When the Snow Melts

Forever

A heart-wrenching scream tore through deep shrouds of sleep enveloping Draco. He sat up with a sigh, his eyes pulled to an increasingly familiar scene. Harry struggled against the straps binding him, his wrists raw and bloody. "I need to get back. Mistress..." He stopped struggling, haunted green eyes filling up with desperate tears as they landed on him. "...she'll be mad at me... she'll punish me."

Draco rushed over to comfort him. "Shhh. It's okay Harry. You're safe now. Aunt Bellatrix can't hurt you anymore."

Harry stared at him, wonder written plainly on his face as he settled down and stopped struggling. "You smell like her," he whispered serenely.

"Like who?" Draco questioned.

"Like Mistress' sister and..." Harry trailed off, his brow drawn tight in confusion until he winced and shook his head, instantly dispelling the rising sense of hope that was blossoming in Draco's chest.

He wasn't quite ready to give up yet. Whatever it was that his mother had done for Harry had endeared him to her. Her scent, their scent, seemed to have a calming effect on Harry. At least that was something to be thankful for. Maybe one day he could bring Harry back, tether him to his memories, to his former self. Maybe this scent was the key.

Harry suddenly frowned, trying to pull away. "This has to be a trick," he stated apprehensively. "Please, I don't want to get in trouble... Let me go." He started struggling all over again, blood dripping from his wrists onto the white hospital blankets.

Madam Pomfrey rushed to his side, trying in vain to soothe him. Nothing they did had any effect. He kept screaming and crying until his voice was hoarse, until overcome by sheer terror, he shut down entirely, staring blankly at the ceiling with unseeing eyes.

"Try food," Draco suggested, but Harry was too far gone to even recognize it.

Draco sat by his side, worry and fear nibbling away at him. Harry had to get better, he just had to. Draco couldn't bear to think about a future without him. Or worse, a future where he was kept alive in this state until it was time for the Order to sacrifice him. Tears pricked at his eyes until he couldn't hold back the bitter sobs that wracked his body.

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Harry pulled his knees to his chest, rocking gently back and forth in the cramped cupboard under the stairs. As long as he stayed there, he was safe. No one dared enter. His uncle was too large, his aunt too fearful, and his cousin too lazy. It was a small cupboard, but it was all his and he was safe.

He heard the soft sound of someone crying outside his door and he struggled to ignore it. He was safe in his cupboard. If he left, something bad would happen. Eventually, the crying stopped and he was left alone in the silence.

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"Harry Potter has been recovered and is currently receiving care at St. Mungo's for injuries he sustained during his ordeal. We expect that he will make a full recovery and will return to his studies at Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the Fall," Headmaster Dumbledore stated Thursday in response to increasing concerns about the Chosen One's physical and mental health. - The Daily Prophet.

Draco tossed the paper in the trash. "I can't believe you agree with this course of action," he growled, his eyes landing angrily on Severus. "Even when he's like this—" he gestured at Harry staring blankly out the window. "...they intend to keep using him for their own self-serving propaganda."

Severus glanced at Harry before turning sympathetic eyes on Draco. "I understand why you're upset, but the people need this. There's a rising sense of panic in the Wizarding Community and Harry is a symbol of hope for many of them. If the public knew the truth we wouldn't be able to garner support for the Order or the Ministry. Instead, everyone would abandon the fight to concentrate on their own survival. People are only brave when they think they can win. They need to think that Harry is our key to victory."