Harry wakes up first. His internal clock is stuck at 7:30, half an hour before Draco wakes up. Even on weekends, like today, Harry will wake up early but is usually lulled back to sleep for an hour or two by Draco.
Today, though, he feels like an intruder when he gets up—a foreigner in Severus' bed. Severus agreed to let Harry sleep, not lounge around in the morning.
He eases out of bed, not wanting to disturb the still soundly sleeping Severus. Throughout the night they moved slightly closer to each other, just to the point that Harry was woken by the reassuring warmth of another person near him and the soft breaths that he is rapidly coming to know as wholly Severus.
The kitchen in Severus' apartment is pitiful. It's just about as well stocked as Ron's "bachelor" fridge right after graduating. Not that Ron was ever a bachelor, but there was a brief period when he and Hermione decided to live in separate apartments. That only lasted until their leases were up (legally, anyway).
Severus possesses the basic human staples: milk (well, cream), eggs, some veg that may also be potion ingredients, sausages, flour, and butter.
Harry sets to work making breakfast.
He does this for several reasons, which he rationalizes to himself while he cooks. One is because he feels indebted to Severus, and this is a small way to begin to chip away at that debt. Harry would never share this thought with Severus. He doesn't fully understand the man but knows him well enough to surmise he wouldn't appreciate Harry feeling like he has to pay him back. The other reason is that Harry doesn't know what to do with himself.
He gets up, he makes breakfast. That's been the norm for the past year and some change of married life, even stretching into their dating. Just yesterday, freshly brutalized, Harry had attempted to make Draco breakfast, only to be beaten to it by a house elf.
Harry needs this, he needs his hands to be doing something and his mind to be focused, or else he'll think about Draco. Every time he zones out for even a minute the loop repeats:
I should go back. Draco must be worried. I'm sure he feels really bad. If he sees me again he'll feel so bad he'll cry and beg me to come back. I bet he's really worried right now. I should go back.
It's a droning in the back of his skull, a television always on in the background.
Harry wants Draco to feel bad, part of him always does after a severe bout. When Draco feels bad, he's feeling bad because he cares about Harry so much, which must mean that really he actually does love Harry, and he is sorry. Harry wishes their entire relationship could just consist of those days right after Draco beats him.
When they first got together had been kind of like that. Draco had shown Harry how to spend money and enjoy life a little more. They'd gone on spontaneous vacations, Draco was always buying Harry gifts (and visa versa), and there were date nights at least once a week to foreign restaurants and upscale bars. It was always a game of trying to outrun the paper, finding some new spot that they couldn't be poached at. Draco never seemed to mind the camera too much, though. Above all, Draco had been traditionally chivalrous, which embarrassed Harry how much he liked. Having a door opened for him, his seat pulled out, a jacket given to—it was nice to be treasured, to be thought of.
In a moment of frustration, Harry bangs his head against the upper kitchen cabinets, the brief but sharp impact that elicits a wince. Even when reminiscing about the good times with Draco, it's a painful realization that all thoughts, whether positive or negative, inevitably revolve around him.
Making breakfast is simple, and he does truly enjoy cooking, which leads him to believe he may have had a higher aptitude for potions in school if he had just applied himself. And also not been constantly arguing with and annoying the professor.
Before too long Harry has two plates. Scrambled eggs with assorted veg that Harry is ninety percent certain are just run-of-the-mill food and not some kind of ingredient; cooked sausages, two each; finally, two pancakes a piece, with honey because Severus doesn't own maple syrup. All that one-handed, Harry is both exhausted and impressed with himself.
He's just pouring the tea (Severus has no coffee) as the man emerges from his bedroom. Severus is more dressed than Harry this early in the morning, having put on a pair of very casual trousers, light brown, and a dark green thin sweater with five buttons at the neck, none of them buttoned.
Harry is still wearing his blue pajama pants and Severus' sweater.
"Morning," Harry greets, setting the cups of tea at the minuscule, two-person table hugging the wall in the kitchen.
Severus marvels down at the breakfast for a moment. Harry is worried he's going to say something like: 'You shouldn't have,' or along those lines. He doesn't. He takes his seat and offers Harry a genuine "thank you," before waiting for Harry to sit down.
