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. Special thanks this time around to joanwilder for assistance with the technical aspects of this chapter. Also, thank you all for your wonderful reviews! You have no idea how much they mean to me. I am in awe of your thoughtfulness and your sharing.

CHAPTER 29: I Should Have, I Could Have, I Would Have

Harry floated in darkness.

Awareness flickered. He struggled against it, but awareness made him feel nice things, like the warm fingers tangled with his own, the sure sweep of a thumb across the inside of his wrist, and the brush of something soft against his brow. He could even hear a melodic voice murmuring near his ear and smelled a familiar perfume. He relaxed and allowed awareness to creep closer. But as he woke, pain made him gasp and choke.

He retreated.

DDDDDDDDDDDDD

Draco stared at the soggy toast in front of him.

"You must eat."

He looked up at his godfather and then back to the toast. He pushed the plate away, ignoring Severus's exasperated sigh.

"This moping helps no one."

"I want to see him."

"You can't yet."

"Why not? Why can't I? Mum's in there with him right now. You were with him earlier. Why can you be with him, but I can't?"

"He's still unconscious, that's why."

"So? I could talk to him. Hearing familiar voices helps people wake up. I demand to see him!"

Draco ignored the stares from the other families in the waiting room. The old lady in the corner clucked her tongue and muttered something under her breath before returning to her knitting. He didn't care what they thought. It had been hours and no one had let him see Harry. No one. He was entitled to be angry and loud. And scared.

"Draco, I don't want you to see him yet. That's why. He's—I've had enough hysterics for one day and am not equipped to deal with you if you don't like what you see." Severus's clothes were rumpled and his hair stringy. He looked exhausted and wrung out. Draco knew that feeling.

"What's that supposed to mean? You just said he had a dislocated shoulder, a concussion, a—"

"Calm yourself!" Severus demanded in a furious whisper. "This is precisely why you're not going in there. Not yet. You'll—you'll act like a melodramatic teenager! Screaming, crying, disrupting everything."

"Gee. Didn't know I'd turned into a sixteen-year-old girl. Thanks for that."

"Do not test me," Severus said, massaging his forehead in angry circles.

The frenetic scurrying of the doctors and nurses and hurried conferences with Severus had long since passed. The pain of waiting bore down on them, allowing bone-deep lethargy to set in.

"Sorry, I just—Why isn't he awake yet? It's been hours and hours." Draco bit his lip. "Is it a bad sign? That he's not awake? Is that why you won't let me see him?"

"We've already gone over this."

"I know, I just—I feel like I can't remember everything. It's so confused and I can't remember if you told me that he was—" Draco stopped when Severus's hand covered his and squeezed for a moment before retreating.

"I know you're worried. We're all worried," Severus said.

Draco nodded.

Severus's eyes cut to the side. "What were all of you doing up there, anyway? It must have been four o'clock in the morning."

The solicitous tone of Severus's voice caused Draco to put his head down, quickly trying to gather his fuzzy thoughts.

"Just like I said. Just like I've told you every time you've asked me."

"Indulge me."

Draco sighed. "It's the last weekend of school. We thought we'd go up to the stone circle in the upper pasture and, you know, have a last hurrah. The grass was wet and Harry slipped, landed on his right side and hit his head on a rock. He fell down the hill. I sent Blaise to find you while I stayed with Harry."

"We, who?"

Draco wanted to scream. "I told you already!" he snapped. "Me, Harry, Blaise and Wea—we just wanted to celebrate."

"Why wasn't Mr. Weasley with you?"

Draco kicked the leg of the table, hoping abusing the furniture would keep him from spewing obscenities or grabbing the knitting needles out of the old lady's hands and stabbing his godfather with them.

"Draco?"

He kicked the table especially hard and shrugged.

Severus didn't say anything else for a long while, long enough that Draco thought he might have gotten away with the lie.

"Did you know that you have to fall quite hard, or from a distance, in order to dislocate your shoulder?"

Draco had been ready for this one. "He fell hard and landed on it the wrong way. Happens all of the time."

