Chapter 56 – A Long Night

Lee was pacing their quarters, waiting for his dad—or anyone at all—to get back and clue him into how everything had gone. His dad had told him the basics of what was going to happen that evening, but no details; and now, as late afternoon became evening, and then late evening, Lee had begun to worry that something had gone wrong.

His dad had warded the entrance to their quarters only to allow a few select people in or out, and currently, under the watchful presence of Jimmy, Lee was not one of them.

Lee clenched his fists in frustration and threw himself down on their couch with a loud THUMP.

"Please!" He argued desperately with Jimmy.

"Sorry little dude! Your dad gave me strict orders. If I break them, he'll lose his confidence in me!" Jimmy answered back helplessly.

Lee knew Jimmy was right, but he still couldn't shake the feeling that something had gone horribly wrong, and somehow his dad now needed him.

"Please," he whispered, fighting valiantly against letting himself cry.

It was at that point that the door opened, and Lee quickly grabbed his wand and ducked down at the end of couch, hiding himself from view. Even though Severus had assured him time and time again that no one could hurt Lee from within their home, the fear was still there.

Lee's eyes widened in surprise as Professor McGonagall made her way into their quarters.

"Lee? Are you still up?" She called out as she walked in, shutting the door behind her with a low clunk.

"Is my Dad okay?" He asked, popping up from his hiding place.

McGonagall flinched at his sudden appearance, putting a hand to her chest in surprise.

"Goodness gracious Lee! What were you doing down behind there?"

Lee looked at her with a critical eye, annoyed that she hadn't answered his question. She looked tired, and her robes were wrinkled. Her hair, though still in a bun, looked somewhat wild—as though she had put it up in a hurry.

"Where's my dad?" He asked in a serious voice, looking her directly in the eyes.

"He's—," she said, hesitating for one small moment, "he's in the infirmary, being tended to by Poppy."

I knew it! He thought with an icy rush of fear through his stomach. Please let him be okay!

"I want to see him."

"He is resting now; you can see him in the morning," McGonagall answered him matter-of-factly.

He stared at her, surprise etched vividly across his features.

"I need to see him now," he said, repeating himself with a little more force.

"What you need to do, young man," McGonagall answered testily, "is to go to bed! It is long after midnight. In fact, you should have already been in bed to begin with!"

Why oh why did this forbidding version of his head of house have to come back now???

"You don't understand," Lee answered, fists clenched tightly at his sides.

"He needs me," he said, gritting his teeth against saying what he really wanted to say to her then.

"No, Mr. Snape. It is you who does not understand me. You are going to bed now, and then we shall see about letting you see him in the morning! Just wait until he learns about your atrocious behavior here tonight," she trailed off, clearly just then remembering what Snape's current status was.

Lee swallowed against his anger and tried once more.

"You're not us! You're not part of us! He would want me there. I know it!" He pleaded with her, his eyes wide in his head.

"You are just a boy, Mr. P-Snape," she responded in an even icier tone of voice.

She nearly called me Mr. Potter! How dare she!?

He growled at her and tried to rush past her, knowing in his heart that his was a stupid plan, but desperation making him try for it anyways.

Five minutes later found him staring at his bedroom door from where he sat upon his bed.

He had run towards the door, and she had simply transfigured him into a small fern for his troubles. While in that state, she had simply picked him up and put him into his room, before smirking and warding the door against his leaving.

Now—having returned to being a boy once more—he was pacing his room, fuming at the woman's audacity in thinking that she could keep him from his father!

"I want my dad, I want my dad!" He muttered to himself, curling his arms around his head and crouching on the floor as he repeated the mantra. He was so tense with the need to see his father with his own eyes that he didn't even notice that his fingernails were clawing lines into the flesh of his arms.

And then, an epiphany hit him and he dropped his arms to his sides as he quickly stood up. Blood was pounding in his ears as he made his quiet request to the empty room.

"Jayda."

She looked distraught as he outlined what was going on, but when he told her that McGonagall was keeping him from his father, she got downright indignant.

