Tw: suicide ideation, discussion of sexual abuse, being drugged(?), mention of rape & suicide & homophobia

[Saturday 27th September]

The clock strikes midnight. Draco paces around his room in a haze of restless exhaustion. Just as he considers that he might be able to spend the night alone, a key clunks in the door and it swings open. Slughorn strides in, holding his usual bottle of whiskey.

"Good evening, Draco," he smiles, his eyes grazing over Draco's black shirt with the embroidered roses on, the top two buttons undone- just how he likes it. "You look lovely."

"Thank you." It's easier to play into his routine now and hate himself for it later.

"How was your day?" Slughorn says, settling down on the sofa.

"Fine."

"Did you get up to anything?"

Draco robotically sits down next to him. "I played Quidditch with Crabbe and Blaise in the morning."

"Are they any good?"

"Yes."

Slughorn nods, getting out the glasses from under the table and setting them down.

"I've marked your potions test," he says, pouring a small amount into each glass.

Draco pinches his nose then downs it. Slughorn doesn't need to ask anymore. He'll do anything to take the edge off.

"You're going to fail your final exams at this rate," Slughorn says. It's not news to Draco- he didn't answer half of the questions. "And it's going to come as a surprise to everyone since I've been grading your class tests as near perfect."

Draco shrugs. "Just do the same for the final exams."

Slughorn crosses his arms. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"I won't tell anyone."

"I know that," says Slughorn, as if it's a given that Draco wouldn't open his mouth. "How much do these exams mean to you?"

Draco sighs to himself. The exams mean fuck-all to him, but that's not what Slughorn is asking.

"What do you want me to do?" Draco says. He knows it's wrong, but he can't help but want Slughorn to break character and do something to him. "Because I'll do it, just give me an A or B or whatever."

Slughorn has an odd expression on his face that Draco can't place. He looks... pleased?

"I don't want you to do anything," Slughorn says, a satisfied glaze over his eyes at the offer. Has he finally broken Draco Malfoy?

"Can I get the grade then?" Draco asks flatly. He doesn't feel relief, but then again he didn't know what he was expecting. If Slughorn wanted something, he wasn't going wait for Draco to offer it.

"I'll think about it," he says. "Since you've been good lately."

Slughorn swirls his drink around the glass. "Anyway, you were playing Quidditch with Crabbe and Blaise. Tell me more about that."

Draco recites what he did with them. He doesn't know why he bothers to include all the tiny details to flesh out the story; no matter how long he puts off getting into bed, Slughorn won't leave. Eventually, Draco's story peters out and Slughorn gets up.

"Ready for bed?" he says.

"Ok." His head is starting to pound. When he stands up, a sudden surge of dizziness knocks him to the side.

"Careful," Slughorn mutters, standing up to steady Draco with his arms.

Draco's last string of consciousness is feeling his entire body tensing up as Slughorn's knees tuck into the back of his.

Slughorn rests his eyes for a minute, then gets up to pour his glass of 'whiskey' back into the bottle. Draco's glass is always empty. It amuses him how he downs it immediately like some sort of trained dog, no questions asked. Is Draco gullible enough to believe that he'd be blacked out within ten minutes of a glassful of whiskey, is he too afraid to question it, or does he prefer being knocked out than sitting with him? It doesn't matter to Slughorn; the result is the same, which is Draco being passed out on his bed for the rest of the night.

How tediously easy it was this time round to have him conditioned into obedience. He rolls Draco's body onto its front and climbs up onto the bed.

Five hours later, Draco wakes up alone.

Monday.

The first sign that Slughorn was here last night is the smarting headache and recognisable dull pain in his legs. As always, his memory of the evening is hazy, and he's terrified that there's more to it than the downbeat conversation he remembers. But at least Slughorn is going to pass him on potions- that's a positive.

Draco stands up, the pounding headache only worsening as he opens the curtains. He's kidding himself by thinking that getting good grades on his final exams means anything to him.

"That's a fucking positive?" he mutters furiously to himself. His teacher is sleeping with him, and he's found a positive. What the hell is wrong with him?