"Yes, yes. Of course. Which side did he fall on again?"

"Chri—the right, Uncle Severus."

"The right, you say?"

Draco pursed his lips and nodded.

"Isn't it extraordinary, then, that it's his left shoulder and his left wrist the doctors had to tend to."

Draco's mouth fell open. Tears of frustration prickled at the corners of his eyes. "So I got the side wrong. I just told you everything feels confused. And it's not like I've been able to see him since we arrived. It was a slip of the tongue. Happens to the best of us." Draco sneered, no longer caring whether his godfather was as scared as he was.

"I know you're lying to me and I won't tolerate it."

Draco snorted. "What if I am? Why would you care? Filch run out of summer help?"

"Because whatever happened up there has a bearing on what's going on now. What you know could help Harry."

Draco straightened at that, dread pooling in his stomach. "I thought you said he was going to be okay."

"He—this is serious! I'm not in the mood to play these infantile games. I need to know what really happened."

"Why do you think—"

"Mr. Hagrid came back early. He called because he couldn't find Harry. It seems the tack room was a complete mess. Were you taking Harry out on a ride? Against my express wishes? Were you or were you not encouraging him to ride that damn beast of a horse?"

"I did no such thing! Harry—" Draco shut his mouth and went back to kicking the table.

"Harry, what? Draco, please, this is important. I . . . apologize if I seemed angry with you. This could make the difference. If the doctors knew what had really happened . . ."

Draco groaned. "You can't expel him. Promise me."

Severus rubbed his hand over his face. "I have no intention of doing such a thing," he murmured. "But I need to know what happened. What really happened. Please."

Draco swallowed and closed his eyes. After all of that planning, it had fallen apart because Draco couldn't keep his story straight. And what if Uncle Severus was right? What if what Draco knew could help Harry? God! Had waiting that five or ten minutes made the difference? Had it? Guilt crept into his gut and made him squirm.

"I didn't take Harry out on a ride. He—he did that himself."

"Go on."

"We—we were out. Blaise, Weasley and I. We got in, erm, really late. Harry and I had a row earlier that night and he left from . . . um . . . from where we were."

"I know all about the cottage. I'm not nearly as thick as you students seem to think. Get on with it."

"Er, right. Anyway, we got in and saw that all of his things were piled on his bed. There was a note."

Severus leaned forward, fear in his eyes. "What kind of note?"

Draco shook his head. "Not like that. It was—it said he was leaving Wolsford. Withdrawing. We figured he was running away."

Severus sat back in his chair and blinked for a few moments. "What happened then?"

"I had an idea where he'd gone."

"So you went to the stables."

"Yeah. We started there. Saw that Buckbeak was gone and figured he was trying to make it to town."

"Did you see him fall?"

"No. But Buckbeak was near where Harry fell and you saw the rock. I figure Buckbeak jumped the creek and Harry wasn't ready for it."

"Why didn't you tell me this before? Why not the medics?"

"What does it matter how he fell? And why would I tell you that my—that Harry had stolen a horse and was running away? He'd have been expelled."

"And yes, dead or a long-term coma are such better options."

Draco stood and shoved his chair away. "I hate you! Why would you say that? Why? You think I want him dead? Is that it? How dare you say something so . . . so awful to me. You don't know what it's like, sitting here, wondering what you could have done to keep this from happening, so just shut your bloody mouth!"

"Quiet!" the little old lady in the corner snapped, startling both Draco and Severus. "You've already run out the rest of the poor sods with your bickering. Leave an old woman to peace. You," she said pointing at Draco, "tell your father you're sorry. Lads shouldn't speak that way."

"He's not—"

The old lady made short jabbing motions with her knitting needles, the completed knitting flapping in the wake. "Now, lad."

Draco sighed. "Er, sorry." He shot a glance at the old lady. "I shouldn't have been disrespectful. But you—"

"That's enough out of you," the old lady said, cutting Draco off. Severus's face was entirely too smug. Draco wanted to claw it off.

"Yes, Son, you should always respect your elders," he said.

