"We're outside the Boot seat, in county Berkshire," Malfoy said, answering Harry's silent question as they dismounted. They had hardly spoken all day, not since Malfoy's surprising acceptance of Draco's little statement.

As wary as Harry was of letting Draco 'claim' him, the cloak was warm and well-made, and he'd be stupid to toss it aside.

Harry was glad his guardsmen never dragged their feet when he gave an order. They set up camp quickly, spurred on by sharp directions and promises that they could eat and sleep when they were done.

Still, it was past dark by the time Harry could relax. His own tent was small and shared with Oliver Wood, but it suited his needs. It was empty at the moment, Wood off somewhere eating supper, and Harry sat down with a sigh of relief, removing his heavy gorget and letting it fall to the bed beside him. He fumbled with the straps on his pauldrons, groaning when he got the first one off and put his shoulder through a full rotation.

"You are not accustomed to full armour, I take it." Malfoy leaned against the frame of his tent with his arms crossed and a smirk on his face.

Harry grunted. "I prefer mail. Less restrictive." He pulled off the other pauldron and moved on to stripping off his vambraces. "How can I help you, my Lord?"

"None of that. You needn't call me Lord in private, Harry." He sat on Wood's bunk. "Malfoy is fine. For now."

Harry coughed. "Well then. What can I do for you, Malfoy?"

Malfoy gave a small smile. "Nothing. Dine with me. I wish to have the chance to get to know you better, as we will be spending a considerable amount of time together before this…unpleasantness is over."

"Of course," Harry murmured, following Malfoy to his tent.

"Do sit, Harry." Malfoy gestured to one of the light, portable chairs around his folding table. "Harper."

Malfoy's manservant, Harper, set the table. Harry knew Harper in passing from his time spent in the kitchens and the occasional servants' balls Malfoy allowed. The man was several years younger than him, but competent and quiet.

He was also rather cute, Harry thought, flashing him a grin. In a boyish kind of way. Harper flushed and hurried away.

Malfoy cocked an eyebrow. "Flirting with servants now, Harry?"

Harry leaned back in his chair, watching the Lord carefully. "Servants are still people, Malfoy," he said. "They want to be noticed and appreciated just as much as you or I do."

"Indeed," Malfoy murmured, leaning back in his seat. He regarded Harry carefully. "Narcissa has told you why I bought your contract, all those years ago."

Harry inclined his head, wondering where this new turn in conversation would go. "My Lady has also told me that Severus' contract was bought when you were a boy."

"Yes," Malfoy agreed, "but I wonder, do you know whose contract was bought when my father was young?" Harry shook his head. "It was a young orphan boy," Malfoy said slowly, "by the name of Tom Riddle Jr. He was taught alongside my father, Abraxas. He showed a great deal of power and talent, but none of the passion Severus has, nor your determination and loyalty. He left before his contract was released, never having gotten along with Abraxas and intent on searching out his family."

Harry pondered this new knowledge as he savoured the roast mutton Harper served them. He wanted to urge Malfoy to get to the point, but couldn't bring himself be so…insubordinate.

"Young Riddle found that his mother was the only daughter of a minor Lord in Kent. His uncle was Lord Morfin Gaunt, a mad, magically weak man sunk into poverty due to his father's wasteful spending. Riddle was," Malfoy grimaced, "not pleased. He began gathering followers and eventually deposed his uncle, but having the Gaunt Lordship was not enough for him. It was three years later that he defeated the Prewett twins, the joint main Lords of Kent. He has taken on a new name since then." Malfoy pinned Harry with a significant look. "Lord Slytherin."

Harry paused, lowering the cup that was halfway to his mouth. He met Malfoy's gaze, stared at him for long moments. "Why tell me this?" he asked eventually.

Malfoy smiled, like Harry's question had pleased him. "I see this battle ending two different ways. One is Slytherin killing his Majesty Lord Dumbledore, plunging us into a second Dark Time before his eventual bloody triumph."

Harry shuddered at the thought. "And the other?"

"Him dying under your sword." Harry blinked in surprise, but Malfoy smiled smugly. "Oh, the others are angry at Slytherin, yes, and some would be quite happy to kill him, but none like you. After his attempts on Draco's life, I think you have a much more personal motive in this war than the others."

-0-

"Good morning, my Lord," Seamus crowed, whipping back the curtains over the window in Draco's room.

"Go away," Draco rasped. His throat was rough after crying himself to sleep in the early hours of the morning.

