Draco's Boy

by empathic siren

No longer a repost. HPDM. Nonmagic AU. A mysterious little boy named Harry moves in next door to Draco Malfoy, and he's determined to make him his friend and learn all of his secrets. Years later, he's determined to make Harry more than a friend.

26. Shadows in the Corners

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling and those to whom she has licensed her creations, including without limitation Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. I make no money from this and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

A/N:As always, great thanks to Sansa for her fantastic beta skills and wonderful cheerleading. Also, thank you all for your wonderful reviews! You have no idea how much they mean to me. Slowly, but surely, I am answering them . . . please forgive my tardiness.

I have finished Draco's Boy and will be posting one chapter a week until all have been posted. Thank you to all who have stuck with me through this epic journey.

CHAPTER 26: Shadows in the Corners

Harry stared at the small slip of creamy paper as he walked along Wolsford's stone corridors.

A summons to the headmaster's office was never good. Ever. His mind raced, picking apart of all his recent transgressions, wondering if any of them could be why he'd been summoned. Not surprisingly, nearly all of them involved Draco—sneaking out at night, ducking into broom cupboards, using the stable for illicit purposes and without Mr. Hagrid's knowledge. Had someone seen? Would Draco refuse to see him if someone found out? Would he be dismissed? Sent back to the Dursleys?

"Yes, can I help you?"

Harry started. He looked around and blinked, surprised to find himself in the administration office, staring into the eyes of a humped over old woman whose face was as gray and lined as a statue.

"Er, yes. I received this," he said, pushing the slip of paper at her.

She took it and read it over carefully before nodding. "The headmaster will be with you shortly." She turned away without another word, disappearing into the vast ante-chamber.

A door clicked open to his right. Harry looked around wildly, wondering what he was supposed to do. He bit his bottom lip.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" the old woman asked, returning with a narrowed gaze and pursed lips. "It's bad form to keep the headmaster waiting."

Harry stood motionless for a moment, his eyes wide.

The old woman huffed. "Honestly, adolescent boys these days. What are you waiting for? It's not as if there's a secret password." When Harry still hadn't moved, she strode forward closer, making shooing motions with her wrinkled gray hands. "In, in, you silly boy."

Harry shook himself from his daze and walked into the office. The door closed behind him.

"Ah, Mr. Potter. Please join me if you would," called the headmaster from around the corner of a large pillar.

"Yes, sir," Harry stammered as he made his way to the headmaster's desk. He tried very hard not to stare at the gleaming paneled walls, the thick, antique carpets on the floor, and the vast array of expensive and useless artifacts and trinkets.

"Have a seat," the headmaster said. He was a wizened old man with thick white hair, half-moon spectacles, and the strangest tie Harry had ever seen. "You are no doubt wondering why I called you here."

Harry nodded, smoothing out the wrinkles in his trousers, as if that would somehow stave off his trepidation.

"We are coming up on the middle of the term. As you know there is a short holiday for the students and I noticed that you'd not made any travel arrangements."

Harry blinked. This was why he'd been summoned?

"I . . . I'm not to stay here, sir?"

"You certainly may, of course, but we'd need something from your guardians—" the headmaster picked up a file and leafed through it, "the Dursleys, I believe—permitting you to stay and assigning temporary guardianship over you to the school. We have not been able to contact them. Is there an alternative address or telephone number that you are aware of? Are they on holiday?"

Harry's mind reeled. He had no idea where the Dursleys might be, but more importantly, he couldn't imagine the headmaster taking the trouble to see him for something so trivial.

"I . . . no, sir. It's a busy time of year for them, I think. Perhaps they haven't had a chance to respond?"

The headmaster stroked his short beard. "Yes, I'd thought of that."

An ancient brass clock tick-tocked in the background while a small, vermilion colored songbird to the left of the headmaster warbled a soft melody. The headmaster continued to stroke his beard, apparently lost in contemplation.

"Erm, excuse me, sir, but . . . this seems like a rather small thing for you to bother with."

"Hmm? Oh, yes. Quite right, Harry. Quite right." He picked up a small bowl full of yellow sweets. "Sherbet lemon?"

"Uh, no thank you," Harry said, wondering what was going on.

"What of your summer plans, Harry?"

"Erm, I've applied for an assistanceship with Professor Snape. He's got a grant to study a new plant in Chile."

