I apologise for the lateness of this chapter. Several things have occurred in my life including an unexpected hospitalisation to have a benign tumor removed from my ovaries. I wrote most of this as I was recovering. I thank all of you for your continued patience during this troubled time in my life. I promise to answer each one of you who pmed me in the following days ahead.

A big hug to all my new followers as well as the individual people who took the time to review my story. It was all of you who inspired me to continue writing. It was as cathartic to me, as it was to Harry.

Also a small note to say chapters five and six were rewritten and expanded to show more of Draco. It is a little extra treat. Also, for those of you wanting more of a back story for Hermione and Draco, fear not, it will all be explained in due time along with how Severus survived.

Many exciting twists ahead, so please have patience and stay along for the ride!

Harry was dead.

Then again being dead would have meant blissful numbness from the wave of emotions threatening to engulf him, which meant he was unfortunately, very much alive.

He only wished he was dead.

Burying his face in his trembling hands, Harry squeezed his eyes shut trying to ignore the letter that was laid carefully on the table in front of him. He gave a bitter laugh as his mind wandered to his old disastrous Occlumency lessons with Snape, wishing now he'd paid better attention; though at this point he wasn't even sure if Occluding would be enough to block out the pain that was licking at his heart like open flames.

Severus' letter had arrived at breakfast with his usual morning owl post. As always, his day had brightened considerably at the sight of the bleak, prison issued stationary sitting midst the stack of more colourful but forgettable correspondence; invitations to celebrations he'd never attend, charities that would be honoured to have the boy who lived endorse them, or marriage proposals that would make even Lockhart lose his trademark smile.

A huge grin had spread over his face as he plucked the drab coloured packet from the bundle which he tossed to the ever-growing pile of disregarded post that loomed on the corner of his kitchen table. Harry always promised himself he'd eventually sort through the lot, but having to face the hateful stack of unwanted attention always made him procrastinate another day. The only post he ever looked forward to was the occasional postcards from friends on holiday, his Quidditch Quarterly Journal, and of course Severus Snape's replies. It took a while to admit it to himself, but receiving a letter from the surly wizard was usually the highlight of his week.

Hell, if he wanted to be honest with himself, it was probably the highlight of his life.

Exchanging barbs with the often acerbic man had filled him with a sense of purpose and contentment he hadn't even realised was missing. Regardless of what people thought of Severus Snape, he knew there wasn't a single person on earth who would ever understand him better than this one man. As their correspondence progressed, Harry became more aware of their many similarities ranging from mutual traumatic upbringings to the manipulation each had endured from a wizard they had trusted as both a mentor and a friend. It was this growing affinity which Harry treasured, and he looked forward to their exchanges with each letter penned.

Unfortunately, It was also this same sense of connection which made the scathing reply lying on his kitchen table that much more difficult to bear.

Grabbing the hateful letter, he abandoned his cold breakfast to pace the narrow halls and empty rooms of 12 Grimmauld Place. Turbulent emotions rolled over him in angry waves which crested and broke as he reread the letter countless times, his mind trying to grapple with the completely unexpected turn Severus' demeanor had taken. Though he had been caustic in his previous letters, he had never been this cruel to him, even at his worst when he was his teacher at Hogwarts.

After everything he had done for the man (hell, was still doing for him!) not only to get him released from Azkabn early, but to finally have his name cleared in the wizarding world, how could Severus think that all he wanted from him was information on his mum? Did the man really think he was that shallow especially after everything they had shared in writing, not to mention the memories that had been bestowed to him by the Potions master himself when he thought he was dying? In all this time, never once had he asked a single question about his parents, especially Lily Potter. After viewing Severus' memories, Harry had made a vow to never go down a path he understood was simply too painful for Severus to discuss. If Severus ever wanted to volunteer information on his own, then he would gladly listen, but if not, he knew better than to ask.

He cared too much to ask.