"Can't," Seamus replied brightly. "You have duties to attend to, my Lord, what with Lord Malfoy gone."

Draco shook his head, burying himself further under the covers. "I can't. Tell my mother I'm sick."

Seamus gave a heavy sigh, and Draco expected to hear him leaving the room. Instead, he felt the weight of him sitting on the bed beside Draco's legs. "Do you know why I'm here? In Wiltshire at all, I mean."

Draco pushed the covers down over one eye, curious despite himself. Seamus regarded him with a serious expression, so unlike the manservant's usual happy demeanour, and Draco shook his head. "You're Irish, aren't you?" he asked, a little ashamed he had never asked before.

Harry would have.

"Yes, my Lord," Seamus replied. "I was born in Belfast, a couple years before the start of the wars there. Mum moved us out to the villages when the fighting started." He looked down at his hands and swallowed hard. "I was ten when Dad was conscripted. I thought I knew about war then, but I couldn't figure out why mum kept crying."

Draco sat up, his whole focus on his servant. He could still see the haunted shadows in Seamus' face. "He never came back, did he?"

Seamus shook his head quickly. "The village blacksmith defected. He came back and told us." He looked up again to stare out the window and set his shoulders. "Mum and I couldn't stay there, so we came here. She has a cousin in Low Town. My Lord bringing me into his household was a real stroke of luck."

"Do-" Draco bit his lip, afraid to ask the question most on his mind. "Do you still remember your father?"

Seamus' shoulders slumped again. "Every day," he said softly. "Sometimes it still feels like just yesterday, but I always remember that he left me behind to take care of Mum, so I go to work anyway. He always had a smile on his face, so I try to do the same." He turned to Draco, that familiar smile beginning to tug at his lips again. "You aren't the only one to be left behind when war calls, my Lord. There's naught you can do but carry on, try to smile, and find support in others."

Draco reached out on impulse, taking Seamus' hand and gripping it tightly for a beat. "I think I'll wear grey today," he said, trying for his usual imperious attitude, as he let go.

Seamus grinned at him, throwing open the wardrobe. "A very flattering colour on you, my Lord," he said as he retrieved a dove grey tunic, pairing it with deep grey, nearly black leggings and a slate short-sleeved robe with silver buttons.

Studying himself in the mirror, Draco agreed. He looked noble, powerful, and collected, like his father, but there was something missing. He shook his head when Seamus offered him his belt knife, retrieving Harry's short sword instead and buckling it on. The sword was worn and a bit battered, but well taken care of. Wearing it made him feel like he had Harry's support, and that calmed him.

"How do I look?"

Seamus gave him a slow half-bow. "Like a true and worthy leader, my Lord."

-0-

"Pull up here."

Harry brought Prongs to a halt at the top of the rise next to Malfoy's Thestral, letting him prance a bit in the cold. He tugged his cloak tighter around him, wishing for a fur-lined hood like the Lord's.

Malfoy pointed to the steam and smoke rising on the crisp air a few miles away. "That's it," he said. "London. We'll be there by nightfall."

Harry nodded sharply, wheeling Prongs around to circle the contingent behind them. "Take heart, friends!" he called, standing in his stirrups so the foot soldiers in the back could hear him. "Tonight, we reach London!"

The cheers that rose up were tired and relieved, but no one protested when Harry urged them to quicken their pace. Everyone wanted to make camp and sleep until the battle started.

"You will attend me in London," Malfoy said when Harry returned to his side. "Let Wood take care of the less important tasks."

"Yes, my Lord," Harry acquiesced with a nod.

"However," Malfoy added suddenly, a smirk on his face, "you may not use your attendance to me as an excuse not to acquire a new mount." He laughed lightly at Harry's flush. "Yes, I know full well that Severus has given you the wages you would have refused before and told you to buy a horse with them."

"Yes, my Lord," Harry agreed reluctantly. "I've become quite attached to Prongs, you know." He stroked the old stallion's neck tenderly. "Sirius gave him to me as a colt, just after I joined the guard. I suspect Remus helped him with the cost."

"I shan't force you to have him turned into glue, Harry," Malfoy teased lightly, "but he is too old to be useful in battle. Hopefully we shall have enough time for you to get used to a new horse before Slytherin attacks, but there is no certainty of that. Find a new mount tonight, Wood will take charge of setting up our encampment."

"Yes, my Lord."

They rode the remaining miles to the encampment in silence, but there was a palpable energy in the air. Men who had previously slumped and dragged their feet walked tall with a new spring in their steps. Every man, including Harry, wanted to be there as soon as possible.