"Yes, I've heard that. I wasn't aware that he'd chosen his assistants yet."

"He hasn't as such, no. But—"

"What are your plans in the alternative, then?"

"I . . . Sorry?"

"Your summer plans. Where shall you be spending your summer in the alternative?"

"Draco Malfoy's invited me to spend the summer with him."

The headmaster leaned forward. "Will the Dursleys agree to this?"

"I . . . I don't know. Yes, I imagine."

"We'll need something in writing from them to that effect, of course."

"Yes, sir. I think . . . I believe Professor Snape's been in contact with them about these things."

The headmaster fished through the dish of sherbet lemons and popped one into his mouth. He leaned back in his padded leather chair, the creak of the springs reverberating.

Harry rubbed the back of his neck and looked away from the headmaster's gaze.

"Harry, I am most concerned that you haven't spent any holidays with your family this year. I understand that you've had a difficult time with them, but what teenage boy hasn't?"

Harry's face felt hot. "I'd call it more than just a difficult time."

"Perhaps the time apart has healed past hurts?"

"No. It hasn't."

"Are you certain that there can be no resolu—"

"No," Harry shouted before remembering himself. He sat back in his chair. "No, sir. No chance for resolution."

The headmaster sighed and turned towards his bird, watching him sing and flit about his gilded cage. "If summer arrangements have not been secured by the end of term, you'll have to go back to them for the summer. Do you understand what I'm saying, Mr. Potter?"

Panic gripped Harry, stealing his breath and making his heart feel as though it would tumble from his chest. "You can't make me go back there."

"I'm afraid we would not have a choice."

"It doesn't matter. I'm going to Chile," he declared with all of the bravado he could muster.

"You haven't been selected as of yet. Perhaps you should look at other opportunities?"

"Just what are you saying? Are you saying Professor Snape's already selected his assistants?"

"Calm yourself, dear boy. I am not privy to Professor Snape's selection process, but I rather think it important you be prepared for the possibility that you will not be chosen. You have several years ahead of you at Wolsford. Many of the lads in your class do not. It would only be natural that Professor Snape would choose some of the older, more experienced students."

Harry didn't know what to say. He felt as if he'd been struck dumb. He watched as the headmaster shuffled papers and mumbled to himself. Finally, he pulled out a sheave of papers and colored brochures and held them out for Harry to take.

"Nevertheless, I understand that Professor Snape has asked all the students who wish to be considered to have their parents or guardians provide permission for their sons to go, with the understanding that the students will not be picked until very close to the end of term. Were you aware of this condition?"

Harry nodded and looked down at his feet. He knew it. The Dursleys were going to wreck everything for him. Every time he thought he might have a chance, that he might actually be something, they came around and squashed it.

"Am I out of the running, then? Is that what this is all about?" Harry asked, his mind racing with plans for what he'd do if the answer was yes.

"No, dear boy, of course not." The headmaster hesitated. He dug around in the dish of sherbet lemons before finding another one that met his approval. Harry rather felt like the remaining sweets in the dish, the ones that had not quite measured up. Not yet, anyway.

"There are a wealth of study opportunities for a young man like you," the headmaster continued. "I am merely counseling you on your options. There is far more in the world than Chile."

But Harry didn't want anything else. He wanted Chile. He didn't know why, exactly, he just knew he did. He wanted to spend the summer with Professor Snape, wanted to prove that he was just as good as the poncy Gilderoys prancing about Wolsford as if the world moved at their pleasure.

" . . . many are close to home, others far away. Applications need to be made this week or next."

Harry's head snapped up. He realized that he'd not being paying attention. "What?" he blurted, cringing at how harsh the word sounded.

"Applications, Mr. Potter. You must make your applications. I realize Professor Snape's not mentioned this, so I'm meeting with each of the lads who've expressed interest in going with him. A research opportunity like this is a great boon to the school and it needs to be handled carefully."

"But I—"

"And no don't worry about the cost."

"The cost of Chile?"

The headmaster chuckled. "You're quite the determined fellow, aren't you?" Harry supposed it was meant to be grandfatherly, but to him it sounded condescending. "I was discussing all of the programs. No need to worry about cost, I was saying. Generally speaking they have scholarship funds available."

Harry's face colored with embarrassment. "I don't need those brochures."