"You're not off the hook, young man," the old lady said, pointing at Severus. "That boy of yours looks wrung out. Poor little lamb. And you—you're just snapping at him like a wolf, ready to pick his measly little bones. You apologize to that boy."

"Yes, Father, do apologize."

"I—I apologize." Severus said nothing more.

"I suppose it will do. Now keep your voices down," the old woman said.

Draco and Severus said nothing for a long while. The clack-clack-clack of the old woman's knitting needles was the only sound in the room. Surprisingly, it was Severus who spoke up first.

"I knew that horse was trouble," he said softly. "I told Rubeus not to let Harry spend so much time with him. Of course he thought he could ride him. I should have seen this coming. I should have taken greater precautions. That dangerous animal should never have been allowed to board at Wolsford. I should have had him moved, or put down. I should have done something. Talked to him."

Draco looked up, shocked. He'd never seen his godfather so defeated. So scared. He realized how much Harry meant to him, how he probably thought of Harry as a son. Draco reached out and squeezed his hand, grateful that someone else loved Harry as much as he did, and felt as helpless and powerless as he did.

"He's going to be okay. He has to be," Draco said.

"He'd better, or I'll finish the job for him."

Draco snorted. "I'll be there to help, I think."

Severus made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat and fished around for the morning paper. He gave a section to Draco and they read in silence. There was an article on how the South American rain forests were slowly disappearing due to environmental changes, and suddenly Draco wondered how Harry's injuries would affect his summer.

"Will this change when you leave for Chile?"

"I—what?" Severus asked, looking up from the Business section with a perplexed look on his face. "No, I don't think so. Why?"

"Well, I assumed you weren't going to let Harry travel on his own if he's still bandaged up."

"Your mother can ensure he arrives safely."

"Mum's going to Chile?"

"What? No—she's n—" Severus paused. "Why would you think that?"

"Well, isn't that where you're going to be? For that summer project? Have I got it wrong?"

"No, I'll be in Chile, along with—" Severus paused again. "Did Harry tell you he was going to Chile?"

"Yeah. He mentioned it a long time ago, though. He's really excited about it—or he was. But I think part of it was that he . . . well, you know. He didn't want to go back to the Dursleys. He hasn't said anything since before the spring holiday, though. Why?"

The confusion cleared from Severus's face. His shoulders drooped and he swore under his breath.

"Uncle Severus?"

"Harry's not going to Chile."

"He's not? But—are you not taking any assistants, then?"

"Harry was not selected. He found out last week. I assumed he'd mentioned this to you."

Draco felt as though he'd been punched in the gut. "No, he didn't say anything. I just—what's going to happen to him now? He can't—he's not going back to the—"

"No. He's not going back there. I'd arranged for him to work with one of my colleagues for most of the summer."

"Oh. He—he didn't mention that, either."

"He didn't know about it. He didn't let me tell him. He was so angry after class that day and I refused to talk with him while he was like that. I should have talked to him. I shouldn't have let him affect me so."

"Sounds like he's been angry with the lot of us."

"Harry is—Draco, are you sure that you want to pursue something with him? He's not casual about things like this. He won't—he doesn't—take rejection well, and if you're not sure about—"

"Stop right there. Don't say what I think you're about to say." Something welled up in Draco. It felt raw and burned him clean through. "I'm not sure about much, but I'm absolutely sure about Harry. I—I love him," Draco announced.

The little old lady in the corner sighed. Draco's head swung around. "Yeah, that's right. I'm in love with a boy—er, a man. I love him."

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw Severus trying to shush him with slashing hand motions. "Stop this," he hissed, but Draco paid him no mind.

"He's my—my boyfriend, and how dare you look at me like there's anything wrong with that," Draco said to the little old lady, his voice the snappy aristocratic drawl his father had used when talking to people who were beneath them.

He'd said he loved Harry—he'd said he loved a man—and he'd meant every word. Draco's heart beat so wildly he thought it would fly from his chest.