Fuck the ungracious git…

Harry slammed open the door to the small glasshouse he had added as an extension when he'd first started renovating Grimmuald Place, and strode out into the late afternoon sun. The tiny magical garden was his sanctuary and people knew that if he couldn't be found anywhere in the house, then he was probably in the garden tending to his small beds of fragrant herbs or the surrounding rose bushes he had begun planting in the spring. Missing the lush greenery of Hogwarts in addition to always being kept indoors during his childhood due to his aunt and uncle's fears of being seen by the neighbours, Harry had been determined to have some sort of connection to the outdoors, especially while living within the darkened and desolate rooms of Sirius' ancestral home. The glasshouse had been his answer and thankfully Neville Longbottom had volunteered his assistance in its creation. In gratitude, Harry had offered to grow an array of herbs and magical plants that Neville could use in his personal research as a studying herbologist since Minerva had stated that Hogwarts only had a limited amount of space that could be used for such purposes. The arrangement had worked perfectly, and Harry now had this small space he could call his haven. The mini atrium was also home to a small tree Neville had imported from the States called a Snowy Mespilus. He had planted it in early November and by spring its slender branches had burst with clouds of white star-shaped blossoms that reminded Harry of lazy summer skies. He usually found peace under its comforting presence and wrote many of his letters to Severus there.

Hoping for the calm he desperately needed, he made his way to his usual spot, the letter still clutched in his hand.

Slumping against the lone tree, Harry looked up at the sky through the magical glass rooftop and watched the afternoon slowly bleed into evening leaving wisps of pink and violet streaks in its wake. Even though he knew Severus could not see this explosion of sunset from where he was in the North Atlantic, he knew he would eventually see the light of the evening stars trying to peek through the velvet sky. Usually Harry took comfort in the fact that both he and Severus could see the same stars wherever they were. It made him feel more connected to the man however distantly, but now as he saw the early evening stars twinkling overhead, he felt nothing but the cold vastness sweeping between them.

Taking the hateful letter, he crumpled into a tight ball, and flung it as far as possible. He no longer needed it. He had the most important parts etched into his memory:

I do not need your help.

I do not need your redemption.

I do not need your nonsensical friends.

Most important Mr Potter, I do not need you, and never shall.

The last part had hurt him in a way that could only be compared to the stabbing hopelessness he'd felt after Sirius' death. As he leaned heavily against the familiar trunk of the tree, his thoughts about the Potions master scattered like the fallen petals that had drifted from the swaying branches to make room for the new buds of an early summer. As the chill of the evening air gripped him, he wrapped his cloak firmly around himself like a shield, and snuggled further against the old trunk waiting for the darkness to swallow him like the despair wrapping around his heart.

It was in the early hours of morning that Draco found Harry asleep under the tree, his cloak entwined tightly around him, glasses askew on the small patch of grass. Draco sighed heavily knowing something must have happened. He and Hermione had tried Floo calling Grimmauld Place several times the previous day to inquire if Harry had received any word from Severus. It had been quite a while since any of them had heard from him, and it was nearing the time to bring his monthly care package. Harry had mentioned that Severus might enclose a small list of books or sanitary supplies in his reply, and Draco had wanted to procure them as early as possible to make sure they were ready, but the last few weeks had brought no owl from Azkaban.

As time passed, Harry had become increasingly anxious that something bad had happened to the Potions master, but Draco had assured him, having known his godfather his whole life, that there were times when Severus needed space and it was best not to push him; in other words, he would write when he was ready.

However as days turned into weeks, even Draco started to grow concerned, but made sure to keep his worries known only to Hermione. He kept reminding himself that if something bad ever truly happened to Severus, he would be the first notified since he was family. So far his own private inquiries into Severus' wellbeing had come back positive; he was alive and as well as any prisoner could be considering he was in a wizarding prison.

He simply did not wish to write.

Draco looked down at Harry's peaceful form and almost hated to wake him. He knew that Harry never slept well, and though it went unspoken between the two wizards, they both knew why.

Harry often invited him and his fiancée to stay at Grimmauld Place for short intervals in order to acquaint them with the home that would eventually become theirs after Harry began his apprenticeship at Hogwarts in the fall. It was during one of these visits that Draco finally understood why Harry often appeared tired or haggard, no matter how cheerful he may appear.

After a rich dinner which Hermione had cooked along with a shared bottle of Merlot to end the evening, the three of them had retired sated and ready for a peaceful night's slumber.

Or so they thought.

Without warning, Draco and Hermione had been ripped from sleep when the calm night was suddenly shattered by piercing screams and hysterical sobbing. The two of them had raced from their bedroom on the second floor and up to the third which held the master bedroom and the source of the anguished cries.

Harry's room.

Flinging the door open, both Draco and Hermione stood frozen to the spot, their hearts stopping mid beat at the sight which greeted them.

