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x

Slytherins

x

He arrives about half an hour later, totally unconcerned about such an appalling lack of punctuality. Trying to avoid one another is a nice concept, but we must have rules, and we must adhere to them, and being fifteen minutes late is simply unacceptable.

However, when Draco comes in behind him (and I belatedly realise that I have not specified that Potter cannot bring him), the rather offending and loud reproach I have prepared is reduced to: "Either be on time, or send a message, Potter."

"Teach us the Messenging Spell," Draco replies, setting a bag of – Salazar forbid – books on an empty counter.

"Please," Potter adds, nudging Draco.

"Please," Draco repeats dutifully, but with a scowl that rivals mine on a good day, and mumbles something that I do not catch, but Potter obviously does.

"It's a question of necessity," he explains to the Slytherin, who should be smarter by default. The quality of my house seems to be steadily decreasing. I shiver as I remember the 'clean-up' after the battle and the number of my students that had been killed there. It was a slaughter of the worst kind… I have not yet viewed the statistics, but I fear Slytherin is going to be very reduced in the next two or three years. "Besides, I've had half a decade to get used to it, and the principle isn't worth your life."

They turn to me and I pinch the bridge of my nose. This is not how I imagined I would spend this morning – I have potions to brew… though, Draco should be capable of brewing some of the more simple ones…

"Madam Pomfrey is going to need five standard batches of Pepper-up Potion, Mr Malfoy."

That will occupy him for about five hours and I will have the time to come up with Skele-Gro, and maybe even Bruise-healing Salve. I just hope that Potter will not be bored enough to explode something.

"Are you sure you want me to brew it?" Draco asks uncertainly. Lazy, is he? He can take it as another lesson in humility, Merlin knows he needs it.

"Yes, Mr Malfoy, I am sure."

He nods at me, exchanges a look with Potter, and they both shrug.

"The spell has higher priority," Potter remarks. He is a weird Gryffindor, handling with lives and favours.

"Both of you do know the Patronus Spell, is that correct?"

They both agree, Potter with a measure of surprise, and Draco seeks to explain.

"Father made me learn it when he found out you could do it. Besides, it was handy with hordes of dementors around the Manor." He shudders, and Potter briefly puts his hand on his shoulder. It is a strange gesture, almost like one could expect between friends.

"Then this will make the job easier," I say, breaking into their 'moment'. "Do not share this spell with anyone; it is one of the Order secrets."

x

The brats amaze me by learning the Patronus Messenging Spell so fast that I almost find it unfair to keep Draco working for five hours. I do not inform them of that, of course. I am next mystified by Potter delving into one of the books he brought and remaining engrossed for the entirety of the time it takes to brew five batches of Pepper-up.

I would like to know what is so gripping, but the little bastard keeps the text wrapped in a cover of newspaper, claiming that we are in potions laboratory and books are wont to be damaged if he does not treat them with caution. It must be the first time in his life when Potter 'treats a book with caution'.

Once the jars with ingredients are back on their shelves and the cauldron is clean, Draco takes Potter and they both retreat to the furthest corner, cast a Silencing Sphere and proceed to argue. I try to block them out, but it is hard, especially since I would very much like to know what is it they discuss so heatedly (at least in Draco's case; Potter once again does not seem emotional, merely adamant).

They manage to occupy themselves until dinner, skipping lunch, and then I remain solitary for a few blithe moments. It will not last long. I have to go and eat, lest Molly risks coming to my room to force-feed me.

x

At quarter past eleven I finally finish the last cauldron of Wound-cleaning Potion, and go make a round of the house. My body has become so accustomed to these nightly excursions that I will not be able to fall asleep without it.

Everywhere is dark and quiet, with the exception of Tonks's room, which I refuse to further contemplate. I escape the faint echo that leaks through the shoddy Silencing Charms and continue my walk upstairs… until I notice a sliver of orange light under the library door.

I should have learnt not to assume, but I fully anticipate finding a trio of Gryffindors or any combination of its members until I spot a lone Draco Malfoy sitting on a chaise transfigured from one of the straight-back chairs. The boy has his hair bound in a ponytail to keep it out of his eyes as he leans over a book and chants something in (most likely) French. The Darkness of the magic makes the hair on my arms rise.

I step up to him, but he ignores me until he has completed the charm, and then turns to me, not bothering to take the tip of his wand away from his temple.

"Draco?! What do you think you are doing?!"

He straightens and gives me the expression he has up till this summer reserved for Potter.