The camp, when they reached it, was a sprawling enormity of tents and smoke. Men dressed in all the colours dyers could make ran to and fro, sometimes dodging out of the way of horses at the last second. The Malfoy contingent had been granted a space near the center, not far from the bright purple monstrosity that was the King's pavilion. Malfoy gave Harry a significant look as they dismounted, and Harry handed the Prong's reins to Wood, telling him to get the camp set up before following the Lord.

"Are you ready for this, Harry?" Malfoy asked, pausing before the curtained entrance to the pavilion.

"Yes."

Malfoy looked him over carefully. "No, you aren't," he said. "But neither am I," he added with a sigh, "so we might as well get it over with." He swept through the entrance. Harry followed behind him with a puzzled mind and a blank face.

The inside, lit by softly glowing orbs that drifted through the air, was taken up mostly by a large table. The man at the head was obviously Lord Albus Dumbledore, the King. His long white beard flowed over the front of his purple robes and was tucked into his belt, and his kind blue eyes twinkled even in the low light.

Harry stopped a pace behind Malfoy, dropping into a deep bow as his Lord did. "Your Majesty," Malfoy greeted.

"Lord Malfoy of Wiltshire," Dumbledore returned. "And who have you brought with you?"

"Harry Potter, Captain of my house guard."

"He wears the Malfoy colour." Harry met the eyes of the man who spoke, a black man standing to the right and slightly behind the King.

"The cloak was a gift from my Heir," Malfoy explained before Harry could say anything. "A gratitude for saving his life from Lord Slytherin's unscrupulous designs."

Dumbledore accepted the explanation with a nod and a twinkle of his eye. "Sit, Lord Malfoy." He gestured to a chair near his own right hand. "We have just been discussing the latest report on the size of Slytherin's forces."

Malfoy took his seat, Harry took his place standing behind his Lord, and the discussion began anew.

-0-

Harry's head was whirling just from listening to the war council. Bloody noblemen couldn't say anything straight. They tiptoed around alliances and alluded to ancient insults between houses. Several of the Lords could barely stand to be near each other. Minor nobleman of Somerset Septimus Weasley seemed to have some sort of feud with the House of Malfoy, though Lord Malfoy had appeared content to ignore the issue altogether. Kingsley Shacklebolt, the King's advisor and the man who had noted the colour of Harry's cloak, had watched Harry throughout the meeting with an odd look of expectation barely concealed.

All in all, Harry was glad to finally be released on the order that he find a new horse. He wandered around the twisting paths of the camp, muddy from the thousands of boots walking them, until he reached the Master of Beasts he had been told about on the outskirt of the camp.

As he approached, he could hear the angry screeching of some sort of bird and a man's voice trying to talk to it.

"Whoa there, boy! Easy now!"

Harry quickened his pace as he rounded the Master of Beasts' stables. A huge man, clearly the Master himself, was trying to approach a rearing and bucking animal, attempting to catch the rope that huge from a harness about its head. The animal was something Harry had never seen before; it had the back and hind legs of a horse, but its head and forelegs were of an eagle, which accounted for the screechy, bird-like noises it was making. It had wings, too, like the Malfoys' Thestrals, but its wings were feathered like its head.

"C'mon boy, settle down," the Master of Beasts shouted as he ducked a swipe of the creature's talons. The animal reared up again and flapped, raising its claws to deliver a mortal blow. The Master of Beasts seemed either unconcerned or unaware that the creature was aiming to slit him open.

Harry rushed forward without thinking. He ducked under the animal's talons, ignoring the scrape he felt across his scalp, and forced his way to stand directly under the animal's head, where it was unable to bend to get to him. The creature screeched again and tried to back up to reach him, but Harry caught the dangling lead rope and yanked down hard on it. He kept yanking, forcing the creature's head down into a deep bow, then sat on the rope to keep the animal down. It struggled for a minute before it gave in, its equine back half dropping to sit in the dirt.

"Crikey," the Master of Beasts panted. "I thought he'd kill you for sure. Never seen anyone handle a Hippogriff like tha'."

"Is it usual for one of these…Hippogriffs to be so wild?" Harry asked, glad to have a name for the creature he'd just wrestled.

"Nah," the large man replied. "Hippogriffs is usually alright once they respect yeh. Just show 'em who the master is. Buckbeak's just proud, I guess."