It's nice, easy. Being around Severus is nice, and easy.
Breakfast is good, really good actually, Harry is glad to find that such simple food had turned out so well.
Severus reads the paper, which had at some point appeared on the coffee table while eating, and Harry just exists worry-free for a few moments, savoring his food. He steals glances up at the back of the paper, almost expecting the headline "Missing Harry Potter, Distraught Draco Malfoy" to be there, it isn't.
Harry wonders what Draco is doing right now.
After they're both done Severus is very quick to grab the plates and dirty cookware, getting them in the sink and cleaned before Harry can try and do it himself.
Harry loiters in the kitchen while Severus cleans, leaning against the counters. The living room is technically in the same space as the kitchen, but Harry wants to maintain proximity.
"Sev," he gets the man's attention.
Severus hmmms? and looks toward Harry. Brown eyes, black hair. Harry likes how different Severus is from Draco, he can forget about Draco while looking at Severus. If only for a second.
"Do you have a towel I could borrow, to shower?"
"The ones hanging in the bathroom are clean."
"Thank you."
Harry grabs a wad of clothing from his room and ducks into the bathroom. He strips down, not bothering to stand in front of the mirror this time. He knows the damage, he doesn't need to be reminded.
He reaches in to turn the knob on the shower and it isn't until the first droplets soak through his bandage that he remembers he should take it off. He'll have to ask Severus to help him rewrap it, which makes Harry nervous.
Severus has seen the injuries before when Harry showed up on his doorstep and even healed him before. Something about the arm feels so much more that it causes Harry to pause.
Starting at the top, right under his armpit, Harry pulls at the edge and the tacky medical adhesive comes free. He has to look while he does it, which makes it worse.
The bruising would be fascinating if it weren't so excruciating to look at and think about. It starts right at his elbow, the epicenter, and the darkest purple forms a thick band around the middle of his arm. Like a lightning bolt, the bruise shoots out in branching patterns, reaching both ends of his arm and creeping down toward his fingers, almost touching his shoulder. His veins are visible, an angry red to highlight the lilacs and mauves with a pale yellow backsplash.
The cuts are numerous and fresh, most of them scabbed over. His forearm suffered the bulk of the glass, all different directions and lengths in a rich scarlet color. On the inside of his arm, from an inch or two below his armpit to the very center of his interior elbow, gently curving, is the biggest cut. It looks to have been magically closed but was substantial, so it's still leaking a watery pink plasma substance that's smeared into his arm. That knowledge that it will undoubtedly scar lends to the gravity of the injury.
In the shower, Harry has to maneuver everything one-handed, still unable to flex his bicep enough to fully lift his injured arm. The water pressure is very high, which would typically be nice, but instead torrents his bruises like hail.
He showers as quickly as he can, spending time scrubbing at his hair and the areas that Draco violated, trying to expunge Draco from his being. He wonders if there's a potion that could just delete Draco from him, but then wonders how much of a person would be left over if Draco was totally expunged from him.
Slightly lightheaded from the pain and heat, Harry manages to pull his boxers back on but will need Severus to bandage the arm before he can put his sweater on. Harry doesn't want Severus to see but doesn't think he can manage on his own.
He pushes the door open softly, scanning the room for Severus. He's sitting in the armchair, finishing the paper and his cup of tea. He doesn't look up at Harry immediately.
"Sev," he says, softly. Harry likes the nickname. He was so jealous when Draco called him 'Severus,' but now Harry has a name he's never heard anyone else use, and at least so far Severus hasn't protested.
Severus looks up, folding the paper as he does so, just for a moment he stutters in his movements. Severus' eyes go to Harry's chest, then down to the band of his underwear. Harry forgot about that bruise, his arm still tucked behind the bathroom door. Severus recovers quickly from his momentary lapse.
"Can you bandage my arm for me?"
He finishes folding the paper and sets it back on the coffee table. "Of course, take a seat in the kitchen, I'll be right back."
Severus goes down the hall by the bedrooms while Harry sits down. His hair is still a little wet and drips onto his back. Annoyingly, a single drop of water falls from his fringe onto his glasses, creating one blurry spot.
Harry gently positions his arm on the table, trying to angle it so that Severus has maximum access.