Draco puts his shoes back on, thoughts running through his head at a hundred miles an hour. He's been trying too hard to pretend that this new Slughorn act is an improved version of the impulsive and violent man he grew to know. Grasping desperately onto the thought that the breach of his only safe space and being coerced into drinking into unconsciousness is better than staying after in his classroom every week and doing whatever he asks. By default, it has to be an improvement because Slughorn has hardly touched him. Not once has he raised his voice or demanded he gets on his knees or forced a suffocating kiss. Well. Apart from once, but that was nothing compared to what he's used to. He even asked for consent. Slughorn asked for fucking consent. Maybe he's going insane.

Has he won? Is this winning? Draco looks at the black belt still strewn across the floor. He hasn't bothered to put it back since he got it out last week. If this is winning, then why has the urge to end it all never been so strong? And why has he always been so caught up in the need to 'win'?

January. I can't let Slughorn win.

April. I feel like I'm anything but winning.

September. Surely now, I've won.

It was always one big game with Slughorn, when in fact, the statements are all redundant. He's not competing against Slughorn to see who will claw their way to victory: nine months ago, Slughorn fired the gun, and ever since he's been watching Draco run in endless circles around the track, believing he was tailing behind someone until his feet bled and his body collapsed from underneath him, with a smile on his face knowing Draco wouldn't stop running until it killed him.

If it carries on like this, Slughorn will be getting his victory sooner than he expected.

[The next day]

Draco sits by the river as dusk falls. The cold late-September wind sends a chill through him. He doesn't dare go back to Hogwarts, not yet. The idea of waiting for hours in his bedroom for Slughorn to waltz in and make small talk and ask him to wear that shirt he's grown to despise and feed him that bitter liquid is beyond repulsive. Then seeing Slughorn smile because he knows it's all technically consensual. Another two months and it will be legal. Then who will be there to stop him?

Draco snaps twig after twig. Not once this month has he protested or talked back or stood up for himself. He's letting it happen. Further than that, he's going out of his way to please Slughorn, to wear the shirt he likes, to drink the drink he gives him, to be a good boy.

He's given up, properly and truly given up. Today, just like every other day for the last twenty-six days, Draco contemplates if today is the day he kills himself.

The act itself is long overdue. He imagines Ron's face when they announce Draco Malfoy is dead by suicide. He pictures the way it crumbles, tears of disbelief falling down their face.

It's a flimsy attempt at stirring up any form of resistance to going through with his suicide. Yes, it makes him feel bad. Yes, he feels like the most selfish person in the world. But to have the black leather around his neck again, for good this time? No waking up on the floor ten minutes later. The option seems preferable in every way to Slughorn's hands on his body even one more time. He should do it tonight, as the clock strikes nine. And this time he'll make sure it works.

Then he imagines the tears on Ron's face and something inside of him breaks.

Snape flicks through an old book's index, skimming for any notes about paralysis spells as preparation for his next lesson. He hears a timid knock at the door. "Come in," he calls, placing the book back in its draw.

A dishevelled-looking Draco enters, closing the door quickly behind him.

Snape sits up. "Good evening, Draco."

"Hello, Professor," he says, eyes fixed on the ground.

Snape waits a moment for Draco to speak. "How can I help?" he prompts after a long pause.

"I don't know."

Snape notes his defined eye-bags, uncertain tone, defensive posture, and the way his eyes skirt from the floor to the door.

"Why don't you take a seat?" Snape suggests.

Draco sits down awkwardly, wondering how to broach the subject, or whether to broach it at all. He can't go back to his room. If he does, he's as good as dead. Would Snape let him stay here with no explanation? And for how long?

"What's the matter?" says Snape. Calm, non-judgemental. Draco can't help but trust him; he won't turn him away.

"It's about Professor Slughorn," Draco says.

Snape's expression instantly darkens. "What's he done now?" he says sharply. "If he's layed another finger on you, they'll be trouble."

Draco bites his lip, looking down at his lap in humiliation. How does he even phrase it?

"I can't go back," he blurts out instead of a confession, his voice breaking. "Don't make me go back."

"Go back where?" says Snape. "No one's making you go anywhere, ok? Especially not him. Just... take a breath. Talk to me, what's happened?"

