Disclaimer: Nope.

Author's Note: Thank you all so much for your reviews and your support. It was another stressful week, one which I thought would be okay in the beginning but then turned out not so much. I'm sorry that I caused some worry the week before. I spend my life worrying about people, so I hate to do the same to anyone. I don't want to speak too soon, but I now feel better than I have in quite a while. It's good to get back to this again.

I'm glad you liked the chapter with Neville - I've always loved his character immensely, way before he grew into his own. I have a soft spot for characters who are gawky and awkward, like Neville was. And when we learned his story, the heartbreak of what happened to his parents and the fact that his grandmother seemed like a rather nasty person, my sympathy for him grew even more. Believe me, I despise Augusta Longbottom, too. I hate the fact that in canon, she was only proud of him when he became just like his father. I don't doubt that Frank Longbottom was a wonderful person and was a true hero - the fact that he and Alice Longbottom gave up their very sanity truly wrenches my heart. But why did Neville have to be just like Frank to make Augusta happy? I realize that she must have been suffering from major PTSD, and that does explain her behavior. I do feel sympathy for anyone who's suffered from trauma - Petunia Dursley lands in that category too. But where my sympathy ends is when they abuse a child in order to try and deal with their issues. The Dursleys abused Harry, and yes, I do think that Augusta Longbottom was very abusive to Neville.

Anyway, I'll get off of my soapbox now. I hope you all enjoy this chapter.

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The first thing Draco noticed when he awoke was the softness and comfort of the bed he was lying on. He felt warm as his eyes slowly opened, and for several seconds, confusion swamped him. He couldn't hear the snores of any of the boys around him - he would know Crabbe and Goyle's ghastly noises anywhere.

As he began to become more alert, he realized he was somewhere unfamiliar. True awareness took time in coming; it felt as though he was underwater and had to reach the surface. As he continued to become more conscious of the world around him, one sensation made itself known, causing him to groan out loud.

Pain.

Draco's entire body hurt, as though he'd been knocked around during Quidditch practice, which had happened a time or two. His teammates, especially Montague and Warrington, did not go easy.

Montague. Warrington. With devastating force, memory slammed back into him - and it took everything in him not to cry out at the brutality of the attack he'd suffered yesterday. The kicks and punches, the taunts, the spells, the endless questions he refused to answer ...

And then, the final spell, the moment when he knew he'd come full circle, the moment when he wished for nothing more than to go to sleep and never wake up again. Once again, he, Draco Malfoy, had been turned into a ferret. The only mercy he'd been given was that the five boys, having finally had enough of their little game, didn't bounce him around on the floor like Crouch had. Instead, his attackers had guffawed as they left the room, taking his wand with them.

And Snape ... Snape had found him. How? How had he known? His tormentors said he was "unavailable" due to a Potions accident. Obviously, they hadn't given him enough credit. Snape had found Draco, transformed him back into a human, and told him he was taking him to the hospital wing. Draco, in a moment of weakness that embarrassed and angered him to the core, had cried out that he didn't want to go there.

The next few minutes were blurry, as Draco kept slipping in and out of consciousness. He remembered, as though through a haze, Snape's silver doe Patronus as he summoned Dumbledore to this room. Had that been real? Since when were Patronuses used as a way to communicate?

He couldn't remember what was said - all he could recall was Snape Levitating him out of that Godforsaken classroom. Dumbledore's voice echoed strangely in Draco's mind, like he was in a tunnel. It reminded him all too clearly of his nightmares of Potter insisting, "Draco, I can help you. I know who you really are."

But this was no nightmare. This was real. Dumbledore was trying to sound reassuring as he told Draco that it would all be okay, that he was safe now. If Draco wasn't hanging on to consciousness by a thread, he would have scoffed at the old man, his tongue sharp as he delivered all manner of insults to the idiotic fool. But he could do no such thing as he finally lost the battle with consciousness. The last thing he heard was Dumbledore and Snape's shoes as they walked down the corridor, Levitating Draco alongside them.

