AN: Eh... I was kind of struggling with this chapter. Still not sure where this is going... To answer your question Naruhina Uh - Bellatrix would have gladly showed off. However, being Voldey, he would of most likely want to keep it a secret until the time's right. I can't say much without revealing too much. Delphini may or may not appear, still haven't figured it out yet. But that would be really sweeet~ if they were to ever meet. Thanks as always to Naruhina1519 and Foxtrot1702. Great people. Thanks to those who followed, faved, and simply gave it a read. Fav/Follow/Review Thanks again!

Mortimer was lying on top of his bed, the curtains were closed, the pillow concealing his face. Every now and then he would wiggle his feet like a windshield wiper. Sweaty hands nestled on the blankets. He was nervous. Not only nervous, but a little frightened.

Now what could have caused him to feel this way?

Getting up from the bed, he pulls the curtains apart. Coolly, he heads towards the slytherin common room. Being under the great lake has its issue, like being unable to see the sun for one. Though it was dark, close to nine – Mortimer's guess. It was almost time. Time to serve detention.

Detention with Professor Snape.

November has barely started and already he's had to serve it three times. First time being when he came in contact with the troll in the girls washroom. Mortimer had served detention with Professor Sprout by assisting her with spikey bushes she was growing. A few days later, he would get another for walking out of Professor Quirrell's class after he told the class about his time in Africa, for the twenty-sixth time! He's kept count. There, he would go on to serve it along with Flich; dusting old rusted chandeliers. And now he's earned this one for blowing up his cure for boils. Granted it was a lesson learned beforehand; they've repeated the lecture for months now.

Only on that particular day, Mortimer had somehow forgotten how to brew. Or maybe someone thought to be funny and ruin what little work he had left. Too much porcupine quills, Snape says.

It was no wonder. At the end class half of the gryffindors were patting that little punk Seamus in the back as he struts out of class.

And thus brings us here.

Mortimer rubs at his eye, trying to wipe off the drowsy stirs that pricked at his slumbered state.

"Let me guess, Detention again?" Mortimer turns around from the window.

He faces Theo to only let out a sigh. "Yup."

"Who's it this time?" Theo was laying on one of the long couches, reading.

Stretching, Mortimer frowns. "Professor Snape."

"Ouch." He let's out a sharp hissing noise, making it seem like he was in physical pain. "Good luck."

Mortimer doesn't respond. He just wants to get this night over with so he decides to head out. The amount of distance he's having to walk was not as far as one would expect. On the left side of the tower, the octagon tower, Mortimer steadily went towards the heavy-wooded door.

A single knock echoes through the halls.

He fidgets hands before drawing out his neck with a short snap. The doors open revealing the potioneer. Like Mortimer, he too dreaded the upcoming evening.

Mortimer could tell Snape had no patience. "Get in." Making the door wider, he enters, following the professor into the rather large classroom.

Mortimer quietly went to go take a seat until the deep dark growling of a voice snapped him into a straight line. "Not here." Snape goes towards a small cupboard to retrieve four wooden punnets. "We'll be heading in to the forest. I trust you know wormwood and it's appearance?"

Mortimer gives a nod. Snape goes to towards a cabinet near a bunch of glass jars, grabbing pairs of gardening gloves. Pacing on the right side of the class he takes out some garden clippers, placing them inside one of the punnets.

Prior to leaving, Severus grabs two lanterns, giving one to Mortimer they strangely lit on its own. Given light, they could now see and navigate through the dark quiet night.

Not much else was said once Snape and Mortimer exited the classroom. They walked towards the end of the corridors and head outside of the stone bridge where Mortimer was able to get a glimpse of the stunning half-moon.

Hereafter, they arrived in large woodland area where they were surrounded by vas amounts of trees and heavy populated bushes. It was here that they took a left, heading to small pathway leading the congregated cover of wormwood plants.

Handing the gloves over to Mortimer, Snape instructs. "You are to fill the baskets. No damages are to be made, you are grab them by the stems. Understood?"

Not a sound, only a nod. "Good." A second of breath, he says. "I won't be far. I'll check on your progress shortly."

Mortimer doesn't reply but instead turns around before hearing Snape's footsteps as he leaves the boy to his duty.