"I'm sure you don't. Yes, of course." The headmaster stared at him, a curious twinkle in his eyes. "Your year mates might be interested in them? Mr. Longbottom, perhaps? There's quite a good horticulture and botany study program at Oxford. Would you mind passing these along to him?"

Harry took the brochures with great reluctance, shoving them into his school bag. "Is that all, sir?" he snapped.

"Severus said you had spirit," the headmaster mumbled to himself. "Yes, Mr. Potter, that is all. Please keep my office appraised of your holiday plans."

Harry gave him a short nod before turning on his heel and leaving.

As soon as he was through the door, he ran as fast as he could, desperate to be outside. Once he crossed the threshold, he slumped against the wall and slid down, gasping for breath. What the hell was happening? Everything had been going just fine. But, of course, he was Harry Potter. He wasn't allowed an easy time of it.

Harry thought about what to do. Should he confront Professor Snape and ask him about Chile? Should he apply to those other programs just in case? He snorted as he dug his fingers into grass. No. He wasn't going to do any of that. And he wouldn't tell anyone about his visit with the headmaster, though Snape would certainly know of it. And he wouldn't go back to the Dursleys.

DDDDDDDDDD

Harry stared at his bryophyte project with growing horror. The lichen on the left looked nothing like the lichen on the right, even though they were supposed to be the same. The goal had been to reproduce the lichen, not kill it.

It was the damn headmaster's fault. If he hadn't summoned Harry to his office for some stupid, cryptic meeting the week prior, Harry wouldn't have gone looking for distraction. Draco provided wonderful distraction, but Harry's project had suffered. Professor Snape would never accept it.

He was frantically reviewing his lab notes, praying that he'd find the reason for the disaster as well as a way to correct it in four hours time. He was exhausted—he'd been holed up in the lab all night trying to finish his final report.

"Harry?"

Startled, Harry turned, knocking over several large beakers, wincing as they clattered and broke against the stone floor.

"What are you doing here, Neville?" Harry asked, scrambling to pick up the broken beakers.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you. Just came to check on my project. Here, let me help," Neville said, getting down on all fours and picking up the shards of glass.

"Thought these things weren't supposed to break," Neville murmured, sucking in a deep breath as a shard tip pricked his finger.

Harry snorted in response, immediately feeling awful as Neville continued to help while holding up his injured finger to staunch the blood.

"Sorry about that, Neville. Thanks, um, for helping me clean this up."

Neville shrugged. "Of course I'd help."

The boys cleaned in silence for a few minutes longer before Neville eyed Harry and asked, "You okay? You've been, um, a bit testy lately."

Harry sighed, dusting off his hands. "Yeah. Just worried about this project. I've—well, truth is, I've completely ruined it and I don't . . . I can't . . . it's due in four hours, Neville! I can't . . . what am I going to do?"

Neville stood, throwing away the broken glass. "Well, let's take a look. It can't be as bad as all that."

Neville gasped as he looked over the project. "What did you do?"

Harry groaned. Maybe he could escape before anyone noticed he'd left. He had all the money he'd saved from Mrs. Malfoy's allowance she insisted on sending him every month. He might be able to get to the train by the time classes started.

"Harry?"

"Um, sorry. I—I don't know what I did. That's the problem. It looked fine last week."

"Was that the last time you checked it? Last week?"

Harry flushed with embarrassment. "I've been busy."

Neville sighed. "Where are your notes?"

Harry handed over his lab journal without a word.

Neville started reading them, mumbling to himself as he did. He seemed to be close to the end when he stopped and looked up. "And you're sure you recreated the moisture, light, and heat patterns exactly?"

"I—I thought I did. Isn't that in there?"

"Well yeah, it is—very nicely detailed, by the way—but if you'd done what's written in here, that bit of lichen on the left wouldn't look like it'd been roasted in the Sahara. Did you, um, did you do anything with it this last week? The notes, er, trail off after last Saturday."

"I've been busy," Harry repeated, his face flushing at the thought of what he'd been busy with.

Neville sighed. "Well to fix it, you've got to remember what you did."

Harry thought back. He'd been monitoring the moisture content, light, and heat meticulously for weeks. He gasped. The heat light—he'd left it on for an extra hour the previous Tuesday because Draco was in the mood for kissing and he'd been in the mood for forgetting.

"Neville, would an extra hour under the lamp make a difference? That kind of difference?"