That was the last thing he remembered ... until now. He definitely wasn't in the Slytherin dormitory, nor was he in the hospital wing. The room didn't have that sterile scent of medicines and illness that was associated with it. It smelled clean, and he couldn't hear any other sounds.

He sat up, doing the best he could to ignore the protestations of his body. There was pleasant sunlight streaming in through the window, but it certainly didn't make him happy. With each second, he was bombarded by a new punch, a new insult, a new injury. "Answer us, you bloody bastard!" Montague punched him in the jaw with such force that he could taste blood. "Dear Daddy's not coming to rescue you now, Malfoy."

"Draco?"

That voice. Bloody Dumbledore. What in Merlin's name was he doing here ... wherever here was? What right did he have to barge into whatever room Draco was staying in, when he'd just woken up? And why, oh why, was he calling him by his bloody first name?

Potter. Potter did that as well. A familiar, seething anger burned inside him - those boys had bellowed questions about Potter at him as they hurt him. They were demanding to know why he was regarding Potter differently all of a sudden. It was all Potter's fault, yet again. Potter was the reason his entire body felt like it had been run over by the Hogwarts Express twice. Potter was the reason bloody Dumbledore was gazing at him now, his blue eyes filled with that patronizing compassion that Draco so despised. "Don't call me that," he made to snarl, but his voice sounded so incredibly and pathetically weak and hoarse from all the screaming he'd done yesterday. He remembered the Silencing Charm Mark Heckby had put up over the room, causing all five of Draco's attackers to grin widely. They'd encouraged him to scream as loudly as he liked - and he'd given in. He'd given them exactly what they wanted. Shame mixed in with the anger he felt, and both of those emotions, along with the pain suffusing his entire body, made him want to die.

Dumbledore sighed, his eyes only becoming more gentle and understanding. What a joke, Draco thought sardonically. He was also exceedingly embarrassed by his state of dress - he was wearing pyjamas, but that didn't mean he wanted the fool of a Headmaster to see him in such a state. "Mr. Malfoy, then," the old man agreed readily. "I did not mean to make you uncomfortable. How are you feeling, my boy?"

Draco glowered, his gray eyes smoldering. "How do you think?" he spat.

"I can imagine that it must hurt," Dumbledore said as he conjured a glass of water and held it out to Draco. "I am incredibly sorry for what you went through yesterday, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco audibly scoffed, wanting nothing more than to refuse the water. But his throat was so sore and he was so thirsty. His common sense battled against his primal instincts; he wouldn't put it past Dumbledore to slip him some Veritaserum. Why wouldn't he? He might profess to be the leader of the sainted Light, but the man was nothing more than a scheming, calculating, manipulative old cretin. This had been confirmed to Draco the instant that three-quarters of the school had gone wild and the banners that contained the great, majestic snake had turned into those containing a horrid, ferocious lion, and Draco's entire being had radiated with fury and a deep-seated hurt that didn't lessen for a long, long time.

Dumbledore saw Draco's struggle and had the gall to suddenly look unbearably sad. "You are not my enemy, Mr. Malfoy." He spoke softly. "I am not going to trick you into telling me things you do not wish for me to know."

You are not my enemy. Draco realized what the old man's statement meant. What, exactly, would Dumbledore do to those who WERE his enemy?

"You look parched," Dumbledore said in a soothing tone, as if Draco were nothing more than an injured pet. He scowled - he must talk to Hagrid in that way, too. But Draco wasn't a lumbering, stupid, braindead oaf. He did not appreciate being talked to like he was a pet.

But he could no longer resist, and he hated himself for it. His throat was screaming out for some water, and, still scowling the entire time, he took the glass from Dumbledore without thanking him. He drank, and the water felt so good against his parched throat.

Dumbledore did not bring Draco up on his less-than-stellar manners. Instead, he smiled at him. "It is currently about nine o'clock on Saturday morning," he said quietly. "You lost consciousness on your way here yesterday afternoon. Once you arrived, you were given Dreamless Sleep potion."

"Where am I?" Draco demanded. Although he felt a little better, his voice was still a lot weaker than he'd like it to sound.

