And Then There Were Three

Chapter 12

Both Harry and Snape wore stunned expressions when they heard what Draco said.

Snape slowly took the letter from him, but Harry shook his head.

"What? No," he said, dropping his own letter from Sirius down to the table.

"Harry," Snape said his name like it was a scolding for talking out of turn as he read the letter.

"She said she's left my father," Draco said quietly. "She said she has a new house for us to live in."

"So what?" Harry snapped. He turned in his chair to face Draco. "She's probably just lying, right Dad? Tell him he can't go back with her."

"Harry, it's not that simple," Snape said softly as he passed the letter back to Draco.

Harry could feel his stomach churning. Why wasn't Snape telling Draco what a bad idea this was?

"Of course it is," Harry said. "She shunned him for weeks. Did everyone just forget about that?"

"It wouldn't be like that now," Draco assured him.

"Boys," Snape interjected, standing up. "That's enough. We all just need to calm down and-"

Harry saw the way that Draco's grey eyes lit up at the idea, but all he could think about was how terrible this was. "You don't know that!" he shouted. "What kind of mother pretends her son doesn't exist?"

"It wasn't her fault!" Draco shot back. "You're just jealous because unlike you, I've still got a mum who wants me!"

"Draco!"

***

Everything happened so fast. One minute, Harry and Draco were roughhousing on the way to the dining room, teasing each other, and exchanging friendly shoves as they laughed, and the next minute Harry was out of his seat and he and Draco were scuffling around on the floor while Snape was shouting for them to stop.

He had swiftly broken up the fight- if you could really call it that - and deposited them both into separate corners of the kitchen with stern warnings to stay there until he told them otherwise. Then he'd left the room all together.

It had been at least twenty minutes ago, Harry was sure, and he was still fuming. He hated the corner. He hated standing there and thinking about what he'd done. He hated that he could hear the clock ticking from all the way in the parlor, and he hated these stupid grey walls, too. Maybe he'd learn a paint changing spell and use it on all of Snape's boring walls.

And he hated Draco Bloody Malfoy.

Harry paused.

No, he didn't, but he was definitely still mad at him. It wasn't lost on Harry that Draco had said something similar the year before when he had come to visit which had resulted in nearly the same outcome. He didn't know why he let it get to him so badly. Of course, he didn't know why Draco would say something like that in the first place, either.

"You're a bloody prat, you know that?" he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Just loud enough for Draco to hear from where he stood at the other end of the wall, closest to the small window that overlooked the back garden.

"No talking in the corner," came Snape's stern voice from somewhere behind him. When had he come back? "And watch your language," he added.

Harry groaned. "Yes, sir." He reached his arm up to rub his shoulder. It wasn't really all that sore, but he had banged it against the floor when he and Draco fell, and he thought he might end up with a bruise later.

"I wonder," Snape said a few moments later, "if there will ever be a time where the two of you can go more than a few months without ending up in an actual fist fight?" He didn't wait for them to respond before he went on, "Not that I want you throwing hexes at one another, but one does wonder if either of you even realize that you're wizards? Or perhaps you enjoy rolling around on the floor like muggles in a bar room brawl?"