Neville bit his lip and closed his eyes. "Yeah. I think it might, especially if you kept up the heat thereafter and, erm, maybe forgot to water one day. Remember Professor Snape saying that the ecosystem was really, really delicate? I bet a change like that would make a huge difference. It'd . . . it'd—"

"Fry it beyond recognition?"

Neville's shoulders slumped. "Yeah. I think it would."

Harry ran his hand through his hair. "Fucking hell," he swore. "What am I going to do now? I can't turn this in. He'll humiliate me in front of the class, he'll fail me." 'He won't pick me to go to Chile. He'll regret bringing me here. He won't like me anymore.'

"Well, there's one thing you could do. You know he goes on and on about the delicate balance in the ecosystem and all that. In fact, that's why he's off to Chile over the summer holiday, isn't it? Why not say you changed around the project to show how just a minor environmental change can wreak havoc?"

"He's going to go mental."

"Yeah. Probably. But at least it won't be because you, erm, got distracted. With, um, Draco."

Harry's head whipped around. "What did you say?"

Neville looked away. "I saw the two of you, last week, on the third floor. Don't worry, no one else saw."

"Saw what?" Harry asked, his heart hammering in his chest, knowing exactly what Neville had seen.

Neville shrugged and bit his lip. "Forget I said anything."

"What did you see? Tell me."

Neville shook his head. "Nothing. I—I must have b-been . . . . I didn't see . . . . N-nothing.

Harry took a deep breath. "Sorry, I—come on, Nev, I'm not going to get angry. Promise."

Neville looked up at Harry. "Promise?"

"Yeah, course. It's important—I really need to know what you saw, erm, what you think you saw."

"I saw . . . . He was . . . he was kissing you."

Harry swallowed. He didn't say a word.

Neville took Harry's silence as acceptance and rushed to finish. "He looked like he'd done it before. Loads of times before."

Harry looked away.

"I wasn't spying! Honest! I needed a book from the library and somehow took a wrong turn. Wound up on the third floor. I'm sorry, Harry, I—"

"It's okay. I know you weren't spying. It's just a shock, I guess. Listen, you cannot say a word about this to anyone. He'll—Not a word, Neville."

"So it's true. What I saw."

Harry bit his lip and nodded. "You can't—"

"I wouldn't dare say a word, Harry. Believe me, I, erm, I know what it's like to be different in a place where different isn't allowed."

"Are you—?"

"No. Not that there's a problem with you . . . you being like that. It's not . . . I mean, there's no problem. I'm just not. Like that, I mean.

"Not gay, you mean?" Harry said.

Neville laughed. "No. I'm just stupid, clumsy Neville."

"Not to me, you're not. Don't let people say that to you. Don't believe them, Neville. Don't."

"You're—you don't even get it do you?"

"What?"

"You understand things, Harry. And that's what separates you from the rest of the people here. You know what it's like to be on the outside, even though—here—you're on the inside, it seems."

"I don't care about that shite."

"I know, but Draco does. I think he cares about it quite a lot. I have to say, I'm surprised that the two of you . . . well, that . . . that you're friends, I guess."

"Why? Why wouldn't we be?"

Neville shrugged and looked away. "He's never been kind to me, or many people, really. He was quite a little bully at eleven. Got a nasty streak, that one. And you've never been anything but kind. Draco's got a reputation—or had." Neville gave Harry an appraising look. "But, he's certainly shown better judgment lately."

Harry looked away, blushing. "Draco's alright. He's just . . . fussy about things."

Neville laughed. "That's one way of putting it. Seriously though, the other day on the third floor, the way he looked at you . . ."

"Yeah?"

Neville blushed. "You'll laugh."

"No, I won't."

"He—he was looking at you as if you were the only thing in the world that mattered . . . it was nice to see that side of him, I guess. To know that something important mattered to Draco Malfoy."

Harry fiddled with this lab report, smiling to himself. "Never figured you for such a romantic."

Neville shrugged. "It's not like I'd want that to get around. I've got enough trouble as it is."

"Your secret's safe with me."

"And so is yours. All of them are."

Perhaps it was Neville's knowing gaze, or the solemnity in his voice, or the fact that it was four o'clock in the morning, but Harry had a sudden urge to tell Neville all about the Dursleys, and his fears about the summer, and about Draco. About himself. He opened his mouth, not even sure what would come out, but Neville interrupted.