Setting the lantern down, Mortimer puts on his gloves and begins trimming the leaves, clipping them off one by one. It was easily manageable after minutes of endless snipping that Mortimer was able to breathe again. A peaceful moment washes over him as he places a bundle of wormwood inside the basket, making him forget that this was meant to be a punishment.

After filling the first two punnets, Mortimer goes straight to his third. He couldn't help but chuckle to himself. Mortimer felt slightly dumb for having to think that detention with Professor Snape would be filled with torturous and painful discomforts. Glad to be proven wrong, this was probably the most relaxed he's been these couple of weeks, maybe even months.

Following his third wooded punnet, Mortimer lost track of time. It wasn't until a random noise appears that Mortimer phases out of his tranquil state. Vigilant, he looks to left to see a bunch of bushes moving, swirling left and right. He sets down his clippers and removes his gloves. Thinking it was Snape, Mortimer grabs his lantern and heads towards the shrubbery.

Mortimer nearly jumps when the person in question reveals itself.

It wasn't Professor Snape but rather Professor Quirrell, who was currently having difficulty composing himself. He was wiping off leaves and other twigs that were all over his robes. He appears hurt. His eyes had red obtrudes underneath them. He was sweating, flushed to the core, mortimer could see the man was trying to regain his profuse breathing.

There was dirt beneath his nails, his turban was poorly placed as though he had just slapped it on. Overall, the professor appeared as though he had just ran a marathon across the country.

Removing a leaf resting on Quirrell's shoulder, Mortimer is startled by the sudden intrusion, he questions. "Professor Quirrell? What are you doing here?"

Hearing the small child's voice Quirrell immediately lifts his head up; not expecting to be caught. "M-MM-Mr Black!"

It was obvious that Mortimer's presence was not at all anticipated. Quirrell faltering through his teeth. "I-I-I sh-s-should b-be as-asking-gg yo-u th-that ques-s-tion…" He stumbles on his own words; more so than usual.

An uneasy sensation courses down his spine. Noting how the professor's posture seemed somewhat brutish. "I was – am – in detention." Mortimer points back where his supplies neatly rests. "A-Are you ok? You don't look too good."

"I-I-mmm- fine." He shakes his head as he tries to muster whatever syllable can. "Wh-A-ttt a-a-are yyy-ou d-do-ing here-e a-aa-alone?"

Mortimer raises an eyebrow. "I needed to gather wormwood for Professor Snape – said he'll be here shortly."

And then, Mortimer spots it.

The horror in his eyes. Anxiety has been building slowly, fueled by what he saw.

There was a small dribble of blood trailing down from his finger tips. At first, Mortimer thought he was just seeing things – it was nighttime of course, so his vision probably wasn't at its best. Despite that, the closer he got the more he could see the ruby liquid running.

He backs away.

The disorderly professor takes a step closer and in response, Mortimer gulps down. There was something disturbing about his posture. It was the kind of impression you get when an animal is ready to pounce on you. And yet his tone came off as calm, though his stuttering was worse, the way he delivered appeared as though he was innocent.

"You seem frightened, I wonder why…"

Mortimer stared up in shock at the sudden easy flow at which Quirrell has spoke. "Wh-What?"

"There's nothing to fear. I won't hurt you." No longer did he stutter but came out coolly. "You believe me don't you?"

Mortimer continues backing away. "I don't know…" he mutters under his breath. "I feel confused – "

Unable to complete his sentence, Mortimer, without warning, was hit with a flash of dizziness. Shutting his eyes he doesn't know the source. He covers his head with both hands, shuddering when his vision becomes blurry.

"Is everything alright?" Quirrell takes another step forwards.

His eyes still shut closed, Mortimer can't seem to utter a single word. The world is rapidly spinning, woozy, Mortimer loses his balance and falls down instead.

The professor draws near, Mortimer can tell but he is unable to move. He tries staying conscious. However there was a voice, it tells him to not fight it. To give in and slumber. Part of wants to, weak at the knees, the curtains in his eyes refuse to open.

"What's going on here?" A firm strong voice that could only belong Professor Snape appears.

Mortimer can't see, his eyes glued shut. Not matter how hard he tries opening them they simply refuse. Groaning in response, he continues to lay down on the dry muddy forest.