"Do not assume such familiarity with me, Professor Snape." To prevent me from keeping a mental advantage, he stands up. I realise that the times when I could tower over this boy are gone. I am still a foot taller than Potter, but Potter is tiny. Draco stands easily at height equal to mine, and I do not doubt that physically he is stronger. Nevertheless, he is very young and very inexperienced in mind games.

"It is Lord Malfoy to you when without class, and Mr Malfoy while within," he states. I grimace at him bitterly – I asked for that when I first called him by that blasted name. I was never one for attempting to avoid conflict, especially if it meant that I had to admit to a fault of mine. Something in my nature drives me to aggravate nearly each bud of animosity until it grows in a full-out hatred. That was what happened with Black and both Potters.

This new Potter seems like it will not work on him, but Draco can still be pushed around too easily.

"Lord Malfoy, what are you doing?"

"You have no authority over me here, Professor," he replies coldly. I might have to re-evaluate my opinion of him. "That title is a personal courtesy based upon our history, which I am not as quick to forget as you seem to be. You are not my teacher here, and neither are you a Death Eater with the capability and intention of informing my father, the Dark Lord and his lackeys of my perceived misdemeanours."

I am struck mute. He must have rehearsed that. Must have. My rants at inept students are infamous for such eloquence and notorious difficulty to understand, but they are rarely spontaneous. Can I be anticipated so easily? Or is there far more in Draco Malfoy than anyone is aware of? Both are hard to believe…

Still, what could make this… this simpleton cast a Dark Curse on himself?!

"I am trying to help you, stupid child!" How unappreciative can the brats be!

I find the answer to that rhetorical question in the next moment, when the tip of Draco Malfoy's wand touches my Adam's apple.

"Don't take that tone with me, Snape. Potter had no parents to deal with your attacks at him, but I have a guardian. One that you don't want to see pissed off."

I scoff.

"You think Potter would be bothered about you?"

To my great consternation, he laughs.

"You are blind, Snape. Blind, deaf, and with a selective memory. You can't hope to understand Potter… or me."

He shoves me. I stagger backwards, keep myself from falling, but Draco has effectively cleared his way to the exit. He strides across the room, carefully keeping the book he has been reading close to his body, preventing me from Summoning it.

"Draco Malfoy, come back here this instant!" I bellow, unconcerned about waking the inhabitants of the house, as the Slytherin in front of me has undoubtedly cast a Silencing Charm on the room.

He pauses and smirks at me.

"I had an E on my Potions O.W.L, Snape. I can't be arsed to suck up to you."

I stare at the back of the retreating boy. When did he start using such crude language? This cannot be Potter's influence – Potter does use profanities, but only in times of profound distress. I have never known Draco to be vulgar.

Then his last statement hits me, and I involuntarily sit down on the abandoned chaise. Draco had an E? He is the second best student in my class! I am going to have an entire class consisting of… Granger?

x

Thursday passes similarly as Wednesday. Potter and Draco are sequestered in the far corner of the laboratory, hidden behind their Silencing Sphere. They draw diagrams and schemes of something I have never come across (or something they are grossly misunderstanding).

I notice that Draco is much quieter than yesterday. He speaks only when he has to, keeps looking at his hands or knees, and when he needs Potter's attention, he captures it by tugging at his sleeve. I am worried, but I have to concentrate on potions. I resolve to find out what is wrong with him and put him right before the damage becomes irreversible.

With this goal in mind I return to my room after dinner, don robes that don't smell of potions, Disillusion myself, and go to the library, which has become (to Weasley's ever-growing horror) the semi-official children's common room when they were banned from the lounge.

I remain unnoticed, helped by the fact that I walk in during an argument. From what I understand, it is a fairly typical Malfoy-Weasley, pureblood-Muggleborn and Slytherin-Gryffindor confrontation, with Granger indignant about some slur, Ginevra pointing her wand at Draco, Ronald on the verge of a physical attack…

…and Potter sitting on the chaise, watching.

"If you strike him, I will hex you…" Potter says to his best friend. Weasley does not seem concerned, until Potter adds: "with something that Hermione can't counter." Draco sniggers at the fast retreat the red-haired menace calls upon hearing that. "Draco, wipe that expression off your face." Draco's smug smirk remains until Potter turns to glare at him. Then it is wiped instantly. "You will keep these comments to yourself. If the urge to share them is too overwhelming for you to withstand, write it down into a journal or something. That means not on a piece of paper you leave lying around…"

Ah, so that explains the scrimmage. Draco has had some smart comment about Weasley's intelligence, appearance or financial situation, or whatever it is he considers particularly amusing today, and Weasley felt it within his right to defend himself the only way he knew how to – with a physical counter-attack. Gryffindors are notoriously easy to aggravate – therefore the perfect targets of copious point-subtraction.