Draco clenches his jaw as anxiety seizes him. He knows it's futile to try and stop the tears.

"Since January, he's been- he's been. I don't know what to say." He chokes back tears of embarrassment. "Bloody hell, I'm stupid for letting him fuck me around. I never should've introduced him to my parents. Sorry."

Snape looks at him intently, waiting for the confession.

"He's been using me. Um, yeah, to get more power with the, Voldemort, uh, with the Dark Lord. Obviously," he adds with a strained teary laugh.

Snape nods- nothing he didn't know already. Still, it sounds awful said aloud.

"He's been using me," Draco repeats emptily. "To get me to do whatever he wants for him since January, every few days. And I can't cope anymore." Tears stream silently down his face as his voice becomes thick with hatred. "I can't do it anymore. I'm his little doll to do whatever he wants with. And I don't know what he's telling himself because he's calling me disgusting for being with Ron, but I've seen how he looks at me. He's not just getting a power kick out of it anymore. He's trying to win me over. He wants me to love him. I don't care how fucking gay he thinks I am, I will never feel anything but, but hate for him. He makes me want to kill myself. Every single day."

The more he talks, the more he feels able to reveal, and Snape just becomes more and more stunned.

"And you know," Draco snivels, the embarrassment at saying it out loud fading. "It was pretty awful when he was keeping me after class and making me suck him off every other bloody day then making me feel guilty for not making him cum, you know that was pretty bad, but now he's getting into my head." He looks up to hold painful eye contact with Snape. "He keeps coming into my room in the night. I can't sleep, I can't relax. I can't even see Ron because I'm scared he's gonna walk in on us, and I'm not letting him near Ron. I'll kill him before he touches Ron." His voice shakes, but he continues.

"It's not even about Voldemort anymore. He's interested in my life, he always makes me tell him about my day, he wants to know about my friends and what I had for lunch and stuff like that." His shoulders sag in desperation. "He's being nice to me. In the last month, he's not forcing me into anything, not like before. He's not layed a finger on me, like, in anger. I don't know how to explain it but it's so much worse. I'm agreeing to it. I'm letting him do this to me. It's all my fault." He starts crying, loud sobs.

Snape's mouth hangs open in speechless horror.

"It's not your fault," he says firstly and blows out a big puff of air. "Christ. I knew that man was evil from the moment I talked to him back in February. He was smiling- smiling," he emphasises incredulously, "while blaming you for your own rape. What kind of man does that?"

Fresh memories form in Draco's head at the reminder of that awful night.

"I'm so sorry I didn't know about any of this," says Snape, quickly moving on. Maybe it wasn't the best idea to bring that day up. "I should've known it wasn't a one-off." His voice is pain-filled and his heart sinks for what Draco has been subjected to. "He's evil."

Draco gives a last few exhausted sobs, the exertion of crying making him feel dizzy.

"I can't see," he whispers as black spots overcome his vision. A second later, he slumps in his chair unconscious.

Snape stares at his body in alarm for a second.

"Draco?" he says. Draco's head moves slightly, and Snape relaxes. He only fainted. He looks around for some water and grabs a flask from the side for when he comes around.

Snape walks back to his chair, wiping a rouge tear from his eye while trying to process the information. For nine months this has been happening. Nine months all under Snape's radar.

Guilt consumes him. How didn't he notice? Did he ignore or miss all of the signs? He mistook Draco's attitude around Slughorn as general trauma from the two incidents he knew about rather than ongoing terror and fear. His unspoken begging not to be left alone with Slughorn when they stayed at Malfoy Manor should've been obvious enough of a sign. He dreads to think what happened when he wasn't around.

The worst part is that he knew something was going on and he never confronted Draco or Slughorn about it. He never tried to get to the bottom of it. He accepted Draco's terrified pleas to leave things be. Regret for letting Draco convince him it wasn't important enough to be addressed seeps through his body.

Snape slams a fist onto his desk, his pure hatred for Slughorn, and himself, boiling over. His regret means nothing. He could've stopped this months ago; he has failed Draco in every capacity.

The sudden noise brings Draco back into full consciousness. He looks around blindly for a second, then remembers where he is.