"Snapes' need being together!" Jayda squeaked emphatically, nodding her head up and down energetically; her bulbous eyes tearing up at the idea of keeping her master and his son unnecessarily apart.

And with that, she snapped her fingers and they disappeared from the room with a small pop.

McGonagall didn't even realize that Lee had left.

. . .

"Dad?" Lee asked in a tremulous voice.

Severus Snape lay unconscious on the bed in front of him, propped on his right side, face forwards.

They were in a small private room at the back of the infirmary; a place that Lee had never ventured before. At any other time, he would have taken the opportunity to look around more closely, but at that moment, he only had eyes for the ill looking man before him. Jayda had just popped him in here, and then left without another word. Truth be told, he hadn't even noticed her departure.

"Dad?" He asked, his voice rising as his fear increased. He took a step forwards to where his dad was lying so still and quiet. The man's left arm was bandaged tightly, but otherwise, he looked the same as ever. He was even still wearing his standard black robes; Poppy having finally decided that he was likely to be more comfortable in them than he would have been in infirmary issued pajamas.

Lee took another step towards his dad and reached out a hand to lightly touch his dad's shoulder.

"Come on dad," he said in a quivering voice. "It's time to get up now," he sniffed, wiping a hand under his glasses hurriedly.

"You can't sleep yet," he continued on, ignoring the way his fingers were shaking. "You still gotta k-kiss me g-g-goodnight," he stammered, blinking rapidly.

"And you haven't asked me," he took a deep breath, "you haven't asked me if I've brushed m-my teeth yet." He shook his dad's shoulder a little, feeling his heart beating rapidly in his ears.

But the dark clothed man would not respond to him.

"Dad," he stated simply. "Come on dad; wake up. It's just me, it's j-just Lee," he sniffled, taking his glasses off and wiping his eyes angrily.

Glasses still in hand, he tried again.

"Daddy," he said, speaking in a more desperate tone of voice. "You haven't asked me how my d-d-day went. You always do that, daddy," he said, unable to stop his lip from trembling now.

"Who's going to keep me from getting lost?" He whispered hurriedly around hitching breaths. "You're the only one—," he sniffled again, "you're the only one who's ever held my hand—and—and kept m-m-me s-s-s-safe," his breath hitched and his entire body trembled for a moment.

"And you never wanted to l-lose m-m-me," he said around the tears that were falling freely now, wetting his shirt collar. Blindly, he put his glasses down on the table next to his dad's bed.

"Who's gonna hold me at night???" He asked in desperation, quickly toeing off his shoes; an idea suddenly forming in his mind.

"Who's gonna tell me—gonna tell me that they l-l-love m-me?" He asked, swallowing thickly before pulling himself up onto the bed and looking his daddy directly in the face.

"Oh daddy, please wake up." He whimpered, sniffling forcefully as he lay down next to the feverish form of his beloved protector.

"You still have to teach me to sh-shave, someday. And that's, that's not for a little while still, daddy," he said, his voice becoming more muffled as he hid his face against his daddy's warm chest.

"Please don't—please don't," He gasped, unable to actually voice his request for the man not to die.

Not now, he thought wildly. Not now that I know what it's like—what it's like to have a daddy.

"Please," he said instead. "Please daddy. I-I n-need you. I didn't even know it—isn't that strange, daddy? I didn't know that I needed you," he said, still crying as he buried his head in his daddy's robes, his fingers tightly wound in the dark fabric.

"Who's going to make me feel b-b-better after my nightmares???" He asked, squeezing himself up tightly next to his daddy, trying to pretend that the man was holding him back just like he always did.

"No one else can touch me when I sleep. Everyone else gets hurts," he babbled hurriedly.

"Everyone around me alwaysalways gets hurt. And now you—and now you; oh daddy, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry! Please get better! Please wake up, please daddy, please, please," he said, barely able to speak around his anguished tears.

His body was shuddering, wracking with his sobs, even as he began unbuttoning the front of his daddy's robes. His fingers were badly shaking, but he finally got enough of them open so that he could squeeze his way inside them.

Then, as fast as he could, he buttoned them back up behind himself. Now, with his eyes closed—the tears still leaking out just as hard as before—he could imagine that the tightness of the cloth behind his back really was his dad's arms.