Draco adopts a customary shrewd look, which totally foils his attempt to smile. The boy could not look innocent if his life depended on it.

"And don't look for loopholes," Potter says from behind a book. "I don't care about technicalities." He does not even bother to look and check whether Draco actually is planning something. Then again, I would not have had to look, either.

"Why are you standing up for the ferret?! He insulted Hermione-"

"He did," Potter admits calmly, not sparing Weasley a glance. Draco slinks over to the chaise staying close to the book-cases, as far away from Weasley as possible. Such pitiful, petty cowardice. He should be ashamed, but Draco's first priority was always his own well-being, and cowardice is his way of self-preservation.

"Ha! You know he was wrong!" Weasley exclaims. His sister rolls her eyes, considers the argument closed, and disappears between the shelves. Granger sighs, sits on the carpet Indian-style and hides her face in her hands. Potter moves slightly, giving Draco enough space to sit next to him.

"Yes, he was wrong." Draco actually looks contrite at the gentle admonishment. "You should have let Hermione insult him back."

I have to cover my mouth to prevent a chuckle from escaping. Such a genius solution – allow Granger to insult Draco. An eye for an eye, a truly Gryffindor concept. Weasley makes a fish-impression, which is the first thing Granger sees when she finally braces herself enough to look. She immediately returns to hiding her face, muttering and shaking her head in exasperation.

"You… You Slytherin!" Weasley spits at Potter and storms out of the library, nearly knocking into me. Granger looks up again when the door slams shut.

"And that," she states wearily, "was Ron's idea of insult."

x

Granger, Ginevra and Draco actually come to a tentative truce before the girls excuse themselves and Potter (who has spent the entire time reading and pretending he was not there, and stepped into the conversation only when it needed moderating) remains alone with Draco.

For a long time there is silence, which does not seem to bother either of them, and I am inclined to abandon this fruitless watch (it is obvious that Potter does not hurt Draco, and neither does he let the other Gryffindors hurt him), when Draco shuts the volume he has been perusing and loudly sets it on the table.

"You're such a bloody hero…" he grumbles.

"Am not," Potter replies easily (and blatantly untruthfully), turning a page. "I promised I'd take care of you – that includes not letting Ron harass you. It also includes teaching you to keep your mouth shut."

Draco contemplates the statement. It is true that most of his past problems were caused precisely by his inability to shut up, but up to now he ignored any advice he received concerning that subject. Why would he listen to Potter if he did not listen to me?

"Keep my mouth shut…" He says slowly, actually managing to drag Potter's gaze away from the text. "…are you sure you want that?"

Draco tries to pretend subduedness, but there is glint of warning of something underhanded in his eyes, and Potter recognises it. His response is weary.

"Positi-"

He never gets to finish it, because Draco moves forward and… Merciful bloody Merlin, he kisses Potter. Bile is rising in my throat. I want to curse Potter for taking advantage of Draco, but it is far more likely that it is in fact Draco attempting to take advantage of Potter. I stay out of it, in the end, because it is none of my business, and I do not interfere in my students' love-lives as a rule.

I spin and hurry away, because this is something I definitely do not want to witness. I am almost out of there, when there is a wet sound suggesting that they have separated. I cannot help but look.

They are sitting facing each other, breathing faster than normal, and Potter wards Draco off with a hand on his breastbone.

"The relationship between us will not be romantic. You don't even like males, Draco. Find yourself a nice girl," he says evenly. If not even a molestation shakes that boy, there is something definitely wrong with him.

"But… you…" Potter what? Potter likes men? Well, knock me over with a feather…

Merlin, I cannot believe I just used that phrase! Within my own brain, nonetheless. Witnessing that scene must have traumatised me. Potter does neither confirm nor deny it, which is as good as an admission. Odd, how these things work out. If I were to point out which of my students was homosexual, I would have guessed them exactly the other way around.

"We are not talking about me here, Draco," Potter speaks patiently, still keeping his palm on Draco's chest. It is an intimate gesture, but Draco allows it despite the refusal he has just faced. "You seek comfort – but I can only give you emotional comfort. Mental and physical you have to find elsewhere."

"B-but… why?" Draco asks, bemused. He apparently does not know what he really wants. Comfort, perhaps, and maybe he believed for a while that a relationship with Potter would grant it, but it just shows how limited his knowledge of people and war is. Potter is, fortunately, aware of it.

