Hello, Wonderful readers. So so sorry for being so late. I know this is kind of short, but I hope you enjoy anyway!

Warning: Minor References to Past Violence

Chapter 3- Problems

He could feel claws at his throat, the stench of death in his nose while his mother screamed behind him. He saw flashes of the starch whiteness of Malfoy Manor stained with blood as he choked on his own blood, Greyback's eyes red and full of a madness as he leaned over him.

He stood over his mother's broken body and felt the anger course through his veins. Hot, vivid, unstoppable, and he couldn't help but want to race through the forest and destroy Greyback himself. To tear him apart with his hands and his teeth. His father's hands on his shoulder, cold and calculating and telling him to move, and he was lunging before he knew what he was doing.

Weasley stood in front of him, his wand still out after his latest attack on Harry. And Harry was right at his back, saying something about letting it go, but he couldn't. Not after the look on Harry's face. And the protective fury raced through his body as he stalked toward Weasley, fast and eager and ready to rip his throat out as Greyback had tried to do to him.

Harry lay under him, legs sprawled, body eager, eyes wide, and his mind was so clouded with lust that he forgot to be gentle. That he forgot to pause when Harry's hands gipped his arms tight enough for him to feel the nails. That he forgot to ask if he should continue when Harry cried out, and he was suddenly inside Harry's heat, and he couldn't stop himself because of the primal voice inside of him whispering that Harry was his to claim.

"Draco!" Harry's voice was suddenly loud in his ear, making him wrench upright. The sheets were tangled around his waist, sweat covering his body. Harry was next to him, fully clothed and staring back with dark green eyes as he lay across the covers. And Draco suddenly realized that it had been a dream.

He'd been dreaming. It was only mildly comforting.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked, his right hand already reaching out as if to touch him. Draco recoiled before he could stop himself. He could still see Harry under him; he could still feel how he'd been unable to stop himself. From killing, claiming. He didn't know which scared him more.

"I just need some air," he answered, standing unsteadily from the bed. He was only wearing pants and a light sleeping shirt, so he moved to where he'd thrown his slacks, reaching down to pull them on. He could feel Harry's eyes on him, though he didn't move from the bed. And there was half a second where Draco was gripping the handle of their room, Harry's voice low and full of warning as he whispered his name, and Draco really thought he'd stop him.

And he might just let him.

But he didn't.

The first thing Lucius thought about the new Defense professor was that he was strange. Suspicious. That he wanted something. He had light brown eyes and dark hair that matched the expensive fall of his black robes. He was obviously rich from the way he carried himself to the way his robes were tailored just right around him. In another life, where Severus wasn't waiting for him in their bedroom, Lucius might have even been attracted to him.

"Professor Malfoy," he said. He smiled as if he was simultaneously egging Lucius on and trying to charm him, and Lucius immediately wished he could just turn around and walk away. "I've heard a lot about you."

"I imagine you have," Lucius answered quietly, and he knew he was just on the verge of rude, but really, why this wizard was talking to him in the first place was beyond him. "What with me being a Death Eater and everything." The wizard's smile tightened for a fraction of a second, his eyes locked on Lucius' as if he was about to say something they would both regret. Then he chuckled, and it was almost convincing.

"Right, of course," he said. "The name's Justin Adarins. I'm the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."

"I wasn't aware the headmaster had hired a new professor yet," Lucius answered. In fact, he was fairly sure Severus was having the opposite problem. No one wanted the job. And anyone who accepted turned around and changed their mind as soon as they started making arrangements to get settled. Both Severus and Lucius were fairly sure the ministry was involved, but it was impossible to prove.

"He didn't," Adarins said, his smile wide and self-satisfied. "The ministry thought it wise to extend its own candidate."

"Of course," Lucius answered, narrowing his eyes.

"Well," Adarins bowed slightly, tipping his head as if he actually had any respect for Lucius. "I only wanted to introduce myself." And then he was turning away, disappearing around the corner before Lucius could say another word. Not that knew what he would say. Or do.

But he did know they suddenly had a very big problem to deal with.

"Something's bothering you," Severus muttered, not bothering to raise his eyes. Harry didn't bother to answer. He was sprawled out, his left leg hooked over the chair's arm, his right tucked against his body. Severus sat across from him; the chessboard set between them.

It had been a long time since they'd played wizard's chess. Years. Harry had never been good at it. He had never had the patience to sit down and stare at a board and come up with a foolproof strategy. Severus was excellent though. He was impossible to beat. Harry knew it was one of the few things that really bothered Lucius about him.

That the pureblood could never beat him.

"Harry," Severus muttered, raising his gaze and locking it on Harry. And really, he should have known better than to expect and answer.

"Draco had a nightmare," Harry said. "Knight to A6." Severus raised his eyebrows, his gaze flicking down again, though whether it was at Harry's move or the information he'd been given, Harry had no idea.

"People have nightmares," he said, studying the board again. Though honestly, only one piece had moved, what could he have possibly needed to look so hard at?

"Whatever," Harry answered. Because sure, people had nightmares. But then people didn't flinch away from other people and run away from them. And Harry still couldn't get that imagine of Draco out of his head, disheveled and looking back at Harry with wide silver-grey eyes as if Harry was the one who had done something wrong.

And yeah, Harry had done plenty wrong in his life. He knew that. He accepted that. But he also thought—He had thought that Draco didn't care. Or he'd at least accepted it.

"Pawn to F4," Severus said, his voice low, even, and when Harry looked up, Severus was watching him.

"Pawn to F5," he snapped back, and Severus sighed at him.

"I think you should talk to someone," Severus told him.

"I'm talking to you," he answered.

"No, you're not," Severus said. He leaned back in his chair, gaze sharp on his face, and Harry suddenly knew he wasn't about to like what Severus was going to say. "You avoid my questions, and even when you do say something, I never know what to do with it. I'm sure I hurt you twice as much as help you."

"So, you're saying stop bothering you," Harry answered, and he could already feel the burning in the back of his eyes. The struggle to keep his expression impassive. It used to be so easy to keep anything from hurting him. To keep himself untouchable. And now a few words from the right person, and he was a quivering mess. He just wanted to run away, disappear, brush the embarrassment off as if it wasn't there. Hurt Severus before Severus hurt him. "Got it."

"Of course not," Severus snapped. "Don't be an idiot. Of course, you can talk to me. But I think you should also talk to someone who knows what they're doing."

"I don't want to talk to someone who knows what they're doing," Harry answered. He could still feel the heat burning in his face, the insistent need to run away before Severus said something he really didn't want to hear. Before Harry said something he couldn't take back.

"That doesn't mean you shouldn't," Severus answered.

"I'm leaving," he said, standing abruptly, the edge of his thigh brushing the chess board between them, and the rook that was sitting just on the edge of the board fell. He flinched when it hit the ground, the sound louder than it should have been, and Severus was still just staring at him as if he'd been expecting him to run away from the beginning.

Maybe because Harry wasn't good at anything else.

"You were going to win anyway," he said, his voice low and harsh and accusatory. And part of him knew Severus didn't deserve it. He knew Severus was only trying to help, but the rest of him felt like he'd been punched in the face. Thrown to the wolves. Betrayed.

Like he could just turn to a stranger and moan about all his problems. As if Severus could just expect him to do something so absurd. Because even though Severus had said he could still talk to him, the message had been clear—from the look in his eyes to the way he'd said the words.

Harry tried not to slam the door behind him. He tried. It wasn't like he wanted to hurt Severus—it was just that it was so much better to lash out at Severus, to be angry and numb than to deal with the bundle of hurt settling under his ribs.