"Are you okay?" asks Snape. "I think you fainted."

Draco rubs his face as he regains his bearings. "Sorry, I didn't mean to..."

"It's alright," says Snape. He passes him the flask. "Have some water."

Draco takes a few sips.

"Have you been eating and drinking enough?" Snape asks. "And getting enough sleep?"

Draco shrugs, eyeing Snape warily. He hasn't, but that doesn't seem like the right answer. "Yes."

"Maybe your iron levels are low," Snape says half to himself. "Or it could be a combination of..." he trails off, Draco looking at him with a lost expression.

"You should probably go to the San," says Snape leisurely like he has no intention of dragging Draco there.

"I'll be fine," Draco says, taking another sip of water. "I'm probably just dehydrated."

"Ok. Make sure you keep drinking. Eight glasses of water a day."

He shuffles forward in his chair, ready to resume his questions.

"Can we continue talking about all of this?" Snape says.

Draco gives a short nod. He hadn't got to half of what he wanted to say before he rather embarrassingly passed out.

"How did this all come about in the first place?"

"Are you sure you want to know?" says Draco, thinking back to the awful repetitiveness of the colder months.

"Yes, just to build a picture, if you're comfortable telling me."

"Okay," Draco says unsurely, glancing at Snape's open expression.

"Just start from the beginning," Snape suggests gently. "What was the first incident?"

"It started in January, on the first Friday back after Christmas," Draco recalls. "That's when he first kissed me, but he told me he knew about Ron on the Tuesday. He threatened to make me drink this vile of Veritserum so I'd admit the truth because I wasn't admitting that I was with Ron to start with."

"He has Veritserum?"

"No, it was just water in the end," says Draco, still bitter about falling into the trap. "But it was going well until he threatened to hurt Ron. Then I completely crumbled and admitted everything. We talked again three days later on the Friday, and I tried again to get him off my back. I thought I could, I don't know, I thought I could intimidate him out of it by threatening to report him for harassment. But it didn't work." He takes a shaky breath.

"And he kissed you?" Snape asks, attempting as best as possible to keep the anger out of his voice.

"Um, yeah," Draco says, a lump forming in his throat. "I was too, too embarrassed to tell anyone about it after that. Well, not after that, it was after the second time. I kind of realised the lengths he was willing to go to get what he wanted. I guess you don't want the details, but, um, it wasn't, yeah, he wasn't nice." Draco stops, conflicted on how much he should be saying.

"It's okay," says Snape, picking up on his uncertainty. "You can tell me in as much detail as you like."

"Um, okay," says Draco. He decides to bite the bullet. The discomfort of telling Snape is nothing compared to having Slughorn all over him for nine months. "He grabbed me and, I don't know, it was so fast, he like pushed me onto the floor and kissed me until I said I'd introduce him to my parents."

Snape sighs through clenched teeth, rubbing his temple subtly. "Dear God," he mutters half to himself. "What happened after that?"

"It kind of just escalated," Draco recites, trying to keep emotion out of it. "He was just kissing and talking to me at first, talking about his plans for getting in with the Dark Lord. I thought that would be it. He'd do that for a few weeks or a month then he'd get what he want and leave me alone."

"But he didn't?" Snape softly prompts.

"No," Draco says. He tries, unsuccessfully, to blink away the tears.

"I thought I was useless," he continues while tears stream down his face. "Because I couldn't get what he wanted. Everything I did, it was never enough. He always wanted the next thing. Socially, I introduced him to my parents, I put in a good word for him, I asked for him to be involved with meetings. I got everyone to trust him. And then when it was just us two, I never did enough either. He always asked if I was still with Ron, and if I lied then he'd say, 'I know you're lying' and beat me up, and if I told the truth he'd kiss me or whatever then say I'm enjoying it because it's what I'm into."

"Christ," Snape mutters, flaring his nostrils.

"He's totally different," he says, burying his head into his knees. "Like, compared to before the holidays. It's like he's a completely new man. He used to toss me around and punch me and threaten me and, and-"

He takes one huge shaky breath in, trying to regain a small bit of composure.