"More of this again, eh? Shut that smart mouth of yours," the little old lady said. "It's none to do to with me who you love—boy or girl—I read Hello! I know what goes on nowadays. Just keep your voice down. You're making me drop stitches with all your wild pronouncements and hysterics. And you," she said, waving her knitting at Severus. "Keep that son of yours under control. He's clearly had a shock—look how pale he is, and how skinny—but that's no excuse. Children today," she muttered under her breath before returning to her knitting.

Severus's lips quirked at the sides. "I can see why you two like each other. Dramatic outbursts, hot tempers. It's amazing you haven't killed each other."

"Don't tell me that I don't love him, because I do," he said in a raised voice, daring the old lady to object. "I do," he said to his godfather.

Now that he'd said it, he wanted everyone to know. He couldn't believe he hadn't wanted people to know. Harry was . . . he was everything. How could he have denied this for so long?

"Draco, I know you think that I can't possibly believe that you know love at sixteen, but I do. I know you love him. I've known it for a long while. But love—that first visceral feeling—is merely the first bloom."

Draco rolled his eyes. "God, I can't handle one of your plant analogies right now."

"Sustaining love is a far harder thing," Severus said, ignoring Draco. "Especially at your age. Any relationship would be difficult, but one with Harry will be extraordinarily so."

Draco snorted. "You think I don't know that? What, you think I sit around hospitals, staring at soggy toast for laughs? I know exactly what a relationship with Harry's like—I'm living it. Right now. And he's in that room, and he won't—he won't wake up and I don't know if he's going to be all right." His voice broke on the last word.

"He'll be okay."

Draco nodded, his head bobbing up and down a little too hard. "I just wish—I don't know what's happening. It's like it's not real. I can't even see him."

He heard Severus sigh but it was a gentle sound, one full of sorrow and understanding.

"Please, just tell me again. Tell me what's wrong with him. Tell me he's going to be okay."

Severus pursed his lips for several moments before beginning the litany once again. "While his head injury was substantial and he required a great number of stitches, there does not appear to be lasting damage. The doctors aren't worried about the unconsciousness yet. It was actually helpful, because it meant the shoulder dislocation could be reduced without the necessity of sedation. Barbaric procedure, really. His test results were normal. His wrist and ankle have been wrapped and iced and his shoulder immobilized. His abrasions and bruises have been tended to, and his . . ."

And Severus continued on, detailing the treatments and tests that Harry had gone through as he'd done four times already. Draco closed his eyes and let the words wash over him.

DDDDDDDDDDDDDD

Harry was annoyed. He was perfectly content to stay where he was, but his body seemed to have other ideas.

Sounds sharpened as if someone were pulling cotton from his ears. The smell of antiseptic and that familiar perfume assaulted him. But it was the pain that made him try to twist away and tumble back into darkness again. He groaned.

"He's waking again," someone said. The voice sounded so loud. Harry tried to tell whoever it was to shut the bloody hell up. His lips wouldn't move the way he wanted, though, and all he managed was a loud grunt and a cat-like yowl.

"I told you he was in pain. I demand you give him pain medication!" the voice said, as warm fingers clutched at his hand and soft hair tickled his nose.

"It's all right, Harry. You're going to be okay. Just hang on a bit longer, I'll take care of everything," the voice said.

It sounded like the voice of his mother—at least how he imagined she would sound. How many nights had he dreamt of his mother soothing him through a fever or a scraped knee? He tried to call out, tried to ask her if she was his mum, but couldn't. Agitated, he shifted, trying to get closer to the voice, to the soft hair and warm fingers.

"Can't you see he's in pain? Are you all sadists?" the voice yelled, hurting Harry's ears.

"We can't give him any pain medication until he's awake and alert. He's been unconscious since he arrived and has a concussion."

This was a new voice. One that sounded tired and as if she'd given this same speech over and over again.

"That is not acceptable. I want to speak to Dr. Marshall right now."

Harry tried to tell them to stop yelling. Surely they knew they were yelling. He just wanted to go back to sleep. But now it felt like someone was shaking the life out of him and poking his shoulder with a pointy stick.

"Mr. Potter? Mr. Potter? Can you hear me?"