"Buckbeak," Harry murmured, watching the clawed foot nearest him relax. The Hippogriff made an odd crooning noise and nudged his beak against Harry's hand where it rested on his hip. Harry snatched his hand away, but Buckbeak kept nudging it and turning his head down to show the feathered top. Tentatively, Harry petted the soft feathers, his touch growing more firm when the Hippogriff cooed and plopped his heavy head down on Harry's leg.

"He likes yeh," the Master said, with no small part of amazement.

"He's a beautiful animal," Harry admitted. "Is he someone's mount?"

The Master shook his head. "I found him hurt on my way here. I fixed him up all right, but he won't let me near him anymore." The man looked at him appraisingly. "You in the market for a new mount, your Lordship?"

Harry smiled ruefully. "I'm no Lord, sir, just a guardsman." The Master of Beasts gave him an apologetic look, but Harry just waved it off. "I do, however, need a new mount. My own horse is too old to be any good in a battle, and I'm afraid the ride here didn't help."

"Then I'd like yeh to have Buckbeak here," the Master said firmly. "He's taken you as his master anyways. I can't give him away to anyone else now."

-0-

Draco nodded to the guardsman who opened the door. His mother waited, calm and collected as a queen, with a decadent midday spread on the table before her.

"Draco," she greeted.

"Mother," he replied, taking the seat across from her. "You have asked for my presence?"

Narcissa signalled for her maidservant Netty to pour them wine. "I am pleased to see you are not hiding in your room anymore."

"Seamus was quite insistent," he said, knowing full well that she had ordered Seamus to break his foul mood.

"Was he?" she murmured with an air of distraction. She speared a small piece of chicken and brought it to her mouth.

Draco ate in silence for a moment, watching his mother. "Why have you asked me here?" he asked eventually, laying down his fork and knife.

Narcissa laid her own fork aside and daubed her mouth with her napkin. "My Lord husband and the house guard have been gone for a week now," she began. Draco clenched his jaw and resisted the urge to scowl or simply leave. "It would be unwise for us to appear to languish in their absence."

"What do you propose then, Mother?" Draco gritted out.

Narcissa smiled calmly at him, unconcerned. "In my girlhood, I was great friends with Lord Faron Avery's eldest daughter, Viola. I'm afraid I lost contact with her after my marriage to Lucius, and she was married to an Italian nobleman shortly after." Draco sat in silence, restraining himself from rolling his eyes. "Her husband was rather older than she, and he has just died, leaving the estate and title to her eldest son. She wrote to me and expressed a wish to see England again."

"And how long will we be hosting your Lady…?"

"Zabini," his mother supplied. "I have told her she must stay at least a month." Narcissa gave him a shrewd look. "You will play the dutiful host, Draco."

That time Draco did roll his eyes. "Of course, Mother."

"Good." She stood and rounded the table, patting him on the cheek on her way to look out the window. "Have rooms prepared for Lady Zabini and her son. They arrive on Sunday."

"Her son!" Draco spluttered. "You never said anything about her son!"

Narcissa gave him a cool, steady look. "Viola Zabini and her second son Blaise are coming to visit and that is final, Draco."

Draco glared for a moment, then bowed his head in acceptance. "Very well, Mother."

-0-

"I see you do not waste time, Harry," Malfoy greeted as he looked Buckbeak over appraisingly. "Though I did not think your wages were enough for such a creature. A Hippogriff, yes?"

"Yes, my Lord," Harry replied. He tossed the reins over Buckbeak's head and dismounted. A groom stepped up to take them, but Harry shook his head. "I didn't have to buy him, the Master of Beasts gave him to me." At Malfoy's raised eyebrow, Harry hastened to explain. "He couldn't tame Buckbeak like the other Hippogriffs. I stepped in to take control and apparently gained the animal's loyalty. The Master of Beasts chose to give him to me, though I did offer to buy him."

The Malfoy Lord chuckled. "I'm beginning to think the strangest things happen around you, Harry."

"As am I, my Lord." Harry started toward his tent, then stopped, remembering his place. "Is there anything else you need from me, my Lord?"

"Only to ask you to dine with me tonight."

Harry bowed his head in acceptance. Malfoy nodded once and left to return to his own tent.

Harry drew his wand and conjured a post near the entrance of his tent. He tied Buckbeak securely, then patted his beak when the creature nudged him. He slid down to sit with his back against the post. Buckbeak grumbled but sat to join him.

