Foreword (Read: Content Warnings)

It's times like these that I wish had a tagging system similar to AO3. Alas, it doesn't, so here I am hoping that everybody will read this foreword before the story itself and avoid potentially discovering content which is not to their liking.

This story will be dealing with some concepts that some people may struggle with as well as some concepts that other people might find distasteful. First and foremost, the story's going to jump almost instantly into the subjects of depression, self-harm, and attempted suicide. While the story is planned to eventually reach a happy conclusion, it's going to take some time to arrive there. The Harry in this story is pretty messed up as the result of his upbringing, the responsibilities piled upon him almost from the day he stepped foot back into the wizarding world, and the war, and it's going to take a lot of effort to get him to a healthy place.

Furthermore, one of the mechanisms through which Harry will find peace is going to be Regression/Age Play/Infantilism. I understand that this subject matter is not to everybody's tastes, and I can respect that, but it is integral to the path I've chosen for Harry to work through the issues his past has saddled him with. I am not a psychologist, I make no claims as to the practical application of such mechanisms in real-world situations, but for the story I'm telling I thought it could work.

With that said, I'm just going to list off a bunch of topics that I expect to come up over the course of this story to make you all aware.

Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Self-Destruction, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Survivor Guilt, Therapy, Psychotherapy, Counselling, Age Regression/De-Aging, Non-Sexual Age Play, Infantilism, Substance Abuse

If you are at all uncomfortable with any of the topics mentioned here I urge you to look elsewhere for entertainment, I promise I won't be offended and would much rather people find something they'll enjoy than suffer through my writing. Thank you for your time and consideration.

Chapter 1

The enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was filled with gloomy gray clouds, a perfect reflection of the dreary late-autumn weather outside the school's walls. The Hall had required extensive repairs in the aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts, it had taken the combined effort of scores of witches and wizards to re-set the enchantments on the ceiling after structural repairs had been completed.

A memorial commemorating those who had lost their lives in the battle defending against Voldemort's forces was mounted above the Head Table. Forty-nine names were set into the stone in gleaming gold underneath a relief sculpture depicting the final duel between Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort. Smaller markers had been installed at the sites where each had fallen.

Draco Malfoy sat in his seat near the head of the Slytherin table gazing up at the memorial with both relief and, in no small part, regret that the name Malfoy was not included among those listed. As he watched the animated sculpture play out the final moments of the war over and over again, he reflected upon all of the decisions he had made over the years and wondered how many of the fallen would yet live had he chosen differently.

He had justified every decision to himself over the years, convincing himself that he was making the best choice, the right choice, every time but now, looking back, he knew that most of these justifications had merely been excuses. For better or worse, most often for worse, he recognized in retrospect, Draco had acted out of selfish anger, narrow-minded prejudice, and, worst of all, fear.

Shifting his gaze away from the sculpture, Draco turned to look across to where Harry Potter sat at the end of the Gryffindor table, the other two-thirds of the Golden Trio beside him engrossed in a conversation between themselves. Draco's mouth turned down in a slight frown as he watched Harry Potter, the darling of the wizarding world, staring morosely at his plate as he pushed his food around with his fork. Since Hogwarts had reopened two months late that year something had been decidedly off about his behavior.

One would hardly have blamed Harry for reveling in his victory over the Dark Lord, basking in the limelight, but instead, he seemed more closed off and reclusive than he had since their second year when everyone had accused him of opening the Chamber. It was a stark contrast to the Hero who'd been on the covers of nearly every issue of every publication released over the course of the summer.

Draco would never forget how Harry had come to his family's defense before the Wizengamot in the summer, testifying as fiercely for both Draco and his mother to receive absolution as he had for the punishment of the other captured Death Eaters. It was thanks to Harry's determined defense that Draco found himself free of Azkaban, sentenced to three years of strict probation in the custody of his godfather. After the trial, a resolute Harry had walked up to Draco, returned his wand, expressed his hope that they might leave the past behind them, and offered him a firm handshake.

Later that summer as he worked to help repair Hogwarts as penance he'd caught glimpses of Harry, covered in dirt and grime, working tirelessly alongside him with an expression of relentless determination on his face. By Draco's estimate, Harry had probably had a hand in restoring no less than twenty percent of the damage to the school, far eclipsing the next highest contribution to the effort. All efforts to convince the Gryffindor to take a breather had fallen upon deaf ears and as summer had given way to autumn, so too had peoples' efforts to persuade Harry to relax.

Now, three weeks into the first term of what had been dubbed their eighth year, there was no sign of the Harry Potter he had seen over the summer. Something had changed between the ceremony celebrating the completed restoration and the start of year feast, and it had Draco deeply concerned.