"Right. So we just need to adjust a few entries here—thank God you use pencil—and then we need to restructure your final paper. Have you got it written in longhand?"

Harry nodded, the words he'd meant to say slipping away as he and Neville worked together to save his project.

DDDDDDDDDD

Professor Snape swept around the room, examining everyone's projects, making his usual cutting remarks. Harry had never felt more nervous in his life. When Professor Snape finally made it to his and Neville's lab table, Harry looked away. The audible inhale from Professor Snape was the only indication Harry got that he'd seen his project.

Harry shot a glance to the side, cringing at the murderous expression on Professor Snape's face. He moved over to Harry's project and stood there, saying nothing. Harry watched as long fingers darted towards his report and journal before pulling back, hesitating.

Professor Snape drew in a deep breath.

Harry braced himself. Just when he thought he couldn't stand it a moment longer, he saw the long fingers retreat, heard Professor Snape turn to Neville.

Harry felt like he'd been thrown from a tall building only to unexpectedly land a short distance later on a great big rubber cushion. In some sort of masochistic way, it was a let-down.

"Passable, Mr. Longbottom," Professor Snape said after he'd spent long minutes examining his project and journal.

Harry's heart pounded as Professor Snape came to stand in front of his project again. Harry looked up for a fleeting moment, having to duck his head and shuffle away from the weight of Professor Snape's stare.

"Do not disrespect me further by avoiding me," Professor Snape hissed.

Neville gasped. Harry heard furious whispering behind him.

Harry looked up and stared directly into Professor Snape's eyes, daring him to try to embarrass him, daring him to call him names and tell him he was worthless. If Professor Snape wanted a fight, Harry would give it to him.

"What is the meaning of this, Mr. Potter?"

"Which part, sir?"

Professor Snape bent forward so fast, it was like a venomous snake attacking. Harry didn't move.

"I will not tolerate insolence. Explain to me the utter failure of your project."

Harry swallowed and launched into his prepared explanation. "It occurred to me that lichen—like most bryophytes—has an incredibly sensitive ecosystem."

"Impressive, Mr. Potter. I believe I said the same thing only two weeks ago."

There was a titter of laughter from behind Harry. He ignored it and pressed on.

"Yes sir, I know, and that's—that's what got me thinking. Well that, and your Chile project. It seemed to me that heat—what with greenhouse emissions and global warming and all—might be the obvious reason for that spontaneous change in the specimen you're going to study. And I wondered how excessive heat might affect the lichen and whether there would be a viable specimen remaining. Perhaps something new."

Furious whispering broke out. Harry thought he heard someone ask, "Why didn't I think of that?"

Quiet," Professor Snape said to the class, never taking his eyes away from Harry's. "You have failed on all accounts then, Mr. Potter. This is nothing but a shriveled mass that speaks more to inattention than creativity."

"I was trying to go beyond the simplicity of the project, sir," Harry spat, adrenaline coursing through him.

"And yet you failed to achieve even the simplicity of the assigned project. How disappointing. And, with regard to your decision to take creative license, that was not the project, simplistic or not, Mr. Potter. Your assignment was to recreate the conditions of your lichen sample and create a compatible specimen. You have failed to achieve that."

Professor Snape swept away. "And let this be a lesson to all of you, do not think you will get into my good graces by going outside the bounds of your assignments, lest you wish to receive a failing grade like Mr. Potter."

A sharp, unbearable pain pierced Harry's chest. He thought he might pass out. He'd failed. He'd failed in the one class that meant a damn to him.

"Class is dismissed. Mr. Potter, stay behind."

Harry nodded, slumping onto his lab chair as the rest of the class gathered their books and projects and left.

When the room was once again quiet and still, Professor Snape made his way back to Harry's lab table.

"You will repeat this assignment over the spring holiday. For half credit only."

Harry nodded.

"And for lying—"

"I didn't lie!"

Professor Snape slapped his hands against the table, startling Harry and causing him to scramble off of his stool and away from Professor Snape. He thought he saw a brief expression of regret in Professor Snape's eyes, but it left as quickly as it came.

"Do not interrupt me again."

"Yes sir," Harry mumbled, his arms wrapping around himself.

"And for lying, you will serve detention every night for the next two weeks with Mr. Filch. I imagine he has some particularly onerous tasks he's been saving."

"Fine," Harry snapped, still refusing to look at Professor Snape.