"You are in Professor Snape's quarters," Dumbledore replied softly. "He informed me that you did not wish to go to the hospital wing. But your injuries needed healing, and we both felt that you should be with someone who knows you well. Professor Snape has agreed to help you with your recovery."

Helplessness, fear, and anger surged up in Draco. "I ... I don't need a minder!" His heart began to race, and his skin went clammy. "I'm not some ... some pet that you can just order other people to take care of!"

Dumbledore didn't rise to Draco's bait. "Neither Professor Snape nor I said that you needed a minder, Mr. Malfoy." His voice was still gentle, which grated on Draco's last nerve. "We said that you needed to heal. And Professor Snape cares very much about you."

There were so many things Draco could say in that moment. What do you know? No, he doesn't. He's a traitor to the Dark Lord's cause. He's lied to me for years.

But instead, he said nothing at all. He just stared at Dumbledore with a gaze that tried to convey all of it. Dumbledore looked back at him, his expression calm and serene. It only made Draco feel a hundred times worse.

"You look like you're in a lot of pain," the old man said, finally breaking the silence between them. "Professor Snape said that you could embibe a pain potion once you woke up. Would you like it?"

Draco felt desperation claw at him. Dumbledore just had to do this, didn't he? It was just like with the water. All he wanted in the world was to take the pain potion from the Headmaster and drink it down. He couldn't bear to take any more from the old man, but he had to. He had to. His entire body felt so heavy, and so sore.

As if knowing exactly what Draco was thinking, Dumbledore removed a vial from his pocket and held it out to the boy. Unwillingly, Draco took it, glowering at the old man and once again refusing to thank him.

Dumbledore only smiled. "I hope it helps," he said, and the worst thing of all was that Draco knew he meant it.

Once he had swallowed the potion, he felt instant relief. It didn't combat the pain completely, but he could definitely breathe easier. Dumbledore noticed, and smiled again. "There you go," he said gently.

Draco couldn't help the words that threw themselves out of him then. "Why do you care?" He was furious to discover that his voice had come out sounding lost and afraid, instead of angry and demanding.

Dumbledore's expression softened further, if that was even possible. "Mr. Malfoy." He sighed, and conjured a chair next to Draco's bed. As he sat down in it, Draco thought he looked, again, like a king upon a throne - he had always looked that way to Draco. "I care because you are one of my students, and I care for every single one of them."

Draco glared. "That's not true." His gray eyes flashed, an icy feeling enveloping his heart. "You don't care about me. You care about Potter."

"I do care very much about Harry." Dumbledore nodded, his expression still kind. "But why should that mean that my caring does not extend to you?" He sighed again, his eyes boring into Draco's very soul. He remembered how, when he and Weasley were caught duelling in the boys' bathroom the day after Potter's poisoning, Dumbledore had skewered him with that gaze as well. It made him feel naked and frightened and vulnerable, and he wished the old fool would stop looking at him like that.

"I understand, Mr. Malfoy, that this year has been very difficult for you," Dumbledore continued, and the air seemed to freeze, making Draco feel like he couldn't take another breath. "Your worldview has been tested, and you have discovered things that have turned it upside down."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Draco's voice came out as a whisper.

"I think you do, Mr. Malfoy." Dumbledore's calm blue eyes never left Draco's fearful gray ones. "I have always known of the rivalry between you and Harry Potter. I have always known what you grew up believing ... that one day Lord Voldemort would regain his power, and that your family would rise to greatness. For years, you have expected the world to cater to you because you have grown up believing this. And due to ... certain events, you have learned some very hard truths. Your entire system of belief was shaken when one of the very people you thought would protect you did the opposite - he attacked you in front of a laughing crowd."

The blood in Draco's veins had frozen over completely as he stared, horrified and transfixed, at Dumbledore. The Headmaster was still gazing at him serenely, as if discussing that it was sunny weather today. Draco's heart was racing, and his breaths were coming fast and shaky.

"It is all right, Mr. Malfoy. I am not here to punish you for your past transgressions. In fact, I am very proud of you. You have a long road ahead of you - but you're learning to think for yourself."

