Tw: talk of grief, mention of torture, suicide ideation, alluded to non-con towards a minor.

[The next day. Saturday 25th January]

Remus pops his head around Snape's classroom door.

"Good morning," he says.

"Hello," says Snape, putting down his book.

"I thought I'd find you here," he says. "You're not in the staff room much."

Snape looks at him expectantly, waiting for him to get his point across.

"I was wondering if you wanted to go to Diagon Alley for lunch on me, as an apology slash thank you for last time," Remus says.

"Last time?"

"Yeah. Christmas Day," says Remus. "I would've ended up drinking myself to death if you hadn't have come. So, lunch?"

"All right," says Snape hesitantly.

"Okay, meet me at the gates in five minutes."

Snape gets his coat from his room. He can't say he was expecting the offer. Over the last few weeks, they've been exchanging curt greetings in the corridors and short conversations at mealtimes, but nothing more. Snape assumed Remus was only bothering to speak to him out of courtesy, but it seems now that Remus might want to pursue a friendship. The idea that someone might want to be friends with Snape fills him with unease rather than hopeful excitement.

Snape arrives at the gate as promised within five minutes, where he meets Remus and they begin a brisk stroll down to Diagon Alley.

"You're looking chirpier," Snape observes. He decides not to address Remus' unexpected and somewhat touching suggestion of going for lunch and simply to see where today leads.

"I'm trying my best," says Remus. "How are you?"

"I'm fine," says Snape.

"I'm sorry, again, for Christmas and how you had to deal with me like that," he says. "I know I haven't mentioned it since, but I really appreciate you looking out for me."

"Someone had to," says Snape, then realises it's not the most gracious reply. "How have you been since then?"

"Not brilliant," says Remus. "But I haven't killed myself yet, so I must be doing something right."

Snape looks at him sharply. "You're not thinking like that, are you?" he frowns. "Grief is only temporary, Remus. You will get through to the other side of this. Time will heal."

"I know, I know. Don't worry yourself."

"I am worried now."

Remus smiles. "How moving."

Seeing the Ravenclaw's Quidditch captain stroll past reminds Remus of what he was planning to ask.

"Would you like to accompany me to the Quidditch match next Sunday?" he asks.

Snape can't suppress his curiosity any longer.

"Why are you acting like this?" he says.

"Like what?"

"Acting like we're best pals all of a sudden," says Snape, unable to disguise his bitterness. "When we talked in December, you sounded as if you'd rather die than make nice with me." He winces at the choice of words. "And then on Christmas, you weren't yourself, obviously. Anyone could've found you in that state and they'd have done the same, so please explain to me why you've decided now is the time to spontaneously take me to lunch when, I'm sorry Remus, but we're nothing more than strangers."

"Why would you say that?" Remus says, his eyes filled with confused hurt. "We're so much more than strangers."

"But why now? Why are we doing this?" Snape asks, gesturing to them both walking along the path. "There's a collection of professors back at Hogwarts who'd be more than happy to spend time with you, so what is it? Do you feel obliged because of Christmas? Are you paying me back? Do you feel sorry for me?"

"Is your self-esteem seriously so low that you can't fathom the possibility that someone wants to spend time with you?" Remus says, the corners of his eyes crinkling with sad confusion.

Snape doesn't know what to say to this, staring back at Remus with the same closed expression, making him feel the need to elaborate.

"I'm not doing this out of the goodness of my own heart, I'm not treating you as a charity case and I certainly don't feel obliged to do this because of Christmas," he says. "We got on well when we were younger, for a short while, and I'd like to get on well with you again."

Snape can hear the sweeping sadness in his voice, no longer filled with spite or rage or blame.

"Do you want to do this?" Remus asks as the pair come to a stop on the path. "Because we can turn around and go straight back to Hogwarts if you don't want to."

"It's not my call whether we're friends or not," says Snape. "It never was."

"Well, now it is," says Remus. "I want to put aside our differences of the past and try again. Start over, clean slate, and all that. It's no fun being alone."

"I'm perfectly happy alone," says Snape, feeling an alien sensation as Remus' smile drops.

"Really?" he says.

"Yes."

"I see," says Remus. He clasps his hands together. "I won't bother you further then. Good day."

Snape stares after him as he starts walking back to Hogwarts, a sinking feeling in his chest. For once, it seems as if his standard tactic of shutting everyone out is hurting himself more than anyone else. He has no one, that much became clear at Christmas, not that it was any revelation. No family, no friends, no partner, no children. Maybe it would be nice to have someone care whether he lived or died. And he can't help but feel bad for turning Remus away, watching him walk back to Hogwarts with slumped shoulders.