Harry tried to push the hand away, but found he couldn't move his left arm. And what little movement he accomplished caused incredible pain. He yelped and tried to get away.

"You're safe, Mr. Potter. Come on, now. Open your eyes for me," the second voice said.

No! I don't want to! he told himself, but his eyes fluttered open as if commanded.

"Ah, there you are, dearie. That's it. Keep them open for me."

Harry wanted to slug her. "Go 'way," he slurred, letting his eyes fall closed again and trying to ignore the pain.

"Harry, it's time to wake up. Come on now, wake up for us."

There was that soft voice again, and the smell of familiar perfume. "Mum?" he asked in a raspy voice. He heard a slight gasp and felt a hand brush through his hair.

"Oh, my sweetheart. I wish I were. I wish I were," the voice said.

"Hurts."

"I told you he needs pain medication. I insist you give it to him now. Or do I have to call my dear friend, Dr. Willshire, the chief physician for this hospital? This is ridiculous. I'm going to get Mr. Snape, he'll see that this is rectified immediately."

"We'll give it to him as soon as the doctor comes in and assesses him. I understand that this is a trying time for you and your family, but we have procedures to follow, and they're in place to keep your son alive."

Harry was confused. Was this his mum? Now that he thought about it, she sounded like Mrs. Malfoy.

"He's not—" There was a long pause and a squeeze to his hand. "Yes, of course. Can you send for Mr. Snape? I don't want to leave Harry."

Harry closed his eyes and tried to snuggle closer, but the pain kept him from getting too far.

"Stay with us, Harry," the second voice barked. Why was she being so mean?

"Tired," he groused. "Go 'way."

"Harry? Open your eyes and look at me. Look at me, Harry."

Why did they keep calling his name? Did they think he didn't know his name?

"Harry?"

"What?" he snapped, eyes still closed and his tongue thick.

"Open your eyes. Open your eyes, Harry."

He opened his eyes again. He saw three blurry people. A woman in polka dots, Mrs. Malfoy, and a man in a white coat.

"Welcome back, Harry," the man said.

"Stop saying my name," he slurred.

The man chuckled. "Glad to see you haven't lost your spirit."

Harry tried to turn over. Maybe if he turned over they would all disappear and he could go back to sleep. He could go back to the nice dream where his mum kissed his cheeks and held his hand.

He'd barely shifted when pain exploded on his left side. He groaned. Hands turned him onto his back and held him in place. Mrs. Malfoy murmured in his ear, but he couldn't make out what she was saying.

The pain, however awful, managed to sharpen his mind. Dreams dissolved.

He looked around. Polka dots, white coat, Mrs. Malfoy. He paused. Mrs. Malfoy? Why was she—Damn it! He was in hospital. He hadn't escaped. Was there anything he could do right? Harry closed his eyes, wishing it all away.

"Stay with us, Harry. Just answer a few questions and then we can give you something to help with the pain, okay?"

Harry eyes snapped open. He nodded. He could answer a few questions if it meant the end of the pain.

"What's your name?"

"Ha—Harry Potter."

"Good, and what year were you born?"

"1980."

"Very good, Harry." The doctor held up two balls, one red and one blue. "With your right hand, point to the blue ball."

With some difficulty, he raised his right arm and pointed a shaky finger at the blue ball.

"Excellent," the doctor said before he scribbled something on his pad. He came close to the bed and took out a small pen light. "I need to check your pupils. Look up for me?"

Harry did, trying not to squirm when the light shone in his eyes. "Brilliant. Tell me where it hurts."

Harry resisted the urge to tell him to fuck himself, but just barely. "All over," he said, not caring that he sounded tetchy and whiny. The doctor looked like he was waiting for more, though. "My head, shoulder . . . um, my wrist and my ankle. And it hurts to breathe."

"You had quite a nasty fall. You've been unconscious for about five hours now."

Buckbeak. The fall. Someone holding him and telling him to hang on. It all came rushing back.

"What's wrong with me? Why's my arm all bandaged up?"

