"I'm glad, too," Draco simply replied, and smiled.
Harry frowned, wondering if he should say more. It seemed pretty obvious by now that Draco wasn't hatching some bizarre scheme. First he'd returned Harry's wand... and now this, snatching him right out from under Voldemort's nose and figuring out that the whole evil plot was his own father's doing... Draco just had to be sincere about his change of loyalties. So... Harry should acknowledge that, right? He should say he trusted Draco...
But he couldn't say that, because even after what had just happened, it wouldn't be true. Harry knew there was something else going on. Draco's story of why he'd changed allegiances didn't really make sense. And until it did, Harry had to go with his instincts.
His frown reached his eyes as he thought about it.
Draco and Snape both gave him a careful look, but let him be. While Draco went back to his schoolwork on the table, Snape firecalled Pomfrey and asked her to drop by as soon as an opportune time presented itself.
Harry didn't think he was tired, but apparently being interrogated, then having his bones shattered and fused back together had drained all his energy. Imagine that. He thought briefly of going to the bedroom, but he didn't want to walk on his foot just yet, and asking to be levitated would just be too embarrassing. Harry slid into a more comfortable position and closed his eyes.
He was almost asleep when he felt the softness of a blanket being draped over him, and realized that strong fingers were brushing the hair away from this eyes. Snape's hand smelled vaguely of mint and cinnamon, Harry thought, turning his face into it slightly as he inhaled again.
The scent was comforting, making it seem that everything would be all right.
A thought had him surfacing momentarily, cracking his eyes though the light all at once seemed unbearably bright. "Professor? I'm sure you must have things to do..."
Snape kept stroking his hair as he picked up a Potions journal off the low table beside him and began flipping through it. "I'll stay here with you."
Harry yawned. "But your students--"
"Will be fine. I cancelled my entire afternoon to make time for the interview."
"Really?" Harry leaned into his teacher's hand, liking the feel of it. Snape's fingers were strong, his fingertips rough and callused, but that was all right. It was a hand he could trust to protect him.
"Of course. You take precedence."
"I do?"
Snape's fingers tugged a bit on his hair. "Yes, Harry. That's enough fishing, now. I'm surprised you're still conscious; the bone-breaking curse is notoriously draining. Get some sleep."
Harry couldn't keep his eyes open any longer, though through his sleepy haze he managed to complain, "You forgot you idiot child. You're supposed to call me an idiot child."
"I'll call you an idiot," Draco volunteered, his laughter floating across the room. "Idiot Gryffindor, how about that? Blithering idiot. Idiocy personified--"
"Idiot children," Snape pronounced. "Plural, definitely. Draco, finish your essay on the proper preparation of henbane for use in love potions. Harry, get some rest. Now."
"... all right...." Harry went to sleep to the sound of pages steadily turning as Snape read beside him. It was nice, he dazedly realized. Nice to have someone with him, someone who cared.
Maybe, he thought as he drifted off, Snape was more the dad type than Harry had realized.
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Coming Soon in A Year Like None Other:
Chapter Forty-Two: Learn by Experience
Comments very welcome,
Aspen in the Sunlight
Chapter 42: Learn by Experience
http://archive.skyehawke.com/story.php?no=5036&chapter=42
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A Year Like None Other
by Aspen in the Sunlight
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Chapter Forty-Two: Learn By Experience
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"We can talk up there, I guess," Harry said, turning away from Darswaithe to study an imposing gargoyle. "Um, Sugar Babies? Shock Tarts? Baby Ruth?"
"Licorice," Snape purred as he floated past, ghostlike, his robes streaming behind him.
The gargoyle moved aside, the enchanted staircase beginning to revolve, turning Harry and Darswaithe up and up and around, but when they got to the door at the top, it opened onto a forest scene, the air thick with the scent of pines. The full moon rose high in the sky as a werewolf's plaintive cry echoed off the distant hills.
Darswaithe's kind demeanor vanished utterly, his balding scalp gleaming, his eyes twin fires flaring to life as he leaned down to glare at Harry. "The Dark Mark!" he demanded. "Have you seen it? Is it burning? How is Professor Snape resisting its call? What has that traitor told Bumblebore about the Dark Lord's plans? Tell me, Potter, tell me!"
Clawlike fingers capped by ragged nails dug into Harry's shoulder as the casewizard's face shifted and changed, his eyes glowing red now, his skin thickening, then becoming scaly as his nose flattened into a horrible, snakelike slit...
Harry scrambled away, tripping through the grass, hexes flying past him as he cried out, "Draco! Draco!"
But this time, there was no Draco to save him.
Harry ran between the trees, ducking curses, and suddenly found himself before a portrait of a Fat Lady in a lacy pink dress. "Draco!" he yelled, pounding on the painting. "Draco, open up!"
"This is Gryffindor Tower, dear," the Fat Lady said. "Draco isn't here."
"I'm a Gryffindor!" Harry screamed. "Let me in!"
"Password?" she asked, her voice going haughty.
"Licorice," Snape mouthed from the shadows, just before he faded away.
The word a Portkey all its own, Harry abruptly found himself running through Dumbledore's office again, Darswaithe close behind. Darswaithe again, not Voldemort. Bone-breaking curses exploded all around him, shattering chairs and tables and narrowly missing Fawkes before one caught Harry's foot in a wicked tendril of pain. He fell to the granite floor with a hard thud, but kept crawling, gasping with the agony of shattered bones until yet another curse flew straight at him.
This one severed his spine.
Harry went limp, his arms and legs instantly becoming useless lumps of flesh. All pain vanished, only to be replaced by a nothingness that was all the more horrible, all the more frightening, than any pain could ever be. Immobilized, unable to so much as push up off the floor, the boy saw Darswaithe approaching, his wand pointed straight at Harry's heart.
His wand? Or was it Harry's? Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches long, nice and supple, sparks shooting from the end of it as Harry tried to scream. Before he could so much as draw a breath, though, a spell wrapped itself tightly around his throat and squeezed: "Silencio, Harry Potter."
His screams trapped inside now, his body unresponsive to his own frantic commands, Harry could do nothing as Darswaithe drew closer, and closer, and closer.