When Severus rounds the corner he has one of those stutters again at the sight of Harry's arm. Harry expects it to be over in a flash like earlier, but this one drags on.
Severus' movements become lethargic. He walked with a purpose into the kitchen but now slows, sitting down heavily on the adjacent chair, his eyes trained on Harry's arm, unable to look away.
"Harry," Severus breathes, finally breaking away to look into Harry's eyes. Harry looks away instantly, down at the table.
"I know."
"How?"
He's surprised by the question, caught off guard by how direct Severus is.
I owe it to him, don't I? And even though Harry's logic is flawed- Severus could never believe Harry owes him- truly he wants to share. He wants to pour everything into Severus. Harry wants to curl himself up into Severus' arms and ooze the evil, vile, tainted energy that's soaked into him. Harry wants to whisper every depraved, soulless thing Draco has told him to Severus until his mind is just as dark and void as Harry's own.
But Harry knows how it feels to have all of these awful feelings, and he can't willingly subject anyone else to that.
Just this little, minuscule piece of the burden, though, Harry can part with this.
"He hit my elbow with a beater's bat, into a window." He still doesn't look up, he feels lighter, and can't bare to watch the heaviness settle into Severus' brow.
"I'm going to touch your arm now," Severus says, and that's that. He doesn't prod or pity, he just takes some of the weight and soldiers on.
Harry shifts his gaze to Severus' hands. He has several medical supplies sitting on the table. Harry stares at his arm for a moment until he realizes Severus is waiting for a cue from him.
Briefly, Harry catches Severus' eyes and nods his head.
Severus starts with a thick ointment that he rubs into Harry's cuts. His touch is so gentle, the paste so cold, that it soothes the pain almost immediately. Brief relief from the stinging Harry's felt since taking the bandage off.
After that sinks in Severus follows up with another potion, this was Harry recognizes as a bruise lightener. It paints on, watery and thin, with a little brush. Harry doesn't protest it this time, he has no husband to guilt.
Finally, Severus moves on to bandaging. He uses his wand to hover Harry's arm a few inches off the table and starts wrapping at his wrist. He does it tightly, the constriction feels nice, although the initial pressure is a little uncomfortable.
Severus secures the end under his armpit.
Harry mumbles a very quick 'thank you,' and is out of the kitchen as soon as Severus takes the spell off of his arm.
He basically dives into Severus' sweater, needing to be covered. He stays in the boxers, they're modest enough, even if Harry is a bit embarrassed of his thin legs.
He takes a few moments in the bathroom with the door closed, breathing, brushing his teeth, and trying to straighten his wet hair out.
When he reemerges, Severus is standing in front of the couch, just looking down at the empty fireplace, facing away from Harry.
Harry walks around the couch, coming to stand just a few feet from Severus. "Severus?" He waits for the man to look at him. "I was wondering if I could borrow some paper and envelopes. To write to my friends?" Hermione, Ron, and Luna at least deserve to know where he is, how to get ahold of him, and that he's safe.
Severus opens his mouth, then closes it. He squeezes his eyes shut then looks away for a few moments, blinking. "Of course you can." He says, still looking away.
"Are you alright?" Harry feels like it's a stupid question. Neither of them is alright, clearly, but he doesn't know what else to say.
"I," Severus starts, Harry watches his profile, Severus' face scrunches up once more, his eyes closed, then he looks back to Harry. He's not crying, but his eyes are a bit red. "Can I touch you?" He holds one hand out, turning all the way to face Harry.
It's unexpected, Harry shies away for just a moment, taking a step back, before finally swallowing and nodding. He keeps looking at Severus, trying to fight the urge to look away.
Severus closes the gap between them in two measured steps. He starts with both hands resting on Harry's shoulders, the touch so light that Harry can't tell if the man is actually making contact or not. Then the hands settle down, firm. Harry keeps his eyes trained on Severus' face but Severus is looking down at his own hands, as if afraid that just the wrong touch could crumple Harry.
Positive that Harry's okay with this, Severus lowers his hand on Harry's good shoulder, trailing his palm down Harry's arm until he curves it around to slot in between Harry's body and arm. Severus rests his hand on Harry's hip, toward his back. His other hand raises up Harry's neck, threading loosely in his damp, shaggy curls. Severus ensures not to pull or tug in any way, simply allowing himself the solace of touch.