Harry had been acting reserved and withdrawn, only speaking up in classes when called upon, and a marked distance seemed to have developed between himself and the duo of Weasley and Granger. The other two were completely lost in each other, and more often than not he'd spotted Harry trailing after them in the hallways or standing slightly apart while they chatted.

As he watched, Harry spared a quick glance at Granger and Weasley before carefully rising from the table and slipping out the door. As it was Saturday and there were no classes to attend, and with a firm resolve, Draco stood from his place at the table and quickly followed Harry out the door, bound and determined to get to the bottom of the situation.

Upon reaching the entrance hall, he cast about trying to determine which direction Potter had gone when he heard the doors of the main exit to the grounds fall closed with a soft thump. With a soft curse, Draco hastily conjured a cloak for himself and swept it over his shoulders before slipping out discretely into the courtyard.

What followed was readily one of the strangest afternoons of Draco's life at Hogwarts. For hours Draco trailed along discretely behind Harry as he wandered the grounds, uncaring of the constant drizzle that had started that morning, and occasionally pausing to kneel with his head down. It wasn't until the third or fourth stop that Draco finally realized that Harry had been stopping at each of the small monuments erected to memorialize one of the fallen. It was nearing dusk when Harry returned to the castle, just in time for the nightly meal.

After dinner, Draco attempted to follow Harry once again but was utterly befuddled when he reached the Entrance Hall just seconds behind him. Somehow, Potter had vanished! There wasn't a sign of the Gryffindor anywhere. After wandering the halls for the better part of an hour, Draco elected to return to his dorm room to consider what he'd observed that day; perhaps he'd be able to discern some answers where he currently had none.

Severus Snape lay sat up in his bed in the Hospital Wing where he'd been for over six months recovering from his injuries. While he'd be the first to admit that the fact that he'd survived at all was nothing short of a miracle, he was more than ready to get out of bed and get back to his life. The better part of a month had already passed while a substitute professor covered his classes and he was going stir crazy.

He'd thought for sure he'd breathed his last after giving his memories to the Potter boy and hadn't expected either of them to live to see another day. It had been to his utter astonishment when he woke up in the infirmary nearly two weeks after the battle to see green eyes staring back at him.

It had taken the concerted effort of a dozen specialist mediwitches and wizards, all experts in their respective fields, to repair the damage Nagini's venom had wrought upon his body. Through some miracle of good fortune, Nagini's fangs had missed his major arteries. While he had still suffered nearly catastrophic injuries and slipped into a coma, the delayed circulation of the poison into his system had given his magic and his body's natural defenses the time necessary to shield him from the worst effects. Who'd have thought that years of ingesting poisons to test antidotes would have built up such an active immunity to the snake's venom?

Severus used the last scrap of his bread roll to mop up the remnants of his stew before pushing his dinner tray away and settling back against the pillows and gazing contemplatively out the infirmary windows. With any luck the specialists from St. Mungo's would give him a clean bill of health when they visited that evening, and he'd be released from the Hospital Wing tomorrow morning. If he had to put up with Poppy threatening to force feed him another potion he'd probably snap.

Draco wasn't sure what to make of Harry Potter. He'd been turning over everything he'd observed over the last few months in his head and couldn't make sense of it. The war is over, what could possibly have Harry Potter acting in such a different manner from this summer?

If he didn't know any better, he'd think Potter was suffering from depression, but that just didn't make any sense. What would Harry Potter have to be depressed about? Ever since the war had ended, he'd been the darling of the wizarding world. Not a day went by that there wasn't some publication or other prostrating themselves at his feet, proclaiming glory to him as the thus-dubbed Man-Who-Vanquished-The-Dark-Lord. Practically every witch and wizard in the world was falling over themselves wanting to give him things, do favors for him, or otherwise ingratiate themselves to him.

Hell, there'd even been that article about the Ministry Central Post Office having to shut down for a week just to process all of the mail he'd received once he'd rented a postbox and redirected all of his unsolicited mail there. Some reports Draco'd read indicated that there'd been no less than 20,000 marriage proposals included amongst all that mail, from both witches and wizards. The world was Harry Potter's oyster, he could have anything he wanted, so clearly depression couldn't be the answer.

Draco hauled himself out of bed with a frustrated sigh. It was fast approaching midnight and becoming increasingly apparent that answers weren't going to be coming to him this evening. He'd been lying idle for far too long and, after sneaking around after Harry Potter all day, he had a lot of pent-up energy that was going to make sleeping impossible.

With a scowl on his face, Draco stalked out of his room, down the hall, and out through the Slytherin common room. Perhaps a walk around the castle would help to settle his mind and let him get some rest. It was bad enough that Potter was going through his days like some kind of inferi, he didn't see anything to be gained by joining him.