Having his hearing was enough to let him know the fidgety teacher has returned.

"S-Sn-Snape! I-I-I-I – " Quirrell slowly backs away, his mumbling lips quiver as Severus makes his presence known.

Snape uses the opportunity to take a step near the terrified Professor. "You were just leaving."

"Y-Yes!"

"Then by all means..." Severus stands aside, covering Mortimer with his tall stature, he offers Quirrell leeway when he gestures his hand. "Don't let me stop you."

The terrified Professor stood up, nodding harshly and hurried back into the castle while Severus watches him leave. With the boy still on the ground, his head felt heavy that he was unable to lift it to say thanks.

Severus turns to Mortimer, there he pulls out a piece of clothing, handing it to Mortimer. "Can you stand?"

Mortimer let's out a soft moaning sound. Taking the rag, he puts it towards his nose. Unsurprisingly knowing he was bleeding again.

"Take this." Offering a potion to help with the nausea, Mortimer gratefully grabs it.

Chugging it down, Mortimer shakes his head. There was a moment of silence as he tries to regain himself. Severus merely stares. It was hard to tell what he was thinking. No doubt he was just as confused as Mortimer was when face with the unannounced Professor Quirrell.

"That will be all for tonight."

Several moments of interrupted stillness, Mortimer blinks, wordlessly he gets up from the ground. His expression was sullen, weak and tired. What in the world was that all about? He doesn't understand any of it. The cloth was still resting on his nose, there was no way he could explain it. Severus turns to gather the collected wormwood and the other supplies that were brought in. He stops in front of Mortimer only to check on him.

"Come." Severus says.

Mortimer pinches his eyes one last time before moving his legs. He quickly averts his eyes, nearly ashamed to have displayed such weakness in front of the men. He adjusts the napkin and places it back on his nose while still walking towards the castle.

Once they made it back inside, Severus stares down. "Can you manage on your own?" He says rather hastily, almost like he's in hurry to tell someone about what happened.

Mortimer eyes feel heavy with tiredness. He doesn't want to talk at the moment, only a nod, followed by. "Thank you."

Professor Snape leaves him while Mortimer heads towards the syltherin common room. By now everybody is asleep. There was no sign nor sound of anyone being awake. The sole noises of crackling fire and ambient underwater surround the area. Mortimer can't seem to hold on to reality that he trips again. Falling on the marble floor, he closes his eyes once more.

Many questions ranged through his head.

Where is he? How long was he out? Why did he feel so tired? What is he doing in the hospital wing? Who was Theo talking to? Yes, there so many questions. But these were the few that kept repeating.

Moving his head, he tries opening one of his eyes. Only to shut them again when the harsh sunlight hits directly towards his face.

Mortimer makes a grumbling noise.

"Mortimer!"

"He's waking up."

"Will you be quiet! You'll upset him."

"Who invited you here anyways?"

"How dare you – "

"Both of you shut up!"

"Ah – Everyone shut up…" Mortimer croaks out. Trying again his vision adjusts to the light.

It was Theo, he wasn't alone though. There stood Tracey, Daphne, and surprisingly Draco.

"How do you feel?" Asking Theo. Mortimer saw Draco's guilty stare. While Tracey's worried look overtook her features.

"What happened?" Mortimer attempts to sit up.

"Why don't you tell us what happened?" Draco inserts.

Rubbing his head, Mortimer is confused as ever. "I don't know…"

Tracey answers, feeling slightly tense. "You've been asleep for nearly two weeks."

"What!?" He jerks in his spot, teeth gritted. "H-How…?"

The girls flinch from their spots while the other boys gloomed down.

Mortimer didn't expect an immediate respond. When it did, it came from the person he'd never guessed, Daphne.

It was the first time he's heard the Greengrass girl talk. "I found you on the floor. You were out cold."

"Yeah, they got Warrington to carry you to the hospital wing. You wouldn't respond – move even… really scary." Theo sounded concerned but not overly.

Draco looks down awkwardly. "Will you tell us?"

For a split second, Mortimer didn't say a word. What was there to say? He saw Quirrell and his first instinct was to run? How was he suppose to answer their questions when he couldn't answer his own?