"I mean, you saw me in the San," he says. "He got so pissed off at me all the time, mostly because of Ron. He'd constantly talk about it and how disgusting we are, and sex should be between a man and a woman. Me and Ron have never even had sex fucking once and he'd be beating the shit out of me for it. We just kiss," Draco says angrily. "And talk, and play chess, and make bracelets and do harmless shit. And he's hurting me for what? For something we've never fucking done?" He balls and unballs his fists. "That's why I'm pretty sure he's done this on purpose."

"Done what on purpose?" Snape says when Draco doesn't expand on his point.

"Seeing me in the evening when he knows I meet Ron. He hates us being together, he's always hated it. I mean, it's working. I haven't seen them for a month because he's always fucking there."

Draco sighs loudly out of frustration. He wants Ron so badly it hurts. Yet another thing Slughorn has deprived him of.

"I don't know if I can say this," he continues bitterly. "I know that wasn't very PG, but this is worse."

Snape waves a hand. "Don't worry about that, tell me whatever you want."

"Okay," says Draco. "Well, I honestly don't know how to say this. I'm sorry for swearing so much, by the way."

Snape shakes his head. "Draco, it's not a problem."

"Alright," says Draco, all the adrenaline rushing to him giving him the courage to continue talking. He keeps his eyes to the floor instead of on Snape, mortified at the idea of saying this out loud.

"From, like, the end of January, it started to go further than kissing," says Draco quietly, picking at the skin on the back of his hands. "I guess he was a bit touchy right from the start, but nothing, like, nothing serious. Then once he got going with it, that was, like, the last week of January, it never scaled back down again until school ended. I thought it was a power thing. Like, he wanted me on my knees in front of him, that's, like, the most obvious physical sign of power you can have. He started making me do that every other week then every week and it ended up being after every single potions lesson. Twice a week. I hated it so much." Draco breaks out into sobs. "It made me feel worthless and disgusting and dirty. I didn't want to," he cries, gasping for air. "I didn't want to do it, Professor Snape. He made me."

Snape feels himself tearing up. "I know, darling, I know."

Draco cradles himself, rocking back and forth until his sobs slow down again.

"I was getting somewhere," he says, his voice wobbling with emotion. "In May and June, I was doing it right."

"Doing what right?"

"I can't say it out loud," Draco snivels.

"Don't worry, you don't have to," says Snape.

"Ok, well, yeah," Draco says. "I was finally actually doing it right. I didn't mention Ron ever, I always did exactly what he told me to, and I was actually making him... you know. But it wasn't enough." Draco taps his nails on his thighs in frustration. "I was doing it right. I did everything right, Professor Snape. He had power and influence and control, he had me as fucking his slave. What more did he want me to do?"

"I don't know," says Snape sadly as Draco stares at him for answers.

"He just kept going," Draco says, his shoulders slumping. "And going and going."

Suddenly, he breaks out in a huge sob, his whole body shaking uncontrollably.

"I thought it was over," he gasps between breaths. "I really thought it was over. I didn't see him for a whole month in the holidays. I thought he'd stop once we got back to school. Then he came into my bedroom and fucking slept with me on the first day back. Not like sex but just, he just lay there with me. It was like it was starting all over again."

Snape watches him cry helplessly.

"I am so sorry," he says.

Draco looks up to see Snape teared up.

Snape stares up, not blinking until the tears go away.

"This is unbelievable," he says after a moment. "Seriously. Draco. I can't believe I brushed you off. I should've known. I should've helped you."

"It's my fault," says Draco. "I told you not to get involved. You can't blame yourself."

"Wh- how can you say that?" Snape splutters. "Draco, none of this is your fault, are you serious? I've let you down."

"What? No," Draco protests. "You've helped me. You stayed with me in the San and stopped me from killing myself in February and you haven't told anyone which would've made things so much worse."

Snape feels uncontrollable tears start to form. "One minute," he gets out, getting up and quickly escaping into the side corridor.

Draco tries to calm himself down again. Snape crying is something he did not ever expect to see. Thoughts spin relentlessly round his head, of bruises and dusty trousers and hands resting on his chest and bandages and chicken soup and the smell of whiskey and dried blood.

