Chapter 2

Draco POV

He was running through the dungeons, letting out gasping sobs every few seconds. His father's voice echoed out behind him, seeming to surround him. "Come back, Draco," it called softly. "Come take your punishment." Draco whipped his head around, but couldn't see the man. He continued running away, but the dungeons seemed endless. He let out a scream when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Whirling around, he came face to face with the man who had raised him, who had betrayed him so deeply.

"Father… please…"

His father took no notice of his pleading, and Draco could see the first thrash of the belt coming down towards him…

His eyes flew open. He covered his face with his hands, trying to block out the blinding light, but he was shaking so badly that it was difficult. He didn't know where he was, but was hyperventilating so badly that it was hard to think straight. "Draco?" A hand grasped his shoulder firmly and he saw a blurry, dark-cloaked figure, reminding him of the nightmare, and he was barely able to lean over the side of the bed before he vomited bile and blood all over the floor. "He's having a panic attack!" he heard someone shout, but he was having trouble processing anything.

His heavy breaths were turning into choked sobs, and he couldn't get any air in. He felt someone grab his arms and pull him into a sitting position, but his vision was so dark and blurry that he couldn't see who it was. He tried to curl into a ball, but he was immediately pushed down by someone standing next to the bed. Seconds later a foul-tasting substance was forced down his throat, and his eyesight became clear again. He drew in gasping breaths, looking around desperately to see where he was. It couldn't be… no, it was definitely not the Hogwarts infirmary. Maybe this was a dream. He tried to keep his eyes open, but the potion was making him drowsy, and he finally surrendered to the darkness again.

Harry POV

Harry felt himself emerging from the dark depths of sleep, but tried to resist. He didn't want to wake up and have to face everything all over again… but his eyes slowly cracked open against his will. Immediately, he knew something was different. There was light- a stark contrast from the dungeons. He was no longer naked and lying on the rocky ground- he had some sort of hospital gown on and was in an actual bed.

He was at Hogwarts.

Rather than calming him down, this thought caused his breathing to quicken. The only thing he could think was a name. Hermione. The picture of her bloody, lifeless body seemed burned into his mind, just like it had been in the dungeons. He was reminded of the fact that he deserved the torture he had endured. It was his fault, all his fault. He knew there were tears running down his face, but he made no move to wipe them away. My fault. My fault. My-

"Harry?"

With great difficulty, he ripped himself from his trance. His eyes flicked up to take in Professor Dumbledore sitting in a chair a few feet from the bed.

"I'm glad to see you're awake. How are you feeling?"

Harry stared at him blankly for a moment before looking back down at the covers. A strangled whimper escaped from his throat as Hermione's face flickered in front of him again.

"Harry?" Dumbledore asked again. "Are you alright?" He laid a hand on the boy's knee, but Harry immediately flinched away, scooting to the other side of the bed. There was a moment of silence before he heard footsteps, then a new voice.

"Albus? What's going on?" It was Professor Snape.

Harry scolded himself for acting so childishly, especially in front of one of his worst enemies, and looked up at the man. He was shocked to see that the face that was usually filled with such contempt was a mask of concern.

"Harry, we can't help you unless you speak to us," Snape said.

Harry shook his head, fighting tears. He would not cry, not in front of them.

Dumbledore sighed and stood. Harry cringed, expecting a blow for his disobedience, but seeing the gentle look on the professor's face, he sat back again, feeling foolish. "Whenever you feel ready to talk, Harry, we are here to listen. You will be transported to Snape Manor tomorrow morning, so get some rest."

Harry's expression stayed blank at this, but he was secretly revolted at the idea of staying at Snape's home. How was he supposed to feel safe around that man if he couldn't even trust Dumbledore anymore? As both men stood to leave, Harry tucked his legs up to his chest and hugged them tightly. He watched Snape glance back at him before leaving the room, before breaking down. He began rocking back and forth, stifling his sobs into his knees. He didn't know what to do- he couldn't talk about what had happened to him, but he couldn't exactly ignore everyone either. He hated Snape, he hated the Death Eaters who had tortured him, he hated that Hermione was dead, but more than anything else, he hated himself. My fault. My fault.

He stayed like that for what seemed like hours before finally drifting off to sleep.