It was clear to see the frustration in his face. The others weren't sure what to think.

Theo decides to go off topic. "You know, you missed the first quidditch match."

"I did?" Mortimer blinks, watching Draco as he rolls his eyes.

Folding his arms, draco said. "You didn't miss much."

"Who won?"

"Who do you think won?"

Mortimer grins at his annoyed expression. "Seeing your face, I guess the gryffindors."

"You guessed right." Theo couldn't help but laugh. "On the bright side, Potter nearly fell off his broom."

Daphne decides to chime in. "I'd be careful around Professor Snape for a while."

"How come?"

Tracey answers for her. "Someone set his robes on fire! He's been real cross these days."

Mortimer smirk, settling himself back into the bed.

There was a momentary break.

Draco gave Theo a certain look that was meant to be a signal. Both Tracey and Daphne got the hint and began walking away.

"I hope you feel better." Tracey says before being dragged by Daphne.

Nott seemed ready to debate Draco. But before he could, the blond boy spoke first. "We'll discuss it later Nott." A pause. "For now, let me speak to my cousin alone."

Theo let's out a sigh when he steps away. The manner at which Draco spoke startled Mortimer. It was strange, seeing him act with authority. He was so use to the obnoxious, spoiled, self-entitled brat that Mortimer forgot he was suppose to be mad at him. What felt like hours to him had been nothing but weeks to Draco. It was no wonder why his cousin struck out as ashamed. He probably felt bad about what happened. But being a Malfoy, had stopped him from making the first move.

Draco began to speak once he knew they were alone. "Tell me what happened."

"I don't have to answer to you." Staring intently at the demanding boy, Mortimer didn't want to bow.

"Will you forget about our petty squabble for a minute and answer the question." He peers away, uttering. "Please."

Remarkably, the word please coming from Draco was enough for Mortimer to convince him into talking.

A few shorts moments, he organizes his thoughts.

Considering they were all jumbled at the moment. The last thing he remembers was reaching the slytherin common room, before slipping away.

"I remember serving detention." Mortimer frowns, trying to recall the event. "Quirrell shows up out of nowhere – I remember Snape helping me get back inside and then… nothing."

Sounding skeptical, Draco was puzzled. "What was Quirrell doing outside?"

Mortimer shrugs. "Don't know. He was acting weird. At some point he even stopped stuttering – no – like really stopped. He sounded normal. Still, he looked sort of… beaten."

"Beaten?" He repeats.

"Yeah. I can't explain it. It was bizarre. But that's all I remember." Scratching his chin, Mortimer wondered. "Why what's going on?"

Draco rubs the back of his neck. "Mother wants to take out of school." A short break of silence. "Thinks it's better if you learned from private tutors."

Mortimer believes him. Aunt Cissy always seemed against the idea of him going here. Her concern for his well being stem from the fear that others would seek retaliation for the damages caused by his mother. "Then why hasn't she?"

"Professor Snape – my Godfather, he spoke to her. Tried to convince her to let you stay. That whatever happened was due to excessive stress. All work, not enough play." Draco play with small fingers. "I believed him for a while… Even when we weren't talking, I still watched. Your face was always stuck inside a book – I almost compared you to Granger."

Draco makes a sickly face, showing his disdain for the bushy haired girl. Mortimer smiles at that. Still, it didn't take away that Draco actually felt bad.

"Where's your mother now?"

"She went back home. Father insisted that you'd wake any moment and didn't want to embarrass you."

Nodding, grateful at his uncle for once, Mortimer wasn't in the mood to explain to his Aunt about the events. Knowing well it would be the first thing she asks, He wasn't sure he could answer any of it without worrying her more.

"I came to visit every day. You hardly moved." Draco stops, it was evident that he wanted to ask something more personal but couldn't find a trail to follow.

Observing the way Draco was twitching, it quickly put him on edge. Mortimer was getting less patient. "Spit it out – What's wrong?"

"When you were asleep, you said things…" Draco treaded lightly, trying hard not to be direct. "About – What did you call her? Nana?"

Oh no...

Caught off guard, he felt his face turn red while his heart sinked simultaneously. He was cornered, trapped in a room that suddenly turned small. Under heat from Draco's silver eyes.