"Wait, Remus," Snape calls.

Remus turns around, a few paces away. "What?"

Snape hesitates, making eye contact, hoping his eyes would relay whatever his mouth can't.

Remus' frown softens- at least Snape is attempting to talk to him. "I'm afraid I'm not skilled at the art of telepathic communication."

Snape is out of practice at talking to people, decades out of practice, but he doesn't want to refuse Remus' offer; it might be the last person who bothers with him until he dies, so he puts aside his pride.

"I apologise," he says.

Remus raises his eyebrows. "An apology? From the esteemed Severus Snape? What a day."

"I will go to lunch with you," says Snape, ignoring his sarcasm.

"And you assume I want to after that?" says Remus, the sharp edge on his words fading.

Snape falters at this, and he spends a few seconds staring at Remus with his mouth slightly open trying to think of a response.

Remus takes pity on him. "Come on then," he says, walking back over to him. "Lunch."

Snape nods gratefully and they continue walking to Diagon Alley.

The sun shines low in the sky, and neither of them feel the weak rays of warmth hit them. A frosty wind chill sweeps through them and shakes the branches of nearby bare trees.

"Do you really want to kill yourself?" Snape asks abruptly.

"You don't hold back, do you?" Remus says with an amused smile, unphased by his lack of tact.

"Just answer the question."

Before he can reply, Slughorn approaches them, walking up the path in the opposite direction as a welcome distraction, and Remus gives him a little wave.

"Hallo, Horace," Remus says, exercising his most pleasant smile which Slughorn mirrors.

"Good morning," he says, acknowledging Snape with a short nod. "Lovely day, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is."

"Off to Diagon Alley?"

"Yes, we're just off for a spot of lunch," says Remus. "What are you up to?"

"I'm heading back to Hogwarts. I've got a busy afternoon," says Slughorn. "I'll leave you two at it." He eyes the unlikely pairing with suspiciously.

"See you later," Remus says.

Snape doesn't contain the disdainful grimace he throws Remus after the short exchange.

"Remus? Please answer me before you find another convenient distraction."

"It's a bit of a personal question, don't you think?"

"Okay, tell me about how you've been instead," says Snape. "Generally. With Sirius. I know you don't talk about him to anyone else, so tell me. Get it off your chest."

Remus pauses before speaking.

"We don't have to," says Snape. Subtlety was never his strong suit, and he's slowly realising how lacking his social skills are. "If you'd rather discuss something else."

"It's not that," says Remus. "I mean, I'm fine to talk about him, it's just, I don't know."

"It's just what?"

"I don't want to overdo it," he says. "I haven't spoken a word about this to anyone and I'm afraid that if I got started, I'd never stop."

"It's at least another ten minutes to our destination," says Snape. "Which is ten minutes that I do not plan to fill by talking about the weather, so if you've got something to say, which you do, then go ahead and say it."

"You're not one for small talk, are you?" Remus says.

"No."

"Okay, I suppose I could talk for a bit."

"Please do," says Snape.

Remus considers what to say for a long moment, admiring the snowdrops bordering the path.

"It's just, you know what it is, Severus?" he sighs. "It's the guilt. I can't put into words how bad I feel so bad for abandoning him in that hell-hole and I have no idea how he must've felt all those years. He probably thought I hated him, and to be honest, I did. He tried to get in touch with me and I completely blanked him because I thought he was responsible for all my best friend's deaths. I should've believed him."

"You couldn't have known," Snape says.

"I could've listened to him," Remus protests. "Imagine how he must've felt in there, alone for twelve bloody years. He wasn't the same when he got out, he was constantly on edge, shaking like a leaf, wouldn't go near people. They didn't feed him properly either, he was skin and bones, and he looked as though he hadn't had a wash for years. He had this blank look in his eyes like all the emotion had been sucked out of him. They tortured him, Severus." Remus swallows back tears. "He wouldn't talk to me about it, but I know they tortured him in there. There were marks and cuts and these awful burns all over his body. Someone did that to him. He didn't want me to touch him. He wouldn't let me-" He cuts himself off, afraid if he continues speaking, afraid if he admits any more out loud that his heart would shatter.

