Objects of Desire

Chapter 4 - Whatever Gets You Through The Night...

By Azrael Geffen

Draco, having wisely elected not to go to breakfast on Monday morning, floated languidly in the centre of the pool sized tub of the South West tower, over looked by a statue of Circe who watched the naked form with a salacious smile on her lips. Occasionally she would throw a combination of mineral salts and scents into the tub from a great crystal bowl and called to him to come to her. He knew better than to go.

He focused on the stone nymphs who inhabited the ceiling, frolicking prettily, displaying their delightfully androgynous limbs to him and promising all sorts of pleasures with their seductive smiles. He wondered if they put this show on for everyone who entered the bathroom. He was also aware of a ghost who came here to watch. She kept to the shadows, and he didn’t mind her presence. He figured that, if he were a ghost, he would probably do the same thing.

At the memory of the look on Grangers face when Snape grabbed her he chuckled. It had been one of those priceless moments he knew he would treasure for a very long time. Still, he had been surprised when Snape didn’t demand her expulsion, Draco had hoped for it. Nothing would have given him greater pleasure than seeing the Know - it - all Mudblood thrown out of the one place she seemed determined to stay for ever. He had no doubt she would end up a teacher here. He had already decided that his own children, should he ever have them, would be sent to Durmstrang.

“It’s time to go, Mr. Malfoy.”

He looked in the direction of Circe who had knelt down to the side of the pool. She always let him know when it was getting too late, the nymphs on the ceiling looked disappointed. He swam to the side beside her and traced one finger over the cold marble of her face. “Thanks love,” he told her, and flicked his tongue along the stone jaw line. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” With that he heaved himself out of the pool and wrapped himself in a thick fluffy towel.

“Are you sure you would not like to kiss my mouth?” Circe asked. “You’ll find it warmer than you expect.”

He grinned and replied silkily; “Now, my love, what do you take me for?” He looked up once again at the nymphs on the ceiling. He had no desire to end up as one of them. She looked as disappointed as a stone statue could and returned to her standing position, becoming inanimate and hard. Waving a quick goodbye to the bathrooms ornaments and its secretive ghost, he went back to his room to get ready for class.

~ ~ ~

“I’m gonna kill him,” Ron was muttering between bites of toast. “I’m gonna smash that ugly Malfoy face of his, and then I’m gonna kill him.”

Harry let him rant, more concerned for Hermione’s state of mind than Ron’s. Ron had never liked Malfoy; this was just an extension of that. The slight on Hermione just added fuel to that particular fire and it didn’t really bother Harry one bit. Malfoy was rotten to the core, just as his entire family line had been. Harry accepted it, and if Ron wanted to rant about it for another few hours, he could. Hermione, on the other hand was not angry at all. She was simply silent and miserable. She was not talking to Ron at all, and she spoke to Harry only when she needed to. She had been humiliated and degraded not just by Malfoy, but by everyone in the game last night. What irked Harry was that he and Ron had been as much to blame as anyone.

Ron had told him about her “fucking ugly” comments. Hermione had never struck Harry as being one who would worry about her looks. She never bothered with makeup, she never bothered to do anything special with her hair and she had certainly never complained about her looks. He had always assumed that she was comfortable in her own skin. This hint, that perhaps she wasn’t, rattled him. If Hermione wasn’t solid who would be?

At the High table, Snape was looking sour and decidedly the worse for wear after his impromptu bath at 2am. Harry remembered how he used to spend his nights prowling the halls, it seemed that of late he had actually been sleeping. Harry wondered what he used to keep the nightmares at bay and if he would sleep soundly again after last nights intrusion. For the second time in his life Harry felt a pang of pity for the man. He couldn’t really blame him for giving Hermione detention; anyone would have in his place. They were only grateful that he hadn’t expelled her.

“We should tell Snape it was Malfoy’s dare,” Ron reasoned, “he’d have to understand that.”

Harry doubted that the least popular kid at school had ever been invited to play Truth or Dare - or that he would have been stupid enough to do it if he had been asked. No, Snape would not understand the concept of Malfoy forcing Hermione to play the practical joke without the use of the imperious curse. Besides, when it came to Draco Malfoy Snape had a blind spot wider than a Quidditch pitch. 