He wants to run.

Hearing Nana's coming out of Draco's mouth made him wince, it pained him.

Mortimer didn't say anything, he caught sight of how bad his hands were shaking, trembling, he didn't want to be seen. "I'll stop you right there."

"But she – "

"Stop, don't – "

"You were – "

"Stop it!" Mortimer wasn't interested in what Draco had found. The important thing now was to make sure he didn't open his fat mouth. He'd kill him before letting draco utter a word to the others.

Draco gave no sign that he was listening, if he was, he chose to ignore it. "Why didn't you tell mother or father that the filthy mudblood hurt you!"

Mortimer eyes became wide with rage. Any decisions he made now, will be regretted later. For now, he wanted satisfaction. Mortimer practically bolts out of bed. He lets out a cry for battle moments before he tackles Draco onto the floor.

Not an ounce of care was given when he starts hitting Draco in cheek. His cousin hesitates briefly. It was safe to say Malfoy really didn't want to hurt Mortimer. Had he paid any attention mortimer would have known that. Sadly, he was blinded rage so Black ignores it, focusing only in putting that snobby boy in his place.

Malfoy manages to push him off and – he too, begins pummeling the young black. A hit to the nose and Mortimer falls back. It doesn't take long for him to get back up, tossing Malfoy back down. He grabs Draco by the collar of his shirt, rattling him violently.

The heavy doors flew open with several footsteps following from behind.

"Mr. Black! Let go of Mr. Malfoy this instant!" The voice of Madam Pomfrey as she approaches them quickly turns sour when Mortimer ignores the nurse, aiming for Draco again.

His name is called and once again, is ignored.

Mortimer doesn't hear the nurse calling out for help but merely grabs Draco's small head, forcing him to stare at him. "You ever tell anyone, I'll end you Malfoy. You hear me? You keep your mouth shut and forget what you heard."

Draco was bleeding from his lower lip, he trembled. "I-I only wanted to h-help."

"Do I look like I want your bloody help!?" He shouts in his face. "Keep your pompous nose out of my business."

Unable to reply, Mortimer is roughly pulled away while someone assists Draco.

"Have you lost your mind!" Professor Snape yells at Mortimer. "You will stop this barbaric behavior before I force it out of you." Severus nearly throws mortimer back in bed once his body went placid.

He stares at them, eyes devoid of any emotion. He struggles, trying not to curse in anger. The manner in which Draco was being treated, Mortimer doubts the brat needed this much attention.

His nose swollen from Malfoy's punch, he quickly finds a napkin near his bed. He shoves it in his small nostrils waiting for repercussions.

Mortimer couldn't bring himself to watch Draco as Madam Pomfrey tries cleaning Draco's swollen lip. His breathing was heavy, weak to his knees, he clutches his fists tightly. Still weak from his hibernation.

Very much aware about his action. Mortimer did not seem to care at the moment. His thoughts rested on the fear of everyone knowing. He couldn't let that happen, no one can find out, not even his so-called family. He will never be respected now if Draco opens his trap.

Gazing at Draco, his cousin refuses to even look at him. He was hurt, and Mortimer didn't blame him. An apology should be made but wasn't considering the tension surrounding the room.

Though it was less likely the adults would leave him alone with Draco, especially now.

Covering his face, Mortimer felt his pulse quicken more than it already was at the sight of Draco's injured face. He lays in bed as he watches the nurse handing Draco a small potion. Severus was not far from him.

The adults attention was fixated on Malfoy. Simultaneously, Mortimer slips into a daze. He hears and sees everything around him, though brushes it aside.

This shouldn't have happened… No one was suppose to know about Nana. Of all the people to find out, it had to be the one person he couldn't stand.

God, he wished he had his ball…

Cracking his neck. His fearful thoughts continued to descend what some might call a mental breakdown, and had it not been for Snape, mortimer doubts he would be able to stop from hurting draco even more.

"Mortimer." His name is called.

What if he tells Theo? He wouldn't... Would he?

"Mortimer."

What if the whole school finds out? I can never show my face here again...

"Mortimer."

Would they think less of him? They already do. I mean, I was raised by a muggle... So why wouldn't they?