Dumbledore was proud of him? Dumbledore? Draco felt a mixture of horror and ... something else he could not define. Confusion swirled inside him, making him feel a mixture of hot and cold. What was happening?

"I understand that your father expects much of you." Dumbledore's voice was exceedingly gentle now. "And for a long time, you have tried to live up to his expectations. But sometimes, it is not always the best option for a son to emulate his father."

Draco recalled that Snape had said something similar, and shuddered. Before he could stop himself, he burst out, "Why did Professor Snape lie to me for years?"

Dumbledore nodded, as if expecting the question. "Professor Snape cares very deeply for you, as I have stated," he explained. "For years, he has played a very difficult role. It was a balancing act - he swore to protect you from walking down the same road both he and your father travelled down."

"Don't talk about my father!" Draco gasped out. "I don't want ... don't want ..."

Dumbledore nodded. "All right, Mr. Malfoy. We will not discuss your father at the current time." He sat back in his chair, sighing. "As for Professor Snape ... he did a very important job for me many years ago when he realized he made a terrible mistake. Now, due to what happened at the Ministry, he can no longer play that role. But what he can do now is, in a lot of ways, even more important. Mr. Malfoy, your body needs healing. But there are some wounds that go deeper than those that affect your body. For the time being, you will stay here with Professor Snape, and he can assist you on the road to recovery."

"I'm not mental!" Draco shouted at Dumbledore, a boiling anger leaping to life inside him. "How dare you say I am!" The familiar words rose to his lips - my father will hear about this - but something kept him from saying them.

"I did not say that you were, Draco." The boy didn't doubt for a second that Dumbledore had called him by his first name on purpose. "I need you to understand," he continued relentlessly, "that there is no shame in admitting that you need time to come to terms with everything that has happened."

Draco felt so weak and pitiful at that moment that he just wanted to collapse back on the bed and sleep forever. He stared at Dumbledore, feeling close to breaking.

"You should also know," Dumbledore went on, "that all the culprits of yesterday's attack have been expelled, including Jacob Delker. Though he did not participate in the attack, he made it possible for it to be carried out." Once again, he reached into his pocket, producing a very familiar wand from inside and holding it out to Draco.

For a split second, the boy felt relief. Without hesitation, he retrieved the wand that had been taken from him, and instantly felt ashamed of doing it so readily.

But, once again, he didn't thank the Headmaster. The relief immediately faded as his brain finally caught up with what Dumbledore had just told him. "And you think that makes it all better?" Draco asked quietly, emptily. He wasn't even curious about the part Delker had played in the affair. He literally felt nothing at hearing this news. What did the old man expect? For him to drop to bended knee and thank him for everything? Not a chance.

"No. I expect no such thing." Dumbledore shook his head. "I am only assuring you that they will never attack you again."

Draco said nothing; he closed his eyes, wishing for this all to end.

"I will take my leave," Dumbledore said, standing up from his chair. "Professor Snape is in the next room, if you wish to partake in breakfast. There is only one thing I will ask of you before I go."

Why was it that Draco felt dread mounting in his stomach when the old man looked at him again? He had a feeling he wouldn't at all like what the Headmaster said next.

"You are not the only one who requires healing at this time." Dumbledore looked Draco directly in the eye. "Harry Potter does, as well. And Professor Snape has the most experience in this area. As you know, Harry is currently unconscious."

Draco shivered as his dread increased. How the bloody hell did Dumbledore know that Draco was aware of this information? In the next instant, he knew precisely why - Legilimency. How dare ... how dare the man read his mind! It was the only explanation.

"Professor Snape's quarters are now a temporary home for you and Mr. Potter." The blow finally fell, and Draco felt winded. "The house-elves have added a separate room for both of you. We do not know when Harry will wake - but when he does, I will ask that you put your rivalry with him aside completely. You are already on your way to a better understanding, Mr. Malfoy. I only hope that it will continue."

And without giving a horrified Draco a chance to say anything in reply, Dumbledore smiled at him, turned, and headed out of the room without a second glance.