Snape tries to collect himself out of sight of Draco. He feels awful. Absolute fury at himself and Slughorn, and guilt. All this could've been avoided if he just read into the situation a bit more, Snape tells himself. And now Draco's saying he's helped him? How deluded is his perception of help? He wipes the few tears away, readjusts his robes then goes back into the classroom.

"Is there anything else you want to talk about before the holidays?" Snape says as he sits back down.

Draco bites his lip. "Were you crying?" he says guiltily. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"Draco," says Snape, closing his eyes for a second. "Please don't feel guilty for making me sad because you're not the problem. There is one man who is the problem, and I can assure you it's not you."

"Okay," says Draco, relaxing marginally. "I just don't want to make you upset."

Snape takes a long breath, telling himself not to start crying again. "It's not you, dear. Please, continue with your story."

"That's it, really," Draco says. "Up until July. I hope that explains things a bit, although, to be honest, I feel like I've barely scratched the surface. I know I've made it sound-" he hesitates, trying to find the right words. "I've made it sound like January to July was the worst part, and it was bad but not as bad as the last month. You're probably wondering why I'm stressing out about September when he's not even doing all this violent stuff to me anymore."

Draco scratches the back of his head. "And I don't know how to describe it." He pauses for a long moment to think. "Maybe he's just worn me down." He gives a tiny shrug, but Snape feels that there's much, much more to it than that. Is Draco purposely keeping it from him, or too embarrassed to say, or doesn't even know the problem himself?

"I don't know, I probably sound stupid right now but..."

"You don't sound stupid," Snape assures him. "Go on."

"Well, there's something off about it all," Draco sighs. "And I don't know what it is. He's making me so, like, uneasy. At least with the previous stuff, I knew it was after school for half an hour in his classroom and I'd probably end up with some bruises and dusty knees."

"Dusty knees?"

"Yeah," says Draco, slightly embarrassed at catching himself saying it aloud. "The floors in potions are dusty."

"Oh, Christ, Draco," exclaims Snape, burying his forehead in his hands, understanding the implication instantly.

"Yeah," says Draco quickly. "It was a cycle, and it was awful, but it was predictable and repetitive. Now he's just, it's too invasive. He's gone too far." His voice wobbles. "He's acting like we've been married for twenty years. I hate it so much, I hate it." He waves his hands up and down as he speaks.

"I can't do it anymore. I'm at my fucking breaking point. I can't do another nine months of this. I know I'm free from him forever when school ends, but I seriously cannot hold on for that long. I don't think I can hold on for another week. And it's worse that time in February because that was a reactive thing. Like, obviously I still had built-up feelings then, but now it's like, I've got him everything he wants. I've done everything he needs me for and he's not stopping. He's adapting to make it worse and it's never going to go away, is it? I can't do anything else. There's nowhere to go from here and I can't deal with him anymore. I feel like this is the end. I can't see a future for myself, not with him."

"You've got to hold on, Draco," says Snape. "Things will change and they will get better, starting today. I'll do whatever it takes. You're going to carry on without him being a part of your life."

Draco looks back at him, unconvinced. "How? He can get to me whenever he wants."

"He's not getting you in here," Snape says firmly. "We're going to get through this, okay? You're going to be all right."

"I don't know if I am," Draco says, glaring back at the floor.

"Somehow, we'll find a way to work around this."

"Okay," Draco says eventually.

"You've already made the first step," says Snape. "By telling me. And I am really proud of you because that's the hardest part."

Draco says nothing, holding back tears for as long as possible at Snape's kind words.

"Thank you," he manages to get out.

"No, thank you," says Snape. "You've done a brilliant job telling me all this so now I know exactly what's been going on."

Draco nods then lets out a big yawn.

"We can stop now if you're tired out," says Snape.

Draco looks at him fearful of his unspoken words. You can go now.

"What's the matter?" Snape says. "Are you ok?"

"I'm really tired," Draco says, although the words are unnecessary as his tone speaks for itself. "But I can't go back. Or he'll be there."

Snape nods, understanding. "You don't have to go back to your room. You can sleep in my bed tonight if you want," he says. "I mean, not with me, I'd sleep on the chair." He groans at himself. "Sorry."