Mortimer truly thought he was losing his mind…

He should have been more careful.

This wouldn't have happened if Dumbledore had taught me to begin with!

For letting someone like Draco find out about his private life, Mortimer felt like a total idot.

"Mortimer!" A voice snaps him out.

A shudder rips through him, bringing him back to the hospital wing.

Standing before him was Dumbledore, Severus standing behind him, a scowl on his face. Mortimer doesn't reply of course, a single stare of disappointment strained his young features and weakened limbs relaxes.

"Severus, Will you please escort Mr. Malfoy back to his room?"

Snape was ready to debate. "But Black – "

"Will explain everything once he, and everyone else, has settled down."

Severus gives Mortimer one last angry look before he storms out. Draco however, doesn't budge, still glued to his spot; appearing hurt. It wasn't until the professor shouts his name that the young Malfoy starts to move again.

Madam Pomfrey wants to stop the headmaster from questioning the boy, but Dumbledore explains that he wouldn't take long. Reluctantly she too leaves until they were alone.

"I – "

Dumbledore raises his hand, bidding him to stop speaking.

"Why?" A plain question, Dumbledore asks.

No immediate answer was made, not so much as an attempt. He did not dare to move out shame. It was a basic question but hard to answer really. He knows why he did it, very much so, it was because he was angry, because he was scared, confused, frustrated. He was helpess in his own mind.

There was nobody he could trust enough to show his vulnerable side without having people look at him differently.

Who was there to share these burdens when they themselves never experienced such brutality of the real world. Most of the children here were loved, spoiled, and cherished by one person or another. Lucius might not appreciate his own son, but his mother surely made up for it. The way she cared for Draco, she treated him as if he had been made of glass.

Mortimer hated him for it.

Hated for letting the bitter sheer of jealously get to him.

"He knows." Mortimer whispers. Dumbledore only gives a light hum. "He knows and now he's going to tell everyone." He might of paced back and forth if he didn't feel so weak.

"Do you have so little faith in your cousin that you truly believe that his first instinct – knowing what he knows now, is to simply tell everyone?" Dumbledore made a valid point.

A short moment to think, Mortimer ponders. It wasn't necessary, but felt like he needed it.

It sounded absurd now he mentions it. "I guess not…" He lowers his head.

"I don't need to be the one to tell you what needs to be done, do I?"

Mortimer shakes his head.

"Good. Now I need you to explain prior to your slumberous state. Your head of house mentioned Quirrell. What did you see?" Dumbledore firmly questions. Every piece of information that Mortimer provides was vital for his means.

An intermission of sorts, he turns mute.

Mortimer could hear Quirrell's uneasy voice, the way he approached him. He was erratic, near panic-stricken when he realised he wasn't alone. Only to then drop the act, the scared, jittery quivering Quirrell had left that night and became confident, calm and cool, it was honestly frightening.

And again, it was all so strange. The tingling sensation he was feeling when Quirrell stared in severity. Making him feel dirty inside… Rarely had he encountered anyone who was able to create a feat that left him fully drained.

The other times filth spread inside his body was anytime someone was invading his personal space. But the only person who has ever done that was Dumbledore… Or so mortimer believes.

A shocking expression, the boy's weariness was made clear by his answer. "I think… Quirrell used legilimency on me."

He starts rubbing his temples as he proceeds to recall. "I was serving detention with Professor Snape – Everything was fine at that point. I heard something. So I went to go check, thought maybe it was the Professor." Mortimer fought the urge not to yell, his frustration increasing with time. "It wasn't. It was Quirrell – But wasn't… I can't explain it. He sounded so different!"

Dumbledore looks down to find that boy has taken a grip of the blanket's edge with both small hands, they were white, shaking in exasperation. "Different? How?"

There's discomfort in his colored face as he did his best to remember. "He was sweating, clothes were wrinkled – I know he was covered in dirt…" He stares down. "There was blood on his hands."

Mortimer took a break, playing with his sweaty hands. He appears terrified. "T-Then he starts talking normal – no babbling or anything!"

Twinkling eyes watched him, Dumbledore wanted to know a certain detail. "What did he sound like?"

"I don't know – " Mortimer sighs heavily. "Calm?"