Harry was naked and drenched in sweat, the sheets twisted around him almost like a coiled snake wanting to strangle the last breath of air from his writhing body. His arms were thrashing and flinging over his face as if trying to block out whatever horror he was witnessing. His mouth was open in a silent cry for help, only emitting an occasional scream when whatever demon he was battling seemed to allow him.

Draco, seeming to have recovered his senses first, was about to run over and shake Harry awake when Hermione placed a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder and stilled him.

'If you wake him like this, he won't know where he is and will be even more terrified. He needs to wake up slowly on his own Draco. I've witnessed Harry in this state before when we were hunting Horcruxes. It's night terrors,' she whispered, her eyes haunted with the memories.

Draco turned to stare at his fiancée with unabashed shock. 'Have you lost your mind Hermione? LOOK AT HIM! We simply can't leave him like this! There's got to be something….'

Hermione's deep brown eyes locked with his lightest grey and the wisdom and strength he had fallen deeply in love with, shone through like a beacon in the night, making him silent once again.

'Trust me Draco,' she said in a firm but soothing voice. 'I've seen this before from victims of severe trauma, especially from those who have suffered through the effects of the war. Go get my bag Dragon and then go back to bed and wait for me. There's nothing more you can do here but cause him further humiliation if he wakes up. I promise I shan't be long.'

As Draco looked from the flailing man and back to his fiancée, he knew she was right. Hermione was always deeply connected to those around her, especially working with less fortunate or victimized people in the magical world as she studied Wizarding Law. Psychological and magical damage was her forte.

He silently padded back to their room and grabbed her infamous beaded bag from the wardrobe, before making his way back to Harry's room and placing it on the nightstand. Hermione was already sitting on the bed and gently running light fingers through Harry's damp hair as she whispered soothing incantations that were too low for Draco to hear. Though Harry was still whimpering, he was no longer thrashing around, so he knew that whatever Hermione was doing was working its own magic. He learnt long ago not to question her wisdom in these matters nor her words.

He bestowed a small kiss on the top of Hermione's nest of curls before making his way back to their room on the second floor. He slipped into bed and crawled into the warm spot that had been his fiancée's, hugging her pillow to his chest. He knew only too well the viciousness of the nightmares Harry suffered, although his had been of a different nature. It was only through Hermione's constant love and healing that he was finally able to set them free.

Harry had no one he could turn to, and wondered how the hell he survived day after day.

It was about an hour before he heard the creak of their door opening, and the comforting warmth of his lover slipping into bed and wrapping herself around him. Neither spoke. There were no words needed, as it was understood this would never be spoken of unless Harry himself wanted to do so. It was a long time before either of them found sleep.

Harry never again failed to cast a Silencing Charm before he retired to bed.

Draco never mentioned the incident, and neither did Harry, but they both knew it was one of the causes whenever Harry looked like hell or dark circles would appear under his eyes that were too much for even a glamour to hide.

The other cause was usually a disagreement with Severus, which tore Harry apart more than the man would ever admit.

Sometimes Draco preferred the nightmares for those were far easier to solve with the Dreamless Sleep Potion he knew Harry took whenever they became too difficult or prolonged to handle. Severus however, was a much more complex matter, especially if his hunches on the situation were correct.

And if they were, Merlin help them all.

Draco was about to try and wake the sleeping man, when something small and round caught his eye a few feet away. Walking over to the object, he picked it up and realised immediately what it was.

His heart sank.

Unfurling the tightly balled letter, he spread it out as best as he could against his knee, before pulling out his wand and casting a Lumos. Silently, he began to read.

Time stood still, and not even a breath of wind seemed to ruffle his hair as he scoured the page. Finally, he lifted his grey eyes from the letter and settled them on the sleeping wizard under the tree.

With a deep sigh, he carefully folded the crumpled parchment and tucked it safely into his cloak. He had only read it once, but it was enough for him to confirm all the suspicions he had held inside.

Draco knew Severus far too well, and it was about time Harry had that same understanding.

For the first time in a long while, Draco saw a glimmer of hope in this situation. Striding to the sleeping man with confidence, he urgently woke Harry up.

They had a lot of talking to do.

Later that night, long after Draco had returned to Hermione, Harry sat at his kitchen table with fresh parchment and ink spread out before him. Tea was steaming in a china mug to his left and Severus' letter was sitting on his right as a reminder of everything he and Draco had spoken of.

Dipping his quill into the inkwell, he began his reply to the older wizard, a soft smile playing on his lips.

Severus would most definitely get the ten questions he asked for.

But nothing he was expecting.