Moonlight streamed in through the windows of the Hospital Wing cutting sharp lines across the floor and bathing everything in an ethereal glow as Severus gazed out at the grounds. The specialists from St. Mungo's had been left just an hour ago and given him a clean bill of health, he'd finally be able to get out of the infirmary tomorrow and get back to his job, his lab, his students. It had been all Severus could think about for the last few weeks cooped up in the infirmary and tomorrow it would be in his grasp… so why was he so restless? He should be happy, shouldn't he?

Granted, teaching hadn't been his first choice of careers, but he'd made the best of a difficult situation and, really, other than the occasional insufferable dunderhead his students were tolerable. Certainly, there were other things he might have chosen to do otherwise, but in the scheme of things, there were far worse things he could be doing. He had made friends with a few of his fellow professors (though his efforts as a spy had severely strained many of those relationships), had a roof over his head, three meals a day, and the aid of a house elf any time he wanted it. His life was better than many, better than he deserved, really, what more could he ask for?

Tolerable. That one word defined his discontent. While the occasional star pupil brought a refreshing injection of competence to his classroom, the reality was that teaching wasn't his passion. Dealing with students who took the course only because it was mandatory vexed him to no end. He'd never been able to understand how people like Minerva or Filius could look forward to September 1 each year eager to welcome a new batch of clueless first years who didn't even bother to crack open a textbook before arriving at the school. He'd always admire them for their zeal, but he doubted he'd ever understand it.

Perhaps now, with Dumbledore gone and his vow to protect Harry Potter nearing fulfillment upon his graduation next spring, it was time to consider a change of career. Once Draco graduated there'd really be nothing tying him to Hogwarts, the remaining years of his probation could be carried out anywhere. Perhaps his godson would be interested in helping him fulfill a long-time dream and open up a new apothecary in Diagon Alley.

Severus wondered if perhaps they'd be able to stay at Malfoy Manor. The Ministry had insisted that Draco, as a condition of his probation, not be living with alleged 'bad influences' in the form of his parents, but perhaps they'd permit it provided Severus was staying there as well. Staying at the Manor would solve a variety of problems; housing would be a non-issue while they got the shop up and running, Draco'd be able to spend time with his parents whom he hadn't been permitted to see since the trial, and Severus would enjoy spending time with his oldest friends.

It really was absurd how little regard the Wizengamot had given their testimony in what the wizarding press had dubbed the 'Death Eater Trials.' Oh sure, they had been happy enough to have Lucius and Narcissa's statements to help convict other accused Death Eaters, but when it came time to prove their own status as spies for the Light? Ha! The Wizengamot had all but ignored the evidence, and the combined testimony of Severus, Lucius, Narcissa, and Draco until Harry Potter's own testimony on their behalf forced the matter.

Even the Chosen One hadn't been able to get them away from the wrath of the wizarding public entirely, though, to be fair, much of that was probably Lucius' doing. He'd been far too prominent in his role as Voldemort's right hand, and the people were out for blood. At least they'd been able to avoid Azkaban entirely and a few years of probation wouldn't really hurt them any, no matter how much it might make Lucius grumble.

With a heavy sigh, Severus hoisted himself up and got out of bed. Poppy would probably have something to say about it tomorrow but, if he wasn't going to be able to sleep, he was damned if he was going to spend the whole night here staring out the window. With a huff of annoyance, Severus gathered his outer cloak up from his bedside, cast it over his shoulders and set off to wander the halls and contemplate his future.

Draco was walking the halls on the seventh floor when his attention was captured by a cool breeze rushing through the corridor. Where had that come from? Suddenly, the warmth drained from his body. The only place on this floor with access to the outdoors was the Astronomy Tower.

Draco had avoided the Astronomy Tower like the plague since that fateful night during his sixth year. Sure, he'd only been following orders and the events that took place that night had all been orchestrated by Dumbledore, but it didn't change the fact that it had been the first time Draco had witnessed death. It didn't change the fact that every single person who'd been injured that night had only been in danger as the result of actions he, himself had taken.

The guilt he'd felt about that night had haunted him for months afterward, his dreams plagued by visions of Dumbledore's lifeless body plummeting from the ramparts. When his father had caught him dosing himself with the Dreamless Sleep he'd from his godfather's stocks he'd been livid, and Lucius had only grown more furious when Draco had admitted that he'd been doing so for months. It had taken nearly a dozen sessions with him laid out on the chaise in his father's study to rid himself, mostly, of the nightmares with only the occasional recurrence.

With a grim expression on his face, Draco firmed up his shoulders and steeled himself, resolved to conquer his fears once and for all. Gathering his cloak more tightly about him, he turned into the current of air flowing down the passage leading to the Astronomy Tower and began to climb the winding staircase only to pause a moment later at the sound of a voice reverberating off the walls of the stairwell. The words were echoing and indistinct, and Draco had all but decided to turn back and return to his dorm when recognition broke through and forced him to reconsider. Potter.