"You have a concussion and you dislocated your shoulder. Your wrist has a mild sprain, as does your ankle. You bruised a few ribs and have a few other minor injuries. I daresay, you're going to be sore for quite a while."

"Brilliant."

The doctor chuckled. He looked like he might reach out and do something completely mental, like ruffle Harry's hair. "We're going to keep you overnight for observation and, depending on how things go, you may go home tomorrow."

Dread settled in. Harry closed his eyes, tears leaking at the corners.

"That's right, Harry," Mrs. Malfoy said a bit too brightly. "You'll be coming home. With me and Draco."

Harry's eyes shot open. He looked at her in silent question. She nodded. "It's all sorted. I'll explain later."

Before Harry could ask any questions, the doctor and nurse moved over to his bed. He noticed for the first time that he had an IV line in his right hand.

The doctor handed two large syringes to the nurse. "See how he does with one. If that's not quite enough, go ahead and give him the other."

"Of course, sir," the nurse said, even as she uncapped the syringe and injected it into Harry's IV line.

A feeling of warmth washed over him. The throbbing pain began to recede. He sighed.

"That's it, Harry. Here's the good stuff to make you feel better. It's going to make you sleepy, but that's okay."

"Oh, so now it's okay," he slurred, even as his eyes fluttered closed. He felt like he was being pressed into the mattress, the weight of his limbs and the warmth of the blankets soothing. It reminded him of nights spent behind closed curtains and afternoons sprawled across warm grass.

"Draco?" he called out.

"Shh, you'll see him when you wake up. I promise."

The nurse laughed. "He's a real corker. Keeps you on your toes, I suspect."

Harry felt Mrs. Malfoy's fingers carding through his hair. It was the loveliest feeling in the world.

"You have no idea," she said.

Harry drifted off to sleep.

DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

He looked so small bundled in white sheets and blankets in the large hospital bed. The bruises and scratches stood out against the too-pale skin. She planned to get some color in those cheeks. Perhaps they could spend afternoons in the garden? If Harry was feeling up to it, he could garden with her. They'd take lunch in the gazebo and Draco would join them. She'd drink her tea and watch as her boys teased and needled each other with affection so obvious that it would make her smile for no reason at all. She'd keep him from doing too much—afternoon naps every day, nights reading or watching the telly—and stuff him full of his favorite foods. Why were teenage boys so ridiculously thin?

Narcissa started. When had she come to love this boy?

She rearranged his blankets, taking care to avoid his right ankle and left side, both heavily bandaged. She went back to holding his hand and wishing she could go back in time and save him, wishing she could go back to that night so many years ago and change everything.

The door snicked open behind her and closed with a soft puff of sound.

"How is he?"

"He woke. The doctor came round and then they gave him some pain medication. He's sleeping now."

She heard the sharp intake of breath but she wasn't going to let Severus make her feel guilty for having kept that moment for herself. He'd had so many moments with Harry already. This one was hers. She steeled herself, waiting for his response.

She felt the weight of his hand on her shoulder. His fingers twirled in her hair for a moment before he let go. It was such a small show of affection, but one that Narcissa savored.

"What did the doctor say?" Severus asked.

"They're keeping him overnight for observation, but he'll likely be released tomorrow."

"Good. Draco is most insistent that he see Harry."

"I'm surprised he hasn't broken down the door."

"No, but he did declare his love for Harry to the family waiting room."

"He didn't!"

"Oh, but he did. I've never seen anything so flamboyant and full of teenage angst in all my life. Why must they make everything so black and white? Why must everything be a declaration? A line in the sand? A challenge of some sort?"

"They're teenagers, Severus, on the cusp of adulthood. You were that way once, you know."

"I most certainly was not. I never did anything as witless as declaring that I was a homosexual to the little old lady in the corner doing her knitting."

"No, but you did defend my honor when Lucius was in one of his moods."

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't you remember? We were at a summer party between sixth and seventh year and Lucius made an inappropriate remark about my dress. You were so incensed. It was the only time I ever saw color in your face. Something happened and Lucius said something else. The next thing I remember is you running from the room, only to reappear a few moments later with a woolen mitten. You slapped him across the face with it, as I recall, and challenged him to a duel. Someone found two brooms and the two of you set out knocking each other around."