"Oh daddy, please," he begged quietly, his nose up against his daddy's neck. He was wetting the man's shoulders with his tears, but he didn't care. He was probably stretching out the man's robes, but he didn't care. He had both hands tightly fisted in his daddy's shirtfront and he wasn't going to let go.

Never, never, never again, he chanted wildly in his mind, while his body curled up in his SLOB position.

"I'm your SLOB daddy—your small lump of boy—that's what you c-c-called me daddy. Remember Daddy? Remember? I'm your SLOB! I'm not your freak or your idiot or your w-w-worthless piece of sh-sh-shit," his mouth quivered wildly.

"I'm your SLOB! Please, daddy. Please, pl-pl-please! I'm yours," he tried once more, his breaths hitching spasmodically around nearly every word. He rubbed his wet face against his daddy's shirt, as the force of his tears briefly increased.

"You love me, daddy. You do. You said so. You did," he said, beginning to babble again.

"And I love you daddy—m-more than anyone else in the whole world. Please," he said, his muscles trembling, as his tears finally began letting up.

His body and head ached, but the pain in his heart was easily the worst of all. He pushed his face and head against his daddy's torso once more, burying himself as far as possible into his daddy's embrace.

"Please daddy." He whispered in exhaustion.

"I can't do this again," he added, barely conscious of what he had said; sleep quickly overtaking his senses.

He never even heard the click of the door as it shut quietly behind him.

. . .

"I think you two have seen quite enough," Kingsley Shackelbolt said, peering down sternly at the two frightened looking boys before him.

"I'm sorry sir," Neville answered shamefully, staring resolutely at the floor.

"Look at me," Kingsley said in a commanding tone.

Neville looked up at him, showing Kingsley how red and puffy his eyes were. Behind him, Draco stood nearly motionlessly—his hands and arms tightly wound around the Gryffindor's arm. Like Neville, Draco's eyes and face showed recent evidence of having just cried, but unlike the other boy, Draco's tears still showed wetly on his face.

"Where are you supposed to be? Show me," Kingsley instructed softly, not allowing his emotions to show on his face.

The boys led him down the hallway—well, Neville did the leading, really—to another nondescript door and walked in without knocking. Kingsley followed them quietly like a large hulking bodyguard. He shut the door behind him and quickly glanced around the room.

There were two beds in the room, each pushed up against a different wall. There was a trunk under each boy's bed, one scratched and dented—although still structurally sound—while the other was pristine and sleek. It was not hard for the auror to guess which bed was which. However, he noted with interest that only one of the beds actually looked as though it had really been slept in.

He had been told about these two boys, and how they had come to be staying together in the infirmary. It was a mind boggling tale if he had understood Poppy correctly, and now as he looked at the two boys standing nervously before him, he felt that things were only going to get stranger.

"Why were you eavesdropping? Shouldn't you two have been asleep some time ago?" He asked, knowing that he looked imposing and not really caring. He was too tired for that.

"Dr-Draco had to go to the bathroom," Neville answered, his voice just barely a whisper.

"And you had to accompany him?" Kingsley knew why, but he was curious to see what the young Gryffindor would say.

"He can't go alone, sir," Neville said, looking absolutely miserable.

"So you were going to the bathroom," Kingsley stated in a questioning tone.

"Er, coming back actually," Neville clarified softly.

Good—one less thing, Kingsley thought idly.

"And so you decided to stick your noses where they didn't belong because—?" He looked at them intently and noted with interest that they were both staring at the floor now, but only Neville was truly looking contrite for his actions. Draco, on the other hand, merely looked cowed and terrified.

What on earth have they been through this year?

"It's my fault sir, I'm sorry sir," Neville blurted out, his face turning red as he admitted his fault.

"Why?" Kingsley asked in a soft voice.

"I heard Lee's voice, and I, well I-I," Neville stammered.

"Why don't we sit down?" Kingsley softly suggested, feeling sudden pity for the boys standing before him.

"Yes sir," Neville whispered in relief, quickly scrambling out of his way. He headed to his bed, Draco following quickly behind him.