Naturally, he couldn't be sure, the stone of the tower warped the sounds just enough to make positive identification impossible, but the probability was too high to ignore. After all, there were few among the student body who felt comfortable roaming the halls alone this late at night, and none flaunted that rule more than Harry Potter. He briefly considered whether or not intruding upon the conversation taking place was crossing a line, but after the curiosity that had plagued him all day, he quashed that doubt. Draco cast a disillusionment spell on himself and purposefully crept up the winding stairs, careful not to make any sound that might betray his presence.

As he ascended towards the top of the stairs, Draco found himself growing increasingly concerned with the well-being of his classmate. Harry's voice paused intermittently, as though holding a conversation with somebody, but there was no answering voice to serve counterpoint to his own statements; he sounded positively barmy, could it be that The Chosen One had gone round the twist? As if that weren't bad enough, the subject matter of Harry's increasingly agitated rants was disturbing in its own right; he kept carrying on as though he were speaking to Dumbledore, claiming that 'he'd failed' and stating that it 'was all his fault.'

As Draco neared the apex of the stairs, he could just make out Harry's disembodied head as he stared off into space and the words he heard next made his blood run cold.

"I can't take it anymore, I just want it to end!"

All of a sudden, Harry turned towards the parapet and began moving closer. With a weight settling heavily in his gut, Draco scrambled to draw his wand, not wanting to draw any hasty conclusions yet unwilling to let what he feared might be coming take place. He licked his lips, allowed the disillusionment charm to fall, and swallowed before calling out, "Potter!"

With a start, Harry halted and turned back towards the stairs. "Malfoy? What are you doing here?" Harry asked, resentfully.

Shrugging off the sullen tone, Draco cast about for an answer when inspiration struck. "Patrolling," he responded, fingering his prefect's badge, the shiny silver catching the moonlight, "what's your excuse?"

"I'm just getting some air," Harry responded, "not that I owe you an explanation. There's no curfew for eighth-years, remember?"

"That's true," Draco conceded gracefully, not bothering to point out that the privilege had been granted so that they could make use of the library in their efforts to catch up on their education, "would you like some company?" Draco sorely hoped that Harry'd agree, his heart was racing in his chest, and he hoped like hell that he'd misread the situation. There was no question that Harry Potter was sorely in need of some kind of assistance, but surely he wasn't suicidal!

"No thanks, Malfoy, I'd like to be alone if it's all the same to you," Harry said as he turned back towards the parapet.

What a dilemma. On the one hand, there was no way in hell Draco wanted to leave him alone based on his suspicions. On the other hand, if his suspicions were correct, he would have to choose his words carefully lest he upset the delicate balance and all but push Potter over the edge himself. "Pot—Harry, maybe you should come on inside and get some rest. I've noticed that you looked exhausted lately."

"I'm fine, Malfoy, since when do you care?"

"Come on, Pot—Harry, you were at the trials. When you returned my wand you offered to put the past behind us, I thought you'd understood that my fam—that I only did what I had to do to maintain appearances?" Draco winced at the standoffish tone of Harry's voice, he had to find some way to get through to the Gryffindor.

"I do understand. I'm telling you, I'm fine. Go back to your patrol, I'll be in when I'm ready."

Crestfallen, Draco fell silent and watched silently as Harry approached the parapet at a complete loss for how to deal with the situation. As much as he wanted to hope for the best, he couldn't shake the sense of foreboding the words he'd overheard had instilled him with. He swallowed, then tried again. "Harry…"

"Shove off, Malfoy, surely you have better things to do than stand here harassing me. Like you said yourself, I thought we'd agreed we were done with all that."

Draco cringed, this wasn't going at all the way he'd hoped. "That's not—I'm not trying to wind you up, I'm trying to look out for you. I don't want you to…"

"Don't want me to what, Malfoy?"

"Look, maybe we could sit down, talk about things?" Draco responded, getting desperate.

"There's nothing to talk about, now get out of here. Don't make me hex you, Malfoy, I'm not in the mood."

"But…" Draco tried.

Abruptly, Harry whirled around, his wand emerging from beneath his cloak. "Depulso." Draco found himself forced back into the stairwell, the hatch slamming home just over his head, and a muffled "Colloportus" could be heard through the wood of the hatch.

With a curse, Draco raised his wand, thrusting it upwards and stammering out an "Alohomora." He shoved the hatch open and rushed up the stairs to see Harry striding purposefully towards the edge. "Petrificus Totalus!" Draco cried frantically, fiercely determined to prevent Harry from doing anything rash.

Harry's body went stiff, and it was like time slowed down. While Draco's spell had effectively prevented Harry from taking further action, it had no effect on the momentum he'd already built up. Draco could only watch in horror as Harry's rigid body toppled over the parapet. Draco gave an anguished cry and rushed towards the edge.