"Any colour in his eyes?"

Thinking hard, "Kind of reddish? Maybe… It was dark. I could be wrong." He answer in doubt.

Mortimer swallowed nervously, his dark eyes locking onto Dumbledore's bright ones. "Why?"

There was a pause before Dumbledore spoke. The silence extended until he peers at the window. "I think it is best if you rested now."

"Bu-But…" Mortimer was about ready to yell, irritated that the old man was avoiding his question. It wasn't fair that he should be left in the dark.

"I understand your concerns my boy." Dumbledore says softly, sounding kind. "Do you recall what I told you when you asked me what I wished for in return, when I took you away?"

Mortimer's mouth opens only to then close it, pressing his lips together. " Patience…"

Nodding, the headmaster's voice was lowered, and for a moment he could see the boy's weakness. "Exactly."

He rubs his bearded chin. "I need to think. Rest assured, I am listening Mortimer. Though, all good things require time and that is what I asking. Time. Do you understand?"

There was troubling thoughts in the corner of his eyes, gripping his hands tight, he peers up. "Yes."

Dumbledore can't help but feel for the boy. Slowly he turns to leave.

"Wait!" Mortimer calls out.

The headmaster stops, only a few feet away, he turns to face Mortimer. "Can you at least tell me if I was right? Did he really use legilimency?"

Being Dumbledore of course, he didn't answer. A simple silent gaze was his only response, but with that silence stare. Mortimer knew well.

A small part of Mortimer wanted to say 'I told you so'. An event occurring like this, surely Dumbledore will have to at least consider teaching him occlumency. If someone as feeble as Quirrell could do it, why couldn't he? What does he have to do to show the old man that he is capable, to prove his determination.

Mortimer almost jumped from the unexpected presence of Madam Pomfrey, who was handing him a sleeping draught.

Silently, he takes the potion before thanking her. Drinking it, he can already feel its effects coursing through him. And as he lays there, with heavy eyelids, his thoughts drift towards Draco. The image of his face that conveyed hurt, betrayal, all of which had come to regret. He needs to apologize. Explain to him why he was so angry. Maybe then, Draco can forget about everything. Forget what he heard, what he saw…

Wishful thinking on his part. Mortimer understands this isn't something Draco is willing to let go, not without an explanation.

Closing his eyes, he gives in to the dormancy that greeted him.

Leaving the hospital wing behind, Mortimer stepped into the syltherin common room. It was quiet, the friendly waters of the great lake waved from the outside window. The fireplace was sizzling in scorch, bring in warm climate.

There several slytherin students who were studying, working on their own projects. Others, socializing, talks about the latest gossip and the struggles of teenage life were on the table. Mortimer enters, small paces at first, but eventually makes it through public eye. His fellow house mates look at the Black Heir, surprised and then progressively took him in, accepting him, they returned to their own business.

The voice of the youngest Malfoy filled Mortimer's ears. He sighs, turning his head towards him, he finds his cousin playing chess with Blaise. Both concentrating, their eyes were fixated on the board. Theo was on the couch working on Transfigurations with Daphne. Tracey stands besides Pansy, working on her hair, they were creating braids on each other.

There was a sense of intrusion as Mortimer approaches the group. The calm atmospheric environment soon to be ruined shortly by his attendance.

He bites the inside of his cheek. Theo is the first to see him. No words escaping his mouth, a single stare that exhibits curiosity. Soon as the other children caught on, they all followed his example. Recognizing theo's drawn attention, they see mortimer's straightened, cool posture.

Mortimer was very much aware that he would never be treated equally. He was either too hated or too feared. It was a great pain growing up. The long years will only get worse from here, spending it in trying to make up for what his parents did. His own family feared him whether they said it or not.

Mortimer silently exhales, feeling out of place, peering nervously at his 'friends'. He snaps his neck, forcing a somewhat droll humor. "Hey – Did I miss anything?"

They stare him up, no comments to the differing. No one moves, but seem as if they were looking at the face of something more dark. Even Theo shifts in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. Draco might have already told them about their brawl. How mortimer acted as an uncivilised animal, a muggle, as he would compare them.

"Draco – Cousin, can I have a word with you in private?" A masked expression takes place, a voice telling, not asking.