"It's fine," says Draco, unphased. He points to the small archives room attached to the classroom. "Please can I sleep in there?"

"Yes, of course," says Snape. "Shall I bring in a chair, or a mattress or something?"

"No thank you."

Snape retrieves the key from his pocket and hands it to him. "There you go."

"Thank you," Draco says.

Snape notices his eyes linger on the classroom door. "I'll just be in here. Come in if you need anything at all."

"Okay."

"I'd like to hear more about all this, if you're up to it, tomorrow," Snape suggests. "About the last month. Maybe we can get to the bottom of whatever's been making it worse."

"It's not over," Draco says, all the life drained from his eyes. "He's not going to stop."

Snape shakes his head vigorously. "I can promise you now, Draco, I am not letting him anywhere near you again, okay? He's never touching you again. I'm serious," he reiterates in response to Draco's doubtful look. "I'll pull you out of all your classes with him, starting tomorrow. You can stay here as long as you want. I mean, I'm sure if I pulled enough strings I could get you out of Hogwarts altogether. He is not coming near you again."

Draco doesn't know how Snape can be so sure of himself. He doesn't know the lengths Slughorn would go to to get him back.

"I was going to kill myself," he says emptily. "If I didn't come here today, I was going to hang myself off my bed frame at nine."

The words send waves of shock through Snape. "Draco," he sighs helplessly. "I am... I'm so sorry."

"It's okay."

"It's not okay. You're so strong for holding on, all right? I'm glad you decided to come here instead of that, I am so glad."

Draco nods, brushing away more tears. Someone cares if he lives or dies. That's got to be worth something.

"Can I go now?"

"Yes, go and get some sleep," says Snape. "We can talk about it in the morning."

"What if he comes looking for me?" says Draco, eyes fixed on the door.

"I'm not moving from this chair," Snape says. "The classroom will be locked overnight and you're the only one with a key to the archives room. There's no way in hell he's coming anywhere near you."

"Okay," says Draco, half convinced. "Alright."

He gets up and goes to the small, windowless room attached to Snape's main classroom. It contains masses of old spell books stored on ceiling-high bookshelves. The door clunks satisfyingly shut as Draco turns the key. He sits behind the door, trying to curl up into a comfy position. He hugs himself and attempts to get some sleep.

Draco wakes up with a headache and engulfed in a thick fog of gloom. Although the room has no windows, he can tell it's still dark outside. The usual dread remains in the pits of his stomach, but today, it lifts the more he wakes up.

Snape's words replay in his head, and he begins to feel some comfort from them- particularly the conviction with which he promised never to let Slughorn near him again. He doesn't know how realistic his plan is, or how he'll get permission to skip potions class, but at least there's hope.

The exhaustion remains, and as he drags himself up from curled up behind the door. The clock reads 5:13. Over twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep hasn't shifted his growing paranoia. To calm his nerves, Draco cautiously unlocks the door and looks out into the main classroom.

"Hello."

Draco jumps at Snape sitting at the desk, hunched over a tattered book.

"Hello," says Draco wearily. Why was Snape still up? He checks the main door: still barred shut.

"I have a question," says Snape, chewing on his quill as if he's been mulling over it all night. "You said you thought he's been purposely stopping you from seeing Ron, but how did he know the only time and place you and Ron met was in your room and the evening?"

"He found out by using that map, what's it called? To find out when we meet and stuff," says Draco. "That's how he found out in the first place, when he saw us meeting at night."

"The Marauder's map?"

"Yeah, that's it. How did you know?"

Snape gives him a grim look. He hasn't heard those two words for years. "I remember when that map was made at school. I always wondered who got hold of it. But that's besides the point."

"You went to school with Professor Slughorn?" Draco says.

"He taught me," Snape explains. "The map wasn't originally made by him. It was James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus- Professor Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew. I was in the same year at school as them. Unfortunately," he adds dryly. "They were in a little clique and called themselves the Marauders, hence the name of the map."

"Potter's father helped make it?"

"Yes," says Snape. "Obviously, you know Professor Lupin and I'm sure you knew Sirius, too. Potter helped him escape from Askaban a few years ago. He died last year."