"It was supposed to be a glove! But, of course, the Smythwicks didn't have leather gloves by the door. Who keeps woolen mittens in the hall wardrobe in the summer?"

Narcissa couldn't help the giggles and laughter that poured out of her. It was like releasing tension from a valve. "You know what I remember most about that party?" she whispered.

"I haven't the faintest idea."

"Everyone thought you and Lucius were just having us on, knocking each other about with broomsticks. Can you imagine? Even Lucius thought it was one big laugh."

"Yes, well Lucius thought everything was a big laugh. That was his biggest problem. He never took anyone seriously. He thought everyone was beneath him."

"You took it seriously, though. You weren't having a laugh. You were defending me. You became very dear to me in that moment and when Draco was born, I knew no other man could be his godfather. You've taken such good care of him. Thank you."

Severus shook his head. "He was easy to look after, and he had you. I couldn't really do any harm to him. But Harry? He had no one and I failed him."

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"He—I can't talk to him. I've tried, in my own way. But nothing worked. I knew something was wrong. I knew that he was—but nothing worked. He wouldn't open up to me. And then he was unaccountably rude and I refused to talk to him. I sent him away. I dismissed him. Like those wretched people."

"What on Earth? Severus, you can't keep Harry and his friends from being teenage boys. It was an unfortunate accident. Yes, they shouldn't have been out on the grounds that late, but we shouldn't have done half the things we did as children."

"He wasn't—he was running away, Cissa! He took that damn demon horse and tried to run away."

Narcissa couldn't believe it. "You're sure?"

"Draco found the note. He and Harry's friends concocted the story that they'd gone out and Harry slipped."

"But his injuries—"

"He fell from the horse. That wild beast should never have been allowed on school grounds."

"We'll have the horse removed straight away. And—and—" Narcissa deflated. "This is a mess."

"Quite."

"He's still coming home with me. He's not going back to those awful people, even if he can't participate in that program you've arranged."

"I know that. And he should still be able to do it."

"Why would he do this? I don't understand."

"Why wouldn't he? What adult has ever protected him? Who has he ever been able to trust?"

The words stung. Narcissa looked away. "Thanks for that."

"Cissa, that was not an insult to you. If anything, it was an insult to the both of us, to the world. No one helped him."

"That's not true! We gave him a new life! Wolsford is a way out for him, a chance at a normal life with friends and a future and hope."

"I'm not so sure of that."

"What are you saying? That he's not going to return to Wolsford? You told me his marks were excellent, that he'd made friends. You're just going to tear all of that away from him? Send him to a local comprehensive?"

"Stop it!" Severus whispered furiously. "That is not what I'm saying. We thrust him into a world for which he was vastly unprepared and expected him to thrive. Instead he coped—just as he's always done—and used all of the same tricks as he did before. And we didn't notice. What I'm saying is that he needs to learn new ways to address these issues of his."

"What are you suggesting?"

"I don't know, Cissa. If I knew that, we wouldn't be here in the first place."

For a long while, the only sounds were the whirring and beeping of the machines in Harry's room.

"Do you remember Trudy Tremaine's daughter—the awkward one who witnessed that ghastly attack last year?"

"What about her?"

Narcissa shrugged. "She's in counseling now. Some kind of survivor's guilt therapy. Mimy says it's helping. Maybe Harry would do well with that. Counseling, I mean."

"I'd thought of that."

"I could arrange an appointment, if you'd like."

"I think that would be wise. I'm—I haven't been good enough for him. He needs more."

Narcissa uncharacteristically rolled her eyes. "You're quite dramatic, you know. And you wonder where Draco gets it? He gets it from you. And me, I suppose. Harry needs more, yes, but not because you failed him somehow. He needs more because those awful people abused him his whole life. Gods, if only I'd—"

"We can't change the past. If we could, we'd both have done things differently."

Narcissa nodded, knowing they were taking about more than Harry. "What now?"

"We wait. We fix it. We move forward."