Leery that their attention is focused Draco. His silver eyes were anxious. "I suppose so…" he trailed off.

Both boys glance towards their dorm. Mortimer takes the lead and makes the first steps. Draco dares not to look at Mortimer, not until they've reached the private quarters. As they went, their little group is left behind in the shadows, for the last thing Mortimer wanted was more people to know how miserable his life was back his world.

Once they were alone, Mortimer makes sure there aren't any prying eyes listening in. When the coast is clear, the first thing Mortimer asks is, "Who did you tell?"

Draco's eyes move slowly, drawing in deep steadying breathe before speaking. "No one."

There was a serious look, scoping for any clue of fakery. If it was, Mortimer couldn't see it. "No one?" He repeats, making sure he heard right. "Are you sure?"

Draco nods his head, feeling shy, nervous. Mortimer was easily able to tell.

"Good." Mortimer says with a cold voice. "Keep it that way."

He was met with the absence of sound. And for a while, none of them spoke.

A stare-off, Draco went to go sit on his bed. Seconds that felt like it was stretched into hours, was broken, until Draco spoke in gently. "You despise me…"

Mortimer's face stayed emotionless even as he tightened his fist. "I never said that."

"You don't need to." He looks away, sadness present in his face. "You've never really liked me to begin with."

Mortimer didn't speak.

Draco wasn't completely wrong. Throughout these pass few months, Mortimer has been simply tolerating his cousin. Dealing with his childish behavior, pliant towards his demands. The boy who had everything, never to be satisfied with anything. How he's dreamed of living the life that Draco has. For the love of a mother that he's never had, Mortimer wanted it all. Friends who saw him as him, and not the image of a parent, a reputation, tainted by one's horrid actions.

So yes, part of him despised the spoiled brat. The other half knows it wasn't entirely his fault.

"I don't hate you." He starts. "In fact, I've come to appreciate you. Your family has done so much for me…" Mortimer thinks back. "You've welcomed me into your home. Taught me things about this world – How to be a 'true' wizard."

Mortimer turns around. Slowly he paces towards the small cupboard near his bed. Opening it, he reaches in to retrieve his ball. "If we're speaking honestly, I don't hate you." A small squeeze. "But that doesn't mean I trust you."

Draco falters, staring from his bed. Wondering if he what he was saying true. "You don't?"

"No…" Staring at his hand, he fiddles the ball. "Especially with this." He exhaled his words.

Draco is voiceless, allowing Mortimer to continue.

"I don't expect you to understand. So I'm only telling you once. After that, never mention it again." Mortimer says softly, there was a small tone, one that sounded dangerous.

"I wasn't raised by a caring Mother. Nor a providing Father." Mortimer straightens his tie on his stiff neck. He had to grit his teeth in order to continue. "What I got was an anger bitter old woman. Someone who couldn't stand my mere presence." Squishing his ball tightly. "I didn't like her but she detested me – I won't say much – Just know, she didn't think I deserved to be treated as such."

The Black Heir glares at his cousin. "She was a bully – I hate bullies…"

The young Malfoy rubs his moist hands together. It made sense why Mortimer felt a certain contempt whenever he was dealing with Malfoy.

Understanding, he wasn't going to press for details. It was not needed as it doesn't take a genius to fill in the gaps. Hearing the small groans and cries of a scared Mortimer, as he slept, Draco can figure out the extent of his treatment.

Draco closed his eyes, a slow sigh escapes him. "I'm sorry."

Mortimer studied his cousin for a time. His tone was calm, but angry. "Yeah well it's not like it's going to fix anything. In the end, you have mommy and daddy dearest, friends who follow you around like sheep and everything you could ever want." There was a low rumble in his throat. "I don't want your pity."

He glared at his cousin. "I'm choosing to trust you with this secret... Don't make me regret it." Mortimer walks out of the room, with ball in hand, he leaves Draco to ponder.

Whether he decides to tell the others will be his choice alone. Mortimer wants to be proven wrong, to believe that his cousin wouldn't be that malicious, to be so spiteful that he would go on and tell his deepest secrets.

Mortimer isn't the praying sort, he never was. This time only, he prayed he wouldn't come to regret his decision.