"Yes, I know him," says Draco. "He went to my parents for money or something before he got put in Askaban and they threw him out because he was trans."

Snape's eyebrows shoot up. "Did they?"

"Yeah. I was only young, but I still remember the argument they had. Denounced him from the family and everything."

"Oh," says Snape. He can't believe a part of him would ever feel sympathy for the boy who tirelessly bullied him out of boredom.

"Yes, well it was those four who made the map," says Snape, getting back to his point. "I was in the group for a bit, but I got kicked out before it became official."

"How come?"

Snape waves a hand, dismissing the events that have shaped his life. "Nothing important. Now's not the time to be talking about that, I've got myself side-tracked."

He makes a mental note to retrieve the Marauder's map off Slughorn. He's always wanted a good look at it.

Snape sees Draco's tired slumped shoulders and dead eyes. His words from yesterday ring around his head.

I was going to kill myself if I didn't come here today. I was going to hang myself off my bed frame at nine.

If he doesn't clean up his act, he doubts Draco is going to have a change of heart. Considering he spends most of his time making their lives hell, cheering up teenagers isn't exactly one of Snape's strong suits, but he has to at least try.

"What do you like to do?" he asks.

Draco looks up, the question catching him off guard. "What?"

"Hobbies," says Snape. "Reading, art, music, maths, anything. What do you do in your spare time?"

"Uh." Draco racks his brains. One thing springs to mind. "Chess."

Snape perks up. Chess is one of the more convenient hobbies Draco could've said. Finally, something he can do something about. "I have a board in my room," he says. "Do you want a game?"

"Not really," Draco says, staring at the floor with the same absent look. He stopped playing chess when Slughorn started coming into his room at night. He wants to keep his beloved hobby associated with Ron rather than the fear of waiting for the sound of a door handle turning.

There's an awkward pause, and Snape sighs inwardly. Connecting with Draco is not going as well as he'd hoped. He wishes Remus was here. Remus would know exactly what to say to tactfully fill the silence. An idea pops into his head and he doesn't know why he didn't think of it before. What better way to bring up Draco's mood than by allowing him to spend time with his boyfriend?

"Why don't you meet with Ron in here?" Snape suggests.

Draco's eyebrows lift, the first bit of positive expression Snape has received over the last few days.

"In here?"

"Yes. I could bring him here one evening if you're up to it."

If the weight from their conversation yesterday wasn't remaining, Draco would be beaming. Instead, his eyes widen at the thought of finally getting to see Ron.

"Are you sure?" he says.

Snape breathes a sigh of relief as he sees Draco's face light up. Maybe he isn't completely hopeless at comforting people. "Yes. How about tomorrow evening?"

"Yes," says Draco. "Yes, that'd be perfect. Thank you." He pauses a moment. "And you wouldn't mind us meeting in here? Won't you get in trouble if anyone finds out?"

"No one's going to find out," he says. "And as long as you don't break anything."

Snape looks at Draco's strained expression.

"I don't care if you break anything." he adds quickly, "Obviously. Just- yes."

Draco forces a grateful smile. "Thank you."

"Draco," says Snape, just before he shuts himself back in the archives room.

"Yes?"

"Do you need a few days off?" he begins. "I know this has been going on for months, but uh, I'm happy to get you a break if you need it. I mean, it must be exhausting, trying to keep up with schoolwork with everything else going on."

Draco takes a moment to consider his answer. He'd love a few days off, but would Slughorn become suspicious and come looking for him? Would word reach his father and he get in trouble?

"How?" Draco ends up saying.

"What do you mean?"

"How will that work, like, logistically?" he asks. "Where will I stay? What will you tell my professors?"

"You can stay in here," Snape proposes. "I'll bring a chair into the archives room, and I'll be in here the whole time so Slughorn won't be able to come near you. As for everyone else, I'll get someone to inform them that you're in the San. So, what do you say?"

"Okay," Draco says eventually, then remembers his manners. "Yes please. That would be good."

"All right," says Snape. "Leave that with me. I'm going to bed now. See you in the morning."

"Okay," says Draco and returns to the windowless archives room.