"I don't even know what you eat," Harry muttered. Buckbeak made a cooing noise, nudging him for more petting. "I suppose I should have asked Hagrid," Harry said, stroking Buckbeak's feathery head. "I'll go in the morning before breakfast, alright?"

Buckbeak chirruped, his head popping up to watch one of the Malfoy guardsmen pass. The guardsman raised a hand to greet Harry, then skittered out of the way when the Hippogriff hissed and snapped at him.

"Stop that," Harry scolded. "I'm the captain, they have to come near me." Buckbeak clicked his bead and dropped his heavy head to rest on Harry's shoulder. "I suppose that means you're sorry, huh?" A hard beak nudged Harry's ear lightly. "I guess you aren't so hard to figure out. You're a pretty smart animal."

Buckbeak cooed again and ruffled his feathers, looking proud. Harry laughed.

-0-

Blaise Zabini was tall, swarthy, full of charm, and far too interested in Draco. He sauntered through the halls of the Manor like it would all be his someday. He kept sending Seamus to Draco with invitations to go out riding or have midday in his rooms.

Draco hated him.

Lady Zabini, on the other hand, was lovely. Draco would fully admit to that. She had a beauty that rivalled his mother, though she was the opposite of Narcissa: petite, dark-haired and exuberant. The only issue Draco had with her was her poor attempt to drop subtle hints about a marriage between their families.

He missed Harry.

"You're distracted, my Lord," Flint scolded after Draco's sword hit the ground again.

Draco dropped his gaze briefly, ashamed. Flint was covering Harry's duties while he was gone and still taking time out of his day to teach Draco. "My apologies, Flint." He bent to retrieve his sword.

Flint just shook his head. "That's enough for today." He glanced up at the heavy grey sky. "Snow's coming soon, probably a big one. Your lessons might have to wait a while."

"Don't worry about the snow," Draco replied. "We can practice in the throne room. There is plenty of space in there."

"Very well, my Lord. I'll meet you there tomorrow morning." Flint bowed quickly and left the yard.

"Swordplay, Draco?" Draco might have jumped but he already knew Zabini was watching him. "What use does a Lord have for combat skills? Your guard is more than adequate to protect you."

"The Malfoy guard is excellent, Zabini," Draco drawled, "but most of them have gone to war, if you haven't noticed."

Zabini drifted closer to him, and Draco fought the urge to back away. "True, but what remains here is enough to keep you and your mother safe."

"I see no need to rely on others for my safety all the time," Draco bit out.

Zabini laughed once without humour. He picked up the fallen short sword before Draco could stop him. "At least you could get a better weapon." He eyed the dents and scratches in the blade with distaste. "One that befits your noble status. Something with gold or gems, perhaps."

Draco snatched the sword back and sheathed it. "I would rather have a functional weapon, not a ceremonial one." He stepped around Zabini, intent on getting back to his rooms.

"Must be a gift, then." The man followed him into the Manor. Draco scowled. "Sentimental attachment." He stepped in front of Draco, forcing him to stop. "A friend in the Guard who went to the war, maybe?" He leaned in with a leer on his face, dropping his voice. "Or maybe a lover?" Draco flushed, making Zabini laugh coldly. "Do you miss your secret common lover, Draco? Your bit of rough? Does he make you feel…dangerous?"

Draco whipped his belt knife out and pressed the flat of the blade underneath Zabini's jaw. "I watched the captain of the guard both disembowel and behead the last man who threatened me. Take care what you say about him." Zabini's eyes widened and his nostrils flared. Draco stepped back. "I have not given you permission to call me by my given name, Zabini. I would advise you against being so familiar in the future."

"Of course, Malfoy."

-0-

"Truce," Lord Malfoy panted, lowering his sword. He stuck it into the dirt and leaned on it, catching his breath. "I am not as young as I once was."

Harry chuckled, lowering his own sword. "You are still very skilled, my Lord." Malfoy flapped a hand at him before clutching a stitch in his side. "Who trained you?"

Harper shoved through the gathered ring of guardsmen with two skins full of cold, fresh water. Harry caught the one tossed his way as Harper helped rub down the noble with a damp cloth.

"My father Abraxas grew up during the Dark Time," Malfoy explained. He handed his empty skin back to Harper. "The fear of war never truly left him, and he made sure I was thoroughly trained in combat. Physical and magical."

"Very thoroughly indeed," Harry replied. "Perhaps we should spar more often."