"If I may?" Kingsley asked, waving a hand towards the other bed.

"S-Sure," Neville said quietly, after glancing quickly over at the pale haired boy sitting beside him.

"Is this Draco's bed?" Kingsley asked.

"Uh, yeah—er, yes sir." Neville answered.

"Is this where he sleeps?"

"It's where he goes to bed," was Neville's odd response.

Kingsley sat down gingerly on the bed, looking it over with a practiced eye.

"It seems comfortable enough."

"It's the same as mine, sir," Neville whispered. Draco was once again latched to his arm, Kingsley saw with interest.

"Except it doesn't have you," Kingsley added for him.

Neville shook his head in the negative.

"Is Draco your friend?" Kingsley asked, curious as to how the boy would respond.

Neville looked up at him at that question. The confusion was easy to read on his face.

"I guess, sort of," he answered slowly.

"Was he your friend before?" Kingsley asked.

"No, not really," Neville admitted.

"But now?"

The round faced boy in front of him hesitated, biting his lip and looking at his fingers—as though they held clues on how he should answer.

"Now he's all alone. He feels safe with me, I think," Neville said finally, looking back at Draco once more.

"Draco?" Kingsley's tone indicated that he was now speaking to the thin blond haired boy.

Kingsley watched with concern as the thin blond haired boy flinched, but continued to stare at the floor.

"He probably won't talk to you. He hasn't said anything to anyone yet, except me," Neville supplied.

"Have you tried asking him about who took him? Or where he was when he was taken?" Kingsley asked softly, his attention back on Neville.

Neville had barely opened his mouth to speak when a sound came from the small boy beside him.

"Cold," Draco whispered to them, his eyes fixed permanently on the floor.

Neville's eyes had opened widely with Draco's admission, but now they resumed a more thoughtful look.

"What else do you remember, Draco?" Neville asked, speaking very gently and calmly to the other boy.

Kingsley watched with some amazement as the young Malfoy slowly raised his eyes to look at Neville.

"Cold. Hurt," the boy said, commencing his short answer with a soft sob.

. . .

Neville looked at the smaller boy next to him and felt his heart clench down hard at hearing the pitiful sound that had escaped his former bully's lips.

Silently he put an arm around the boy and drew him in closer to the warmth of his body. He knew that Shackelbolt was watching them closely, but he didn't care.

Neville had overheard Madam Pomfrey speaking to Professor Snape about what had happened to the smaller boy, and nearly had been physically sick with what she had revealed to the older Slytherin.

Like Ron, and possibly Lee—as he had begun to suspect—Draco Malfoy had been raped and beaten. And if that wasn't bad enough, he had been raped and beaten by at least two different men, if not a few more. He had been starved, and he had been tortured; all for the sick sadistic pleasure of two monsters.

It was hard to remember his old grudges against the blond boy with those thoughts in mind. And, given that Draco didn't seem to be able to remember either, it seemed silly to continue on with the dynamics of their previous animosity filled relationship. It was almost as though they had both been given a second chance.

Neville, who often had caught himself wishing for exactly such a thing regarding his parents, was therefore not one to ignore such an opportunity.

"Hurt," the boy beside him whimpered again, clutching back at Neville hesitantly. "Pain. Screamed and screamed—wouldn't stop, wouldn't stop," Draco said, shaking silently beside him.

"Who Draco?" Shackelbolt interjected, making them both jump with his sudden reinsertion into their conversation.

Draco only turned frightened eyes onto Neville's face and shook his head back and forth wildly, his lower lip quivering.

"Can't—I-I-I can't," Draco said, surprising them again, only this time with his use of the word, "I." It was a word that he had not used since Neville had found him sitting naked on his bed, shivering and injured.

"Draco," Shackelbolt spoke again. "We just want to help keep you safe," the large man said gently, his eyes looking pained after finally hearing Draco speak.

"Done is done," Draco answered shakily. "Was hurt—can't fix," he said dully, still speaking in fuller sentences; to the continued amazement of the others in the room.

"They should be punished for what they did," Shackelbolt said in a hard voice.