"If you ever do that again, if you ever manipulate your work to cover up whatever monumental mistake you've made, I'll see you dismissed from this school. Is that clear?"

Harry felt like he couldn't breathe. Everything hurt. "Yes," he bit out.

"Do not take that tone with me."

"Yes, sir."

Harry heard Professor Snape sigh. "Sit down, Harry."

"I'm fine."

"That was not a request. Sit down. Now."

Harry shuffled forward and perched on his lab stool, staring warily at Professor Snape.

"What's got into you? Why would you do this? Why would you lie?"

Hot tears prickled at the corners of Harry's eyes, followed quickly by the blush of mortification. He swiped at his face. "I just wanted to do well on the project."

"Do you think you're the first student who has overexposed his project to something, be it light, heat, or moisture? Do you think yourself so perfect that you must lie to cover up a mistake? Or is there something else at work here? Is this about Draco? Is he pulling you away from your studies?"

"You leave Draco out of this!"

Professor Snape looked as though he wanted to slap more than the lab table. Harry cringed involuntarily.

"Unless you tell me what is going on, what happened, I'm going to have to consider removing you from this class."

Harry gasped. "You can't . . . you wouldn't—that's not fair!"

Professor Snape leaned across the lab table, his hands splayed against its surface. "You're right. This isn't fair. If you were any other student, we wouldn't even be having this conversation. If you were any other student, you'd be on your way to your room to pack your things. I don't think you really want me to be fair, now do you?"

Harry shook his head. He looked down at his lap.

"I'm waiting."

"It's like I said, I—"

"Stop. Don't compound the problem. Don't lie to me, Harry. I'm giving you one more chance. Tell me the truth. What's going on with you? You've been distracted in class, moody, irritable."

Harry looked away and swallowed. He promised he wouldn't tell about his stupid fears about going back to the Dursleys. He swore he wouldn't mention his visit with the headmaster—though Professor Snape probably knew about that. Sitting under the scrutinizing glare of Professor Snape made him want to tell everything. But he wouldn't. He wasn't some little baby in need of comfort. He'd taken quite hard knocks without blinking. He was furious with himself for even thinking of crying to Professor Snape about his fears.

"Let's start with the easier question, then. What happened with your project?"

Harry sighed. "I—I don't know what happened. I mean, I do, I just . . . I left the lichen under the heat lamp too long one day and everything just fell apart after that. I just couldn't turn it in the way it was. You would have . . ."

"What? I would have, what?"

Harry shrugged.

"I would have humiliated you in front of your classmates? I would have called attention to your careless research methods? I would have exposed your inability to be perfect?"

Harry nodded, jutting out his chin in defiance at the end.

"Well, I accomplished that anyway, didn't I? Your transparent lie didn't help you. What was the difference in the end?"

Harry bit his lip and made some non-committal sound in the back of his throat.

"What made you think you could get away with that? That I would believe it? You were quite correct in that this is a simple project, at least for me. I know how these samples respond, and I can spot overexposure in an instant. You can't possibly have believed that I would have bought your ridiculous excuse."

Harry shrugged again, forcing down the words that he refused to say and unable to find others.

Professor Snape sighed and sat. "Why must teenage boys be so uncommunicative," he muttered under his breath.

"I didn't want to fail, okay? I didn't want you to think that—"

"What? That you're a student who was working on his first bryophyte project? That you're capable of making mistakes?"

Harry pursed his lips. "I didn't want to ruin my chances of going to Chile," he whispered.

There was a long silence after that. Harry squeezed his eyes shut. Long silences—like summonses from the headmaster—were never good.

"Everyone has an equal chance, Harry. That is to say, everyone is being considered on his own merits. One project would not have kept you out of the running."

"But lying will, right?" Harry spat.

"Frankly I don't know that this will have an effect in the end," Professor Snape said, sounding as if he'd chosen his words very carefully.

Hope swelled within Harry. "Does that mean I'm still in the running?"

Professor Snape's expression was unreadable. "As I stated, everyone has an equal chance. But do understand, in this I will be unscrupulously fair. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Harry nodded, his mind racing with ways to ensure that he did nothing less than perfect on his remaining assignments. He'd show Professor Snape that he could be perfect. That he was sorely needed on the Chile project. That he was the fair choice.

"You look terrible. When did you sleep last?" Professor Snape asked.

Startled, Harry replied, "Um, two nights ago, I guess."