Malfoy inclined his head. "Thank you, Captain Potter. I will call on you when I have the time." He gave the gathered crowd of guardsmen a sharp glance, making them all shuffle away back to their tasks shamefaced. "I meet with His Majesty this afternoon. Come to my tent after midday."

"Yes, my Lord." Harry bowed as Malfoy left.

Alone on the patch of dirt behind the Malfoy contingent's tents, Harry stripped off his shirt and rubbed down his sweaty head with it. His arms and shoulders burned pleasantly from the exercise and his legged ached from holding his slightly crouched stance for the hour he and his Lord had sparred.

"That was quite the show."

Harry looked up to see a stocky redheaded man approach. He looked to be a few years older than Harry, working class going by his rougher clothes.

"Er, thank you."

"Oh, sorry." The redheaded man offered his hand. "Charlie Weasley. I work with Hagrid. He sent me to make sure you were getting on alright with Buckbeak."

"Right, course." Harry sheathed his sword and shook the proffered hand. "Harry Potter-"

"Captain of the Malfoy guard," Charlie finished for him. "Yeah, you've gotten a bit of a reputation about the camp. Hagrid seems to think you're some noble in disguise or personal saviour."

"I'm just a man who made a rash decision and it happened to work out all right. Buckbeak's taken to staying in my tent." Harry gestured for Charlie to follow him. "He doesn't seem to like other people."

Charlie laughed. "Yeah, hippogriffs are like that. Sorry, I didn't mean to surprise you when I came up. I've just never seen a noble spar with anyone before."

"Neither have I," Harry joked. "Actually, I didn't even know Lord Malfoy was trained in combat. But, who am I to refuse when my Lord wants to spar?"

"Very true," Charlie chuckled. They reached the entrance to Harry's tent. Buckbeak clucked warningly at them from the bed. Charlie dropped into a bow, but Harry strode right in.

"Hush." He rapped the animal lightly on the beak. Buckbeak snapped at him, though not close enough to threaten his hand. "Oh, get over yourself. He's here to help me take care of you."

The hippogriff eyed Charlie warily but let the man check him over. Harry took the chance to strip off his sweat-soaked clothes and clean up with a damp cloth before dressing again in his guardsman's clothes.

"Hale and hearty," Charlie said just as Harry pulled on his trousers. "He'll need to eat about once a day, more if he's been working. Just about any meat, though raw is best. He'll eat cooked if he has to, though."

"Raw won't be a problem." Harry ran his fingers through his mounts soft feathers. "Lord Malfoy has a Thestral who takes raw meat. Buckbeak can eat with Glamis."

Charlie nodded, watching as the hippogriff nuzzled the guardsman's bare chest. His eyes were drawn to an inky drawing on the man's side, marred by a thin scar. "Is that a tattoo?"

Harry drew his fingers across the scar. "Yeah, I had it done a few years ago. There's a lot of rune work in it, but then I took a sword through it a few weeks back." Charlie hummed sympathetically. "I've been thinking about getting a new one."

Charlie smirked. "You know, I think I can help you there."

-0-

Draco collapsed onto his bed. The early winter sunset had long since passed. He had opened the Hall to the people of the Towns, High and Low, to bring in their grievances that morning. There had been a distinct lack of the usual petty disagreements over property and insults, but more people had come in cold and hungry. The King's call had taken away most of the able young men, and the old men and busy mothers were having difficulty keeping their families fed and warm. They came to Draco, as Lord of Wiltshire, for help.

He could only be thankful the call to war had not come during the harvest, when every working body was needed in the fields and gardens.

After speaking with Flint, Draco had sent out most of the remaining guardsmen to help split and distribute firewood through the Towns. Draco had spent the afternoon in the kitchens, along with his mother, to help with the baking of scores of loaves of bread, which he and Narcissa had taken out at sunset to give to the poor and hungry.

He was exhausted.

A knocking sounded at the door. "Enter!" Draco called without rising. The guardsmen would have stopped Zabini at the very entrance to his rooms, so it could only be someone he trusted.

"Tired, Draco?" Severus drawled from the doorway. He smirked when Draco only grunted. "What you did today – what you have done since your father left - …I am proud of you."

Draco lifted a hand from his prone position, groping blindly until he grasped Severus' forearm. "Thank you," he murmured. He felt the dip as the physician sat next to him on the bed.

"Harry will be proud of you too, you know."

Draco let go of Severus, cradling his arm to his chest and curling up on his side. "I didn't do it for him," he whispered.

"No." Severus smoothed a hand across his back. "But he will be proud nonetheless."