"Because I am not sane enough to be able to anchor you. And the rest is self-explanatory."

Draco looks down, slightly sad. Potter clasps his shoulder.

We are all blind, myself included. This boy is nothing like his father, and very little like his mother. He is an icon and a killer at a time when he rightly should be a child. I hate that he makes me pity him just as much as I hate that he makes me afraid. I despise how he confuses me, so bloody righteous and noble, and at the same time ruthless and cold-hearted when necessity calls for it.

I abhor that I cannot abhor him anymore. Everything was so simple, but he had to go and make a mess of it. He just makes a mess of everything. Merlin, I am so tired…

"I… I'm grateful to you, Harry," Draco says quietly. "I'm grateful you did it… I was not worth the bother to anyone else. And now you listen to me whinging and… making an idiot of myself."

So he does realise what Potter gave him, after all. I am implicated in that statement, but I could not have done anything to help him. In the end I am thankful that there was someone to save at least one of my Slytherins.

"You're not an idiot," Potter tells him. "You're just confused. That's a perfectly normal state of mind. When you stop being confused… when everything is perfectly clear to you… then you have a problem."

I blanch. He should not know that. I know of one person who is like that – never confused about anything, always certain in his actions, always pinning mistakes on other people and punishing them… Absolute clarity. Absolute power. Absolute corruption.

Potter knows.

"Now go to sleep, and tomorrow you can check out the girls," he concludes and gives Draco a gentle push. The boy nods, mumbles something that might or might not have been 'Good night', and leaves.

"You can show yourself now."

He knew I was here? How?

He would not answer me, though, so I spare myself the embarrassment and cancel the Disillusionment, hiding my exhaustion behind a blank mask.

"When Draco kissed me you went for the door. The Charm doesn't work so well when you're moving," he informs me. He is right, but I had not expected him to be looking in such a situation. Maybe someday I will learn never to try and predict the brat.

"You are remarkably good at the parenting thing," I offer the historically first compliment to James Potter's only son. He does not seem taken aback by my sudden lack of resentment, rather merely doubtful of my motivation in pointing out his achievement.

"For having no example to follow, you mean?"

I inwardly wince – yes, that is what I rubbed his face in the day before yesterday, is it not?

"For being sixteen, in the centre of a war, saddled with a mentally unstable teenager, being less than stable yourself, having-"

"I think I got the point, Snape," he cuts me off, not bothering to hide his bitterness anymore (I have noticed, though, he does not show it to his friends). "I am a wonder-boy. Not much of a change, really."

Ah, yes. We do have common history, and I should not forget it, lest I do the mistake opposite to the one I did with Draco.

"I just meant that, for being seriously 'messed up', you do rather well."

He shrugs and his blank mask returns.

"Comes with the survival skills," he says flippantly. "I learnt to survive Draco Malfoy a long time ago. And to me it's easy – to me, everything is perfectly clear."

I gulp. He must be lying. Must be. If he is not… I refuse to contemplate the possibility.

"You are supposed to be the Boy-"

"-Who Lived, I know."

I gulp again and look around.

"You do not seem to be living much." I did not watch, but if I had watched, I would have seen how he had been stripped off his life, sliver by sliver, during this last year. Everything he enjoyed was taken from him until all that remained were his friends, and after the fight in the Ministry he fears that he will be the cause of their deaths.

"Did I ever?" he asks.

"Yes, you did."

He chuckles.

"Then I was a good actor."

I scoff at that. Yes, Potter's life was not all roses – in fact, it was mostly not roses – but that is not an excuse for melodrama.

"Do not be trite, Potter. It does not become you-"

"And I always am what becomes me, am I not?" he cuts in. Piercing green eyes look straight at me, but there is no challenge in them, only resignation.

"You are not going to kill yourself one of these days, are you?" I feel it prudent to ask. A dead Saviour will not do us much good. He has experienced a lot of pain and has the outlook for more yet; on the other hand, he does not necessarily have motivation to fight, either.

"And make Voldemort happy?" He shakes his head. "No, I don't think so. But…"

"But?"

With another shake of his head he passes me by on his way out.

"Nothing, Professor."

I am left alone to ponder what I witnessed here. Potter said all was perfectly clear to him.

Perfectly clear. Lies to his friends. Dislikes his authorities. Kills his enemies. Takes care of Draco. It does not sound simple, but it is. He said it when he talked to Draco, but I would wager now that he said it to me. He is not sane. To him, everything is clear.