With a hand on his hip and a hand on the back of his head, Severus pulls Harry toward him, tightening his grip.
They are chest to chest.
Harry starts out stiff, and robotic, but his body becomes fluid as Severus' warmth envelopes him. He's like a ragdoll, leaning heavily into Severus. Severus' chin sits on top of Harry's head as they bask in each other. Finally, slowly, Harry brings up his good arm around Severus' waist. His grip isn't as tight as Serverus' is, but it's there.
It lasts for a few minutes, Severus pulls away first.
"In the office down the hall, there's a desk, and writing supplies, use what you need," Severus instructs. There's no more physical contact between them, but they linger in the living room for a few minutes before Harry finally goes into the office.
Luna,
I wanted you to know I'm at Hogwarts now. You can reach me there. I haven't received any letters from you recently, why did you stop?
Harry.
He doesn't know what else to say to Luna. He hasn't actually seen her in about two years, but he feels like he owes her at least an address update.
Writing letters is long and slow. He's using his injured arm, just because it's barely legible with his good hand. He takes breaks every few minutes to loosen some of the tension in his muscles.
The letter to Ron and Hermione takes him a lot longer, several drafts. At some point, while writing, Severus drifts into the room and starts working on some brewing, but he's quiet, barely noticeable as there.
Ron Hermione,
I left Draco. Just yesterday, from the time I'm writing this. I don't want to get into it right now, I can't. I'm not ready.
You've had such unwavering support for me, even when I was being a git. I'm sorry for anything I did to make it seem like I was mad for your help. I appreciated everything. I'm staying at Hogwarts right now, I'm safe. Please don't visit me yet. Again, I'm not ready.
I love you both, please write me back,
Harry.
He's somewhat satisfied with the final draft. He knows he has to tell his best friends something, but the thought of telling them any specifics, even where he's staying is too vulnerable to reveal.
As it stands, the only people who know he's in the castle are Severus and almost certainly Minerva. Harry wants to keep it like that, at least for a little while.
Eventually, he'll leave, Severus' personal chambers, at least. He's been so isolated for so long, it isn't lost on him that even now, finally having left Draco, he's still suffering isolation caused by the man.
Letters folded up, in envelopes, he slumps against the chair and lets his arm have a much-needed break.
"I can send those for you tomorrow," Severus offers. Harry looks up from his spot at the desk, watching Severus brew for a few moments.
"Thank you."
"On Monday I have to go back to my classes, is that alright?" Severus has taken a brief break, leaning against the far wall of the office. It's not large, just room for the brewing stand, a select few ingredients, and the desk.
"Of course, I can't keep you from your work." He says, immediately. He's not sure if he believes himself. Being alone will be hard, but he can't put Severus out anymore. "What did you do on Friday? Did you have classes when I owled you?" Harry hadn't even thought about that when he sent the letter during the middle of the school day.
"Minerva supervised my classes for the day. I told her it was an emergency."
"McGonagall taught potions?" Harry asks, incredulously.
Severus smiles a little at that and nods. "I'm eagerly awaiting what my students have to say about her methods."
It's odd for Harry to think that the many students at Hogwarts have never even had McGonagall as a professor, to them she's always been the Headmistress. Things change, even at Hogwarts. It's reassuring, in a way.
Harry looks at the brewing Severus is working on, it looks smaller than what he usually makes in his Knockturn Alley shop. "I can't do as much with only one hand, but do you want some help?"
"Always."
The first day Severus has to go back to class, Harry pretends very well. He wakes up in the man's bed and immediately goes to make him breakfast. Again, it serves two purposes: giving Harry something to do, and prolonging the time until Severus has to leave.
Harry goads him into staying and eating breakfast with him instead of going to the Great Hall. Severus doesn't protest and thanks Harry for the food.
Severus gets ready for classes while Harry cleans up the kitchen and gets dressed. He makes himself look presentable, going so far as to put real pants on for the first time since coming to Hogwarts.
A few minutes before Severus has to leave Harry sits on the couch with a book, acting like he's casually reading. Really his eyes are glossed over and he wouldn't have noticed if the book was upside down.