"That prison changed him," he says. "It made him into a shell of a man. It's my biggest regret, leaving him to rot in there. It wasn't the same when he got out and even then, we couldn't reconnect properly because he was constantly on the run. I must've spent about five days with him in the last fifteen years, that's awful, isn't it?"

Snape nods sadly.

"So tell me why it hurt like a bitch when he died," Remus continues. "It hurts more than when he was torn from me and dragged into that godforsaken prison. That was the end, really, of our thing. It felt as good as death, thinking the person you love betrayed you just to find out they never did and you've wasted the best years of your life hating their guts. Then imagine knowing you let the person you love to be tortured for over a decade. He was probably sat alone in a dark cell every day wondering when I was coming to get him. And I never did."

Remus turns away and covers his face with his hands, his voice catching in his throat.

"In his letter, he begged me to get him out, he begged me to believe that he was innocent. The last line, the line fucking line," he gasps, "was 'I will wait for you.' What the fuck, Severus? Why the fuck did I leave him in there. He was waiting every day for me to come and rescue him, and I never fucking did. I left him there. Why did I leave him in there?"

Snape looks at him helplessly. "You thought he betrayed you."

"He didn't though," groans Remus. "He didn't. I betrayed him."

"Fuck, you must think I'm one right miserable bastard," Remus sniffs after a minute. He wipes away the tears then gives a friendly nod to some passing seventh years and attempts to compose himself.

"So obviously, when he escaped and it turned out that it was Peter the whole fucking time who was responsible, it felt like a second chance. I truly thought I had him back, for good. He wasn't the same but we were making progress. The week before he died, he hugged me. He hugged me, Severus," he says, his voice breaking. "After refusing to be touched by anyone for two years, he fucking hugged me."

He kicks the ground. "It was the finalness. That's not a word but you know what I mean? Like, this is it. He's dead now. You'll never see him again. That's what broke me. And he died right in front of my fucking eyes, how's that for a sick joke? I was looking right into his eyes-"

He breaks off, holding a hand to his mouth to stifle tears.

"I'm sorry," says Snape, stopping with him. "That's awful."

"Quick, talk about something else before I set myself off," Remus says. "Please."

"I could tell you about the thrilling lesson I had yesterday with my first years trying to learn how to do the simplest deflections for the first time," Snape offers. "And failing miserably."

"Yes, that'd be nice," Remus says shakily.

Snape pats his shoulder. "Don't blame yourself," he says. Remus nods absently. They continue walking to the café.

"You shouldn't let me talk about Sirius," Remus smiles sadly as they are seated at one of the small circular tables in Diagon Alley. "I feel like shite now."

"Better out than in," says Snape, picking up the menu.

"I need a drink," Remus mutters. Snape glares at him. "What?"

"It's midday, for Christ's sake. Pull yourself together."

Remus dredges up a smile and scans the drinks menu for the strongest cocktail he can find, and Snape orders a sandwich.

"Sorry for letting off steam like this," says Remus, taking a big gulp of his orange liquid once it arrives. "I promise I didn't plan to bring you up here for a moan."

"Have some food," says Snape, handing him half of his sandwich. "And I don't mind, moan to me all you want."

"Cheers," Remus smiles, taking a large bite of the sandwich. "I'd be talking to Nymph about this if it wasn't these exact circumstances. Unfortunately for you, you're the only one who knows the extent of me and him."

"Nymph?" says Snape.

"Oh, right, I haven't told you, have I?" Remus says, setting down his drink. "You know Nymphadora Tonks?"

Snape frowns in thought. "Did she come to Hogwarts a few years ago?"

"Yes."

"Yes, I remember teaching her," says Snape.

Remus nods. "Me and her are kind of a thing."

Snape's eyebrows shoot up. "Kind of a thing?"

"Sorry," Remus laughs emptily. "God, I've made it sound like we're back in school. Me and Nymph are in a relationship."

"Oh," Snape mutters in disbelief. After his emotive rants about Sirius, Snape thought the last thing Remus would be doing is getting into a relationship. "How old is she now?"

"Mid-twenties," says Remus. "That's not weird, is it?"

"Not really," Snape says. That's not his concern. He wonders if 'Nymph' knows she's being used as a crutch for his grief. "Why did you decide to get with her?"

"I met her at the Order last year," says Remus, leaning back in his chair. "And we got on really well from the start, so it made sense what happened. She's lovely, honestly, very goal-orientated, funny, driven. We had our first official date just before Christmas."

