus once again worried about infections and respiratory arrest. He reached for a large white towel, wrapping the blond up in it and dragging him into his lap on the bathroom floor and summoned a breathing mask from the infirmary, placing it over his nose and mouth and forcing oxygen into his body.

Severus held him close, cradling him as he would an infant, rocking him comfortingly and clinging as he gave him oxygen and tried to stop himself from shaking.

Draco's eyelids started to flutter, waking to oxygen-induced dizziness. He coughed quietly a few times, surprised to feel how heavy his chest was, how hard it was to breathe - even more so than usual. And there was plastic against his face... He was cold again....

He shivered weakly, coughed again, then opened his eyes properly to see the bleary form of the potions master above him. He could see that it was his hand holding the mask to his face and in automatic fear and distrust, Draco weakly squirmed and tried to turn his face away from the breathing mask as though it were something harmful.

"Don't move!" Severus exclaimed in panic, his own breaths still hitching breathlessly and he soothed the boy's wet hair anxiously with his free hand. "Shhh! Don't move, Draco. It's alright. I've got you, okay? Just breathe!" he urged and looked strained to the point of breaking as he bent to rest his head to the boy's, still rocking him gently. "My god ... you haven't scared me like that in a long time," he confessed shakily.

Draco tried not to tremble as he weakly raised a hand to feel the professor's face, holding his cheek. He couldn't see properly enough in the bathroom with the big light on. "Sc-ared you like wh-en?" he croaked softly, and coughed hard for a moment into the mask. Ow....

Severus winced softly, leaning into the hand automatically. "Not since you were twelve and had that concussion," he said shakily and swallowed thickly, trying to compose himself with effort. "Are you okay? Does your chest hurt?" he asked worriedly. "You must have passed out in the bath and - slipped under! It was my fault! I *knew* I shouldn't have left you alone!" he berated himself fiercely.

Draco started to get a hazy picture of the sequence of events. "Pass-passed out?" he murmured, then shifted weakly, trying to sit up. "Chest - hurts, ah," he winced a bit, tensely. The mention of the concussion gave him a fairly clear idea of what must have happened; he had to have stopped breathing - again.

Severus shook his head. "Don't try to move, damn it!" he exclaimed and sighed heavily, picking the boy up in his arms as he carefully stood, keeping Draco in the towel and carrying him out of the bathroom, laying him down in the bed and covering him up warmly with the blankets. He reached for Draco's bony hand and placed it over the mask at his face.

"Hold that there. Don't let go, alright?" he said, and removed his hand and took out his wand, waving it to dress Draco in some comfortable pyjamas and then took out the stethoscope he'd had previously and put it to the boy's chest, hearing the faint gurgling in his chest and rasping of the weak lungs. "You still have some water in your lungs. Hopefully you'll cough it up. I'm going to give you something to prevent infection, okay?"

Draco weakly nodded in reply.

Severus summoned the medicine kit from downstairs and took out a syringe, giving the boy an injection in the arm since he decided it wasn't a good idea to make him ingest anything orally at the moment after what he'd been through.

After administering the shot, Severus grabbed a hot water bottle and put it in the bed with Draco and cast several warming charms as well. He reached over to soothe the boy's wet hair, casting a charm to dry it, knowing that going to sleep with damp hair could lead to sickness.

"Alright... just try to relax. What I gave you should ease some of the pain as well and make it a bit easier to breathe. Just keep this mask on, alright?"

Draco's chest still only rose and fell shallowly with the pulses of air administered from the mask to prompt him, but he nodded slightly again, thin features ashen in colour. "Ok-ay," he breathed, coughing softly with the irritation of water, then making up for it with a couple of shallow rasps.

Severus watched him silently, before looking strained again and cupped his cheek. "Try to sleep now. I will be back to check on you in a few hours. If you need anything at all, there's a cord by your bed. Just pull it and I'll be here as soon as I can, alright?"

Draco would have liked to take advantage of that offer, but new he was honestly too weak to exploit it at the moment. "Alright," he breathed, allowing the touch unflinchingly. "Will I....?" he began, but trailed.

"Will you - what?" Severus prompted softly.

"Will I ... wake up ... if I go to sleep now?"

The fearful, innocent inquiry had Severus' eyes going suspiciously glassy and a muscle worked in his jaw perceptively as he nodded shakily. "Yes, Draco," he whispered softly. "I promise you'll wake up, alright? You're going to be okay," he promised.

Draco looked almost doubtful. "Really?" he murmured cynically.

Severus' eyes glittered fiercely and he reached for the boy's hand, holding it in both of his almost protectively.

"I swear on my grandmother's grave that you are going to be alright, Draco," Severus said softly. "You're safe and I'm not going to let anything happen to you. I will never lie to you and tell you that you're okay when you're not; I never have and I won't start now. You've been through a lot and your body is weak and I'm worried about infection, but we'll do what we can to prevent that. You have my word; you'll be fine."

With only that simple yet earnest reassurance, Draco's hand went lax in the gentle hold, and his eyes fluttered closed with unconsciousness again.

Severus closed his eyes and buried his face in his hand, taking several long minutes to compose himself again. With Draco, his emotions were always close to the surface. He had been completely unprepared for the power that small child had had over him from the very beginning. Even now, he couldn't get used to his weakness.

It defied even his own instinct of self-preservation. He would willingly die for Draco, and the part of him that was probably still smart told him what a fool he was. And it was true; he was. But he couldn't help it. It was because of Draco he would never be a Death Eater. It was because of Draco he fought to stop them. It was because of Draco he had spent so many years balancing between worlds!

He had never thought to love anything or anyone, but he did.

Severus sighed heavily and stood up, making sure the boy was warm enough, before slipping out of the room quietly to attend to other matters. He had a school to run, reality to face, wars to fight, students to make miserable.

He tucked his heart safely away from the world once again and went out to face the world without it.