Draco only shrugged weakly from under Neville's arm; his head now turned into Neville's shoulder.

"He just wants to keep you from being hurt again, Draco," Neville whispered softly into his ear.

The boy just shrugged again, even as he opened his mouth to answer.

"He'll fail," Draco said matter-of-factly, his gray eyes staring at nothing as Neville continued to try and comfort him.

After a while, Shackelbolt got up and came to stand on the side closest to the Gryffindor.

"Do your families not care about you now?" He asked softly, looking at Neville carefully, causing a slight blush to come across the round faced boy's face.

"His doesn't. And mine," he paused, looking away for a moment. "Well, nothing's really happened to me, so there's not really any reason for her to worry."

Shackelbolt's lip twisted at his response, as though he were about to argue with what Neville had said. Neville insides twisted nervously as he waited for the man to speak.

"I wouldn't say that nothing has happened, Mr. Longbottom," the man said softly after another few moments, looking at him in a challenging way, as though he expected Neville to contest his statement.

But Neville had nothing to say to that, so he kept his mouth shut.

Shackelbolt looked away from them for a moment and then back again, his face suddenly very tired looking.

"If he says anything else about what happened, please inform either me or Madam Pomfrey," he told them in a slightly more formal voice, indicating an end to their conversation.

"Yes sir," Neville answered softly.

"But for now, I suggest you get some sleep. Don't let me find you eavesdropping again. If you need someone to talk to, tell Pomfrey to contact me. If I can, I'll come. And then we'll talk, understand?" The man looked at him sharply, leaving Neville floundering for something to say.

"Y-Yes sir," he answered finally, looking at the auror in some surprise.

The man—who was little more than a stranger to the two twelve-year old boys sitting on that bed—had just offered them something more valuable than all of the adults in Neville's life had ever thought of providing: Someone who was willing to listen to him just talk.

"You're certain, sir?" Neville checked, still not believing that Shackelbolt had really suggested such a ludicrous idea.

"More so than I've been in a long while," the man said seriously, looking at them both closely for another moment, before nodding to himself and exiting the room.

As soon as the door closed all the way, the lights abruptly dimmed down to a near blackness, save for an orb of light that was sitting in the same place the auror had been only previously.

Neville blinked at the small nightlight that had just appeared, and then a smile crept over his face as he realized where it had come from.

"Come on Draco," he said, pulling the boy under the covers with him.

It was the first night that he hadn't made Draco try to sleep in his own bed. The blond boy seemed to realize that as well, and expressed his thanks by nuzzling his nose against Neville's cheek gently.

Neville gasped at the sensation, but quickly controlled himself as Draco curled up comfortably around him. With the hand not occupied with the boy beside him, Neville reached out for the covers and pulled them up clumsily around them.

It didn't take long before both boys were fast asleep.

. . .

Standing in front of the bed which now held both the potions master and his son, Kingsley let out a deep sigh of regret for the two boys whose room he had just left.

"Poor kids," he whispered, his eyes falling on the top of Lee's head from where the small boy was buried in next to Severus.

He had been terrified earlier that day when the curse had been cast towards his lover. And afterwards, he had been surprised to discover just how hard the idea of nearly losing Severus had really hit him.

If—when Severus awoke, they were going to have to have a serious discussion about where their relationship was going, and whether or not Severus really wanted such a thing to develop between them.

For Kingsley had realized that his feelings for the snarky professor had now passed beyond the realm of simple fondness or desire, and were beginning to resemble what one might be able to describe as love, disturbingly enough.

Therefore, Severus simply had to wake up—just so Kingsley could see the expression on the man's face when he told him about his revelation.

Snickering quietly to himself, Kingsley pulled off his boots and padded quietly over to the opposite side of the bed. One small transfiguration spell later, and suddenly the bed was big enough for all three of them.

He lay down behind his lover and pulled the slightly smaller man into his chest gently, mindful of the small boy still mostly hidden in the front of Severus's robes.

"Nox," Kingsley whispered, before pressing his face firmly against his lover's back and closing his eyes tightly against the tide of rising fear in his heart.