Snape narrows his eyes, remembering his drunken state on Christmas Day. It seems absurd that he was in a relationship at that time while so deeply consumed with grief.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" says Remus at Snape's furrowed brow, taking another gulp of his drink.

"Are you sure this is a good idea, being with her?" he says. "I mean really, Remus. You're leading her on."

"Why would I be leading her on? We click really well and once the shock from Sirius is gone, I think this could go somewhere." He smiles fondly into his glass. "You clearly haven't met her recently. She's beautiful."

Snape blinks slowly. "I thought you were gay?"

Remus glances around conspiringly but no one seems to be paying attention to their conversation. "No, I'm not," he says somewhat defensively.

"Oh, my bad," says Snape. "It's just with the whole love of your life being a man thing, you know. So wrong of me to assume though, I do apologise."

"Shut up," Remus scoffs, smiling at Snape's sceptical expression. "I didn't say I was straight. I'm like you, anything fits. It just happened that Sirius was a man."

Snape crosses his arms. "What do you mean 'like me'?"

"Oh, come on, I saw the way you looked at me when we were kids," Remus grins. "Which I'm fine with, by the way, and who can blame you? I was an attractive-"

"I suggest you stop that sentence before you massage your ego too far," Snape says icily. "I did not 'look' at you in any way. Now if you'd like to continue your point."

Remus chuckles but refrains from pushing further. "Yeah, so I was saying that I shouldn't be dumping all of this onto you when she's there to support me. I just can't bring myself to tell her about the way I felt about Sirius. I don't want to risk ruining our relationship."

"Could you talk about him in the context of a best childhood friend?" suggests Snape. "Then you'd get your feelings across without revealing everything."

"I could," says Remus. "But I don't know. The last thing I want is to be limited to say how I feel about it all. I'd rather keep it all to myself than not do it justice."

"You don't need to talk to her if you don't want," Snape says. "I'm happy to sit here and eat my sandwich while you talk."

"I'll say cheers to that," Remus beams. He holds up the glass to air and drains the last of his drink.

After lunch, they head back to Hogwarts, the thin layer of frost thawing under the early afternoon sun.

"I've done it again, haven't I?" Remus says, shaking his head at himself.

"Done what?"

"I've talked about myself for the entire time," he says. "I don't know what's gotten into me, I haven't given you a word to say about yourself."

"I asked you to."

"No, I know, but it's bad manners, isn't it?" Remus sighs.

"I wouldn't worry," says Snape. "Nothing interesting is happening in my life at the moment."

"Next time I'm going to interrogate you," says Remus. "Because I know you and there's no way you have nothing going on."

Snape stops outside his classroom.

"And don't give me that bullshit about you can't tell me anything because you're an undercover spy," says Remus in a hushed tone. "Because I couldn't give a flying fuck, I know you haven't been feeding Voldemort shit for years."

"Maybe that's changed," says Snape.

"Keep up your mysterious act then, Severus," Remus grins. "I'll get something out of you one day."

"Hi Professor Lupin," calls a first former as they run past.

"Hello," Remus says with a smile. "Oh, I almost forgot," he says, leaning to Snape. "The match next Sunday. We could meet beforehand then go to it together, what do you say?"

Snape sighs. "I don't know if this is a good idea," he says.

"Why not?"

Snape finds Remus' relentless enthusiasm exhausting, but realises he doesn't have an answer aside from 'I'd rather not', so he gives a reluctant, "fine, I'll come."

Remus claps Snape on the shoulder, much to his annoyance. "Good man," he says. "See you then. Ta-ra."

[Later that day]

Saturday has arrived, and although Draco has been dreading it for the five days since Slughorn forced him to write that letter, he wants it to be over. Draco takes a deep breath and strides down to one of the dining rooms where his parents are sitting waiting. For days, he's been working up the courage to tell his parents about Slughorn, rehearsing what he plans to say in front of the mirror, and in the shower, and during lessons.

He can't let Slughorn win.

"There he is," Narcissa smiles as Draco enters one of the smaller dining rooms.

"Hello, son," says Lucius, looking behind him. "Where's this guest?"

"He's coming in a minute," says Draco. He stands for a moment, anxiety twisting his gut. "I need to tell you something."

His parents wait expectantly, then impatiently as Draco doesn't speak for a minute.

"What is it?" Narcissa prompts.

"It's Professor Slughorn," Draco starts, hearing the blood pounding in his ears.

"Horace Slughorn?" says Lucius. "Is that who you've invited? I haven't seen him for years, I didn't know he was still involved with all this."