"As I suspected. Overtired, overemotional—you need a nap, just like a cranky toddler. I suppose I could rummage up a small cot for you. That's where cranky toddlers sleep, isn't it?"

"I don't need a cot."

"Then stop acting like a toddler."

"Yes sir."

"This will affect your final grade, you understand."

"Yes sir."

"I need some help in the large greenhouse—nothing exciting—mostly cuttings, cleaning up, and monitoring experiments. Perhaps if you were to do those things and write a few additional reports you might be able to make up for this project."

It felt like charity. Harry had never liked charity, but he was so desperate that he knew he'd take whatever Professor Snape offered. Yet despite knowing that, the mere thought of it rankled.

"Would you do that for Neville? For someone else?" Harry asked.

"Generally speaking, I would not. But there are always extenuating circumstances that must be considered."

"Yeah? And what's mine?"

"You're a young man who's got far too few second chances in life. A young man who needs a firm hand to guide him, not hurt him. I fear that outside these walls you would fall into a life that is far beneath you."

The hot, prickling tears were back. "I'm not weak or—or delicate. I can take care of myself."

"Of that I have no doubt. It is the manner in which you would accomplish it that is worrisome."

Harry opened his mouth, a hot retort ready to burst forth.

"We will not discuss this further," Professor Snape said, interrupting him. "You will go back to your room and sleep. I will inform the rest of your teachers that you are ill and unable to attend classes the rest of the day. This also means no slinking down to the stables, either. Or any visits from Mr. Malfoy during classes. Am I clear?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. I trust we will never have to have a conversation like this one again."

"Yes sir. Thank you. For not, erm, having me expelled."

"It would serve no purpose in this instance. Rest assured, you will have to work very, very hard to bring your grade up . . . and to earn my trust. This is serious, Harry. I'm very disappointed in you."

Harry wanted to crawl under the table and disappear. The weight of Professor Snape's disapproval pushed him down, blanketing him with despair. He hated that he'd come to depend on Professor Snape's approval. Before, he'd never cared what people thought. Dependence made him weak. He'd learnt that a long time ago at Vernon Dursley's hand. But Wolsford had made him soft, had made him drop his guard. He was at a loss for how to regain that sense of isolation. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to, though, because it would mean losing Professor Snape's regard, Mrs. Malfoy's lovely notes and trinkets. It would mean losing Draco.

Harry wondered how people dealt with all of these feelings all of the time. He was exhausted. But first, he had his summer to secure. Then he could worry about everything else.

"I am sorry, sir. Truly. I just—I'm sorry," Harry said, hoping he hadn't also dashed his chances at going to Chile. "I'll do whatever you ask. No matter what the job is."

Professor Snape's expression seemed quite sad, which Harry didn't understand. "I'm sure you will," he said before dismissing him.

DDDDDDDDDD

Harry woke slowly, enjoying the warmth of his covers. He had no idea how long he'd slept and didn't much care about the time. In his bed, with the hangings closed, he was quite safe from the world. It was like . . . it was like his cupboard in some respects. How Harry hated admitting the comfort of that thought.

"Harry? You still asleep?"

A hand poked through his bed hangings, pulling them back. A pale blond head slipped through, gray eyes staring curiously.

"Draco," Harry rumbled, his voice still thick with sleep.

"You okay? Uncle Severus said you were ill. It's nearly dinner. Do you want me to bring something back for you?"

Nearly dinner? Harry couldn't believe he'd slept the entire day. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. "No. I'll, um, just give me a minute. I'll get dressed."

Draco's concern melted into a leer. "Need a hand?"

"Ha. Not if I want to get dressed."

"You'll get dressed. Eventually," Draco said, already crawling into Harry's bed.

Harry held out his hands, as if to push him away. "Er, sorry. I'm . . . I'm not in the mood just now."

Draco paused with one knee on the bed. He cocked his head to the side. "This must be serious. Perhaps you should go to the hospital wing."

He reached out to feel Harry's forehead, but Harry ducked away.

"What's got into you?" Draco asked, his face flushing with what Harry imagined was embarrassment.

"Question of the day, it seems," Harry muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. Sorry. I'm just . . . I dunno, out of sorts, I guess. I'm just not feeling up to anything at the moment."

Draco bit his lip and looked around. He looked down and his hair fell forward, obscuring his face. "We could, um, you know, just lay next to each other and, uh, talk or something."