It works, though. On Sunday, Severus had been so apologetic to Harry that he needed to get back to work. He even offered, multiple times, to tell Minverva that he needed a few days of leave and that potions class could just be outright canceled. Harry couldn't have that.
Seeing Harry content, on the couch, book in hand, jeans on, Severus has little problem leaving for class in the morning. They say goodbye, and Severus promises to be back right after his last class, and that's it.
As soon as Severus leaves, Harry shuts the book and retreats to the man's bedroom. Harry strips the jeans back off, and the scratchy jumper, and climbs under the covers of the bed.
Harry wraps himself around pillows and pulls the blanket all the way over his head, making it slightly hard to breathe, but dark, confining, warm.
He's so anxious to be alone in the apartment that his body is tremoring. Little muscle spasms eke out through his limbs and his teeth chitter every once in a while. It's exhausting, so in between violent thoughts of Draco finding him, Harry mostly just sleeps.
He sleeps too long and Severus finds him there, wrapped up in the blankets. Harry tells him he was having a nap, but he can tell that Severus doesn't fully believe it.
The next day, Tuesday, Harry decides to try harder. That morning he really does read a book on the couch. He forces himself to sit there, unmoving, for as long as he can physically stand it.
From his spot on the couch, he can hear footsteps, students moving through the corridors, faintly echoing throughout the chambers. Harry doesn't even really know where he is in Hogwarts. He considers pulling the Marauder's Map out of his luggage, but that would be moving from his spot, and he can't do that. He's got to be somewhere in the dungeons at least.
Each footstep makes him grip the edges of the book, leaving damp sweat marks on the edges of the pages.
He lasts quite a while, maybe a few hours, at least half of the book, until he can't take it anymore. Again, he strips down and climbs into Severus' bed, but at least this time he's awake when Severus returns.
Wednesday, Severus can tell that something is wrong. Harry seems exhausted and irritable, so Severus suggests that he practice some brewing while he's gone.
That works wonders.
Like all the rooms in the house, the office doesn't have a lock on the door, but Harry can wedge the desk chair under the doorknob in a crude amalgam of one. Focusing on the potion, unable to hear sounds from outside, and "locked" in, Harry can finally relax. It's not as good as when Severus is there, but he manages.
Harry spends all of Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday brewing. He starts early in the morning, sometimes before Severus leaves, and will often have Severus help him late at night when he gets back from class.
He's been doing good work, too. Severus is impressed with him and gives him more and more challenging potions to work on, highlighting them in his potions mastery book.
It makes Harry feel accomplished and independent, two emotions he's been completely void of for a long time.
He sleeps in Severus' bed Sunday and Monday, tried to resist on Tuesday, and finally held out on Wednesday, returning to his own room. They didn't talk about it.
Ron and Hermione write back on Thursday. It's a short letter, but genuine. Harry doesn't realize how elated it would make him to have Severus hand him the letter that had been delivered during the day. It's not Harry sneakily having a few moments of freedom when the mail comes. This is his mail, and Severus hands it to him without reading it first.
Harry,
I'm so glad you wrote. Thank you for letting us know. Take all the time you need, but we are here for anything you need. Anything. All the Weasleys would love to see you, of course, but again it's all on your time. Ron and I haven't explicitly told them anything, just that you've had some unexpected circumstances. They're all worried, though.
Work has been really good. I've finally started drafting my first ideas for a bill. It will be years before it could actually reach the Wizengamot floor, but it's nice to be started in the direction I want to go.
How is Hogwarts treating you? How did you end up there, if you don't mind my asking? I saw the picture of you and Professor Snape in The Prophet a few months ago, does that have anything to do with it? Ron's telling me to apologize for being so nosy when you *just* said you needed time. Sorry. I can't help it.
Love,
Hermione.
p.s. This is Ron. Miss you like crazy, mate.
Instead of having to flush the letter or destroy it, Harry sets it on his bedside table. It sits there as a reminder that it's his (it can't be taken away from him, or used against him) and that he needs to get better so that he can see his friends.
Harry desperately wants to see Ron and Hermione, but that's where Draco is. Outside of these walls.