"Yeah," Draco says. "The thing is..." He turns the words over in his mind. How does he even start to explain?

I've been in a relationship with Ron Weasely you know from the family you hate for five months and now I'm being blackmailed with it to get my professor to be noticed by Voldemort and also he kissed me and touched me multiple times when I didn't want to and he punched me and threw me on the floor and said if I didn't bring him here today then he'd tell everyone about me and Ron consequently ruining our lives so please can you tell him to stop and maybe get him arrested cheers.

It doesn't sound remotely believable. Of course, he doesn't plan to include the bit about Ron, but Slughorn promised to expose that information if he told his parents about the unwanted attention. He imagines his parents' reaction to hearing he is in a relationship with a Weasely boy. Would they believe their own son over a professor? Or would Slughorn plant seeds of doubt in their minds about the validity of his statement? Should he just spit it out and hope for the best? How would he even begin the sentence?

The impatient tapping of his father's staff on the ground is enough to discourage him.

"I'll go and get him," says Draco, backing out the room, already furious with himself for backing out.

Slughorn is standing right outside the door, listening, giving Draco a fright as he walks out.

He leans in, not an inch away from Draco's ear. "Good decision," he whispers.

Draco doesn't say anything, glaring at him with humiliated contempt. Slughorn follows him back into the room.

"Nice to meet you," Lucius smiles, firmly shaking his hand.

"How do you do," says Narcissa. "I don't believe we've met before."

"No, I don't believe we have," Slughorn says, sitting down next to Draco. "I'm Horace, Draco's potions professor. Lovely to finally meet you both."

"I hope he's not in any trouble," says Narcissa.

"No, no, of course not. He's an excellent student, very well adjusted to potions. He picks things up easily." He looks to Draco. "It was very kind of him to invite me along."

Draco gives the fakest smile he can get away with.

"How thoughtful of you Draco," says Narcissa. "We have been trying to expand our social connections within the Dark Forces, Horace, and I assume that's why Draco wanted to introduce you to us. With everything that's going on, making allies is crucial."

"Absolutely," Slughorn nods. "I haven't involved myself in the last few years, what with working at Hogwarts, but I think I could be of real value to the Dark Lord."

"So, tell us a bit more about yourself, Horace," says Narcissa, leaning forward.

Draco sits and he watches. He watches the manipulative, heartless monster morph into a socially acceptable man. More than that: his parents chat with him as if they've been friends for years, and as much as Draco hates to admit it, Slughorn radiates charisma. This version of him, at least.

He feels a sinking dread listening to them talk. It's not impossible, but he's made it so much harder for himself if he tries telling his parents about what Slughorn has done. Now they attach this amicable persona to him, they're less likely to believe him. If they believe him at all. Maybe this was Slughorn's plan all along.

To escape from the situation he's faced with, Draco brings his attention to Ron. They've been meeting regularly twice a week since the Christmas holidays, now almost February, and Draco feels that every time they meet he falls ever so slightly more in love with them. He recalls the previous night, cuddling up on the sofa with Ron, chatting about their weeks, completely letting his guard down.

I've learnt a new spell, Ron said excitedly, pulling out their wand, a massive grin on their face as they showed Draco the spell. It's his safe space, his escape from Slughorn and Voldemort, and all his duties and appearances. He's never been more grateful that Ron doesn't push him for things, kissing or other contact, because there are days when he can't bear to be touched. Ron embraces it, confused and sometimes disappointed, but embraces it nonetheless. And Draco loves them for it. He loves them more than it feels possible to love someone.

After what feels like an eternity, Slughorn excuses himself, exchanging goodbyes with Lucius and Narcissa.

"You must come again," Narcissa says.

Slughorn smiles. "That's very kind of you. I'd be honoured to."

"We'll see you at the convention in February, I gather?" asks Lucius, walking with Slughorn to the door.

"I haven't had an invite, I'm afraid," Slughorn says, scratching the back of his head. Draco rolls his eyes at the predictability of it.

"As I said, I'm not connected with anyone in this sphere at the moment but I'm trying to get back into it."

"Consider it done," Lucius says, clapping him on the back. "You're just the man they're looking for. Inside information in Hogwarts is extremely valuable at the moment."

"Excellent," says Slughorn. "I'll see you then, then?"

"Oh, no," Narcissa tuts. "That's always a big to-do, the Dark Lord will be there. You'll have to come before then, on a weekend perhaps. The February meeting is purely for business."