"What, like a cuddle?"

Draco backed away from the bed. "No, you stupid sod. I just meant—forget it."

"Wait, Draco, come back. Sorry, you just took me by surprise. Um, I—I wouldn't be adverse to, you know, laying beside each other and just talking."

A smile slowly curved across Draco's face. "Now who's in the mood for a cuddle?"

Harry threw his pillow at Draco's head. "Don't be such an arse."

Draco caught the pillow with both hands and threw it back, snickering as it skimmed Harry's head, mussing his hair further.

"Hey!" Harry yelled.

"Oh, shut up," Draco said as he crawled onto the bed and settled on the left side. He snugged up to Harry and propped his head in his hand.

Harry sidled closer, feeling content for the first time in days. He took a deep breath, smiling at the smell of Draco's shampoo and soap powder and cologne. He didn't think he'd ever tire of that smell.

"So what's going on in that horribly mussed head of yours?" Draco asked, his fingers sliding up and down Harry's arm.

Harry shrugged. "Stupid stuff. Nothing to worry about."

"I'd believe you if you'd been acting like yourself at all these last two weeks, but you haven't. Is it . . . is it me? Are you—I mean to say, do you regret my birthday? Because we don't—"

Harry sat up and covered Draco's mouth with his fingers. "I don't regret a minute of it. It's not that. It's . . . like I said, it's stupid stuff. Stuff I have to work out."

"Oh."

Harry settled back down, letting Draco's soft fingers lull him.

"You could tell me about it, you know," Draco said.

Harry couldn't, though. He'd come close to saying something to Neville, Professor Snape, and even Ron a few days prior, but he couldn't tell Draco. Perhaps, Harry thought, it was because he was sure Draco would leave him the second he realized what a pathetic, lying, fuck-up he was. He'd tried to so hard to fit in, to be like everyone else at Wolsford, but the simple truth was he wasn't anything like any of the other boys. He never would be.

"Harry?"

"Sorry."

"What's going on?"

"Oh. Um, it's about Neville."

"What? What's Nervous Neville got to do with anything? Sorry—sorry, slip of the tongue."

"He, erm, he saw us."

Harry watched as Draco's expression of confusion slipped away, replaced by horror.

"How? When? Who has he told?" Draco asked in a breathless rush.

"Third floor. Last week. And he hasn't told anyone. He wouldn't—he won't."

"Damn it," Draco swore, scrambling off the bed. He ran his hand through his hair. "Damn it," he swore again as he started pacing in front of Harry's bed.

Harry lay there, watching, a sinking feeling settling into his stomach the more Draco fretted and paced.

"That's it. No more snogging or anything at school. Too many people know as it is, and now stupid Neville Longbottom knows. He'll probably spill it at dinner or something in some sort of nervous fit."

Harry sighed, suddenly tired beyond belief. "He's not going to say anything. He's not like that."

Draco stopped pacing and returned to Harry's bed. His fingers picked at the edge of Harry's green blanket. "He'd better not," he said sullenly.

"He won't."

Draco nodded, but didn't look up or stop fingering the edge of the blanket.

"He's not a bad guy. He's actually really nice. If you'd just take a second to get to know—"

"Harry, I'm not going to be friends with Longbottom, okay? Just—just drop it."

"It's just that, well, he said something quite nice about you."

Draco looked up, his expression questioning.

"He said . . . um, well he said that you were—that you were a bit of bully as a child and that . . . well I suppose I should get to the good part."

"Yes, please do."

"He said that when he saw us—on the third floor—that you, um, that you had a . . . nice expression on your face."

"What?"

Harry blushed. He ducked his head. "He said that—that you were, um, looking at me. Like I was important. He thought that was nice, that you could see me as important."

Harry tensed and berated himself for saying something so stupid. Soft fingers trailing down his cheek caught him by surprise. He leaned into the touch, turning to Draco. The expression on Draco's face almost stole his breath.

"You are important. And . . . I'm not perfect, Harry. I've done a lot of things that I wouldn't do again if given the chance."

"You don't have to be perfect," Harry said, meaning it with all his heart. He refused to think about the fact that he would never grant himself such clemency.

"Yeah?" Draco asked.

"Yeah. Promise," Harry murmured before leaning in and kissing Draco. He was tired of thinking so much. He needed to forget again.