"We'll send you a letter," Lucius says.

"You don't have to," smiles Slughorn.

"Yes, we'd love to get to know you more before then," says Narcissa.

Draco watches Slughorn head out the door, triumphantly swinging his arms side to side, his parents smiling at each other for once. They both have what they want; his parents could gain some credibility back with Voldemort if they present vem with a reliable spy within Hogwarts, and Slughorn is working his way into the social circle he desires.

Where does that leave Draco?

"I've done it," Draco says, catching Slughorn up as he makes his way to the front of the manor. "I've done everything you asked." He winces at how desperate he sounds. "Can you leave me alone now?"

"Draco," Slughorn smirks, laying his hand on his shoulder. "Thank you so much for introducing me to your parents, it's been a real honour." Each word drags out longer than the last, oozing with self-satisfaction. "I'm looking forward to working with you and your parents."

"But you said you'd stop once-"

"I said nothing of the sort," Slughorn says sharply. He smiles again and takes his hand off Draco's shoulder. "See you on Monday."

Draco watches him saunter off down the corridor. A sick feeling settles down in his stomach. The shine of the idea of telling his parents what Slughorn has done is gradually wearing off.

The thing that concerns him most is that his parents might think there's a drop of truth in the inevitable accusation about him and Ron that Slughorn would cast.

Is he willing to risk it? To risk Ron?

That question doesn't need an answer; he'd trade his life for Ron's security in a heartbeat.

This will only last a few weeks, Draco reminds himself. Slughorn will get bored. He'll get what he wants then he'll stop. They'll have the February convention, Slughorn might become a Death Eater, he'll earn Voldemort's trust, then he'll stop.

The idea eases the increasing anxiety in Draco. All he has to do is get through the next few weeks then it will all be over.

He was so dreadfully wrong about Slughorn. So, so wrong.

On the last day of January, Draco wakes up in cold sweat. He shudders as he looks in the mirror; Slughorn put his hands on him for the fourth time yesterday. 'Put his hands on him' would be an understatement- he didn't exactly take his hands off him for the eleven torturous minutes in the potions classroom after school.

It was all going so well. Draco stares at the bags forming underneath his eyes, his unkempt hair, the way his shoulders slump like he's carrying the weight of the world on them. It wasn't going well, he sighs, but it was manageable.

He hasn't felt the cold leather around his neck for months. Ron has been keeping him away from the edge, and along with a new sense of purpose came everything else: motivation to do well in school, willingness to make and maintain friendships, attempting to be nicer to those around him.

Slughorn has ruined that. With every day that passes, the sliver of hope Draco clings onto that it will end tomorrow gets smaller and smaller. And with it, everything else will come crashing down. Not yet, but soon. Once he realises that Slughorn isn't going to stop.

Draco turns to get dressed. He can't bear to look at his naked body in the mirror, imagining Slughorn behind him, wrapping his hands around his chest, biting a kiss onto his neck, whispering into his ear, that infuriating smile on his face.

It's humiliating.

Gradually, he can feel things starting to slip away. Maybe not this week, maybe not the next. But soon. All that he's worked for in the last four months so he doesn't go to bed with his neck in a noose is starting to slip away. Draco needs control, and he has absolutely no control over any of this. Would it be dramatic to say that his life lies in Slughorn's hands?

First lesson: divination.

He's been trying so hard in the last few months to keep things together, for Ron and for himself. He grew sick of the endless days falling onto one another, passing by without so much as a fleeting smile, ending all the same. Always with that cold belt, that bent shower rail.

But it got better, and it won't slip back down again, not all the way. It will be okay, he tells himself. It will all be fine. He can get through this.

This thought scares him. It's the thought of a boy who knows he's reaching his breaking point with everything to lose.

Draco ties his tie as tightly as he dares. The sensation of pressure around his neck is an unwelcome reminder of the belt lying unused in his draw, ready at any moment to take all his troubles away.

There's no potions lesson today, but he doesn't do his hair or brush his teeth or smooth his clothes down or make any effort to look presentable. Maybe he can dissuade Slughorn from doing it again by making him disgusted to look at him.

The dishevelled boy in the mirror stares back, a mortified blush colouring his cheeks at the sight of a hickey he knows wasn't left by Ron peeking out the top of his collar. He'd rather Slughorn just beat it out of him next time.

Clenching his jaw, he grabs his bag from the floor and strides off to first lesson.