~ ~ ~

Archibald Semeuse stood back to admire his handiwork. His Death Eaters started back at him from their glass cases. Only his Angel of Death was not yet sealed for the first of the visitors. He had propped him up in the corner of the case where he looked like an oversized porcelain doll.

“Now Lucius,” he had said in an almost fatherly manner, “I want you to keep your head up so the people can see you. It won’t do to have it hanging down on your chest now will it?”

Lucius' head fell forward as soon as Semeuse released it. He tutted impatiently and lifted his head, resting it on a tilt against the glass side of the case. He had not the heart to wire his limbs as he had the others. Wire would require cutting and drilling into the flesh and bone and the first rule of collecting was that: if you have a perfect specimen, do nothing to mar it. He would never mar this flesh, at least in no way that would decrease his aesthetic value.

His first task had been to clean Lucius up. The state in which he arrived really showed only a little of his true potential. He had still been dressed in the filthy rags he had been kissed in and after that he had been thrown in one of the deepest cells in Azkaban to rot and await some kind of use. The bodies of the kissed Death Eaters existed in a crude state of semi hibernation. They breathed at a slower, shallower rate than a normal functioning human and they could go long periods without sustenance - but it could not be indefinite.

They had the basic functions available to allow them to live. They ate, drank, slept, defecated, pissed and breathed. If their lives were in mortal peril, their bodies instinctively forced them to walk and move their limbs, but such actions were limited and required huge amounts of energy. In the deepest cell in Azkaban for four months, they had indeed moved. They had needed to. They needed to eat. After pumping his stomach he found something that looked remarkably like a semi digested rat and some other foreign meat that could have been human. Not that Lucius would have known what he was doing, they had no conscious thought, they only had reactions that allowed them to survive. It truly was a fate worse than death.

Semeuse highly doubted that his angel had any concept of what his name was anymore, but he always referred to him as Lucius, saying the name with a softness in the centre, as Lu-shus. Had he ever met Lucius Malfoy prior to the Kiss, the man would have hexed him into oblivion for addressing him in such a way. He had always been very careful to introduce himself in such a way as to leave no doubt as to the pronunciation of his name. “Luce – ee – us Malfoy.”

As he worked Semeuse spoke to him, telling him in detail what he was doing, (“I’m undressing you, I’m pumping your stomach, I’m washing you, I’m cutting you finger nails”) and he took a great deal of pleasure in his work. As the layers of filth came off, the beauty of what lay beneath was revealed. He was far too thin, a product of months of neglect. Any fat he had once had was long since gone and what remained were long sinewy muscles, slowly breaking down from lack of use, encased in smooth, pale flesh. Semeuse had removed his gloves to finish the job, allowing his hands to run the length of the warmed skin, to touch him intimately, testing his reactions to stimulation. The body still functioned, but the face bore no registration that anything had happened. He washed the long pale hair and combed it out. It hung long, to the top of his angels’ thighs, the color of moonlight and as soft as gossamer thread. But it was when he shaved his face that Semeuse could truly savor the beauty that he had before him. His jaw was sharp, ending in a pointy chin and the curve of his mouth was sensual. 

He was an Angel.

He was perfect, every aspect of him. Semeuse felt for the first time and not the last that he didn’t want the world to see this. This was his specimen, his Angel. But the Ministry would ask questions if he wasn’t on display. They were determined to have him. He was very important. He had been one of the worst apparently. Semeuse had heard the rumors, but looking at his trophy, he didn’t care if they were true. Semeuse cared only about beauty. When Lucius Malfoy went from being a walking talking Death Eater to being the specimen sitting in front of him, he ceased to be a seeing feeling being. He was a work of art now, he was Semeuse's work of art.

“Can you hear me Lucius?” Semeuse whispered and smiled. “Well, perhaps not.”

He bent forward and kissed the corner of Lucius’s eye as lightly as he would have dusted the most ancient piece of parchment. His tongue flicked across the silken texture of Lucius’s eyelashes and then slid down his cheek, leaving a glistening trail of spit in it’s’ wake and finally sort passage between the exquisitely curved lips.

Lucius Malfoy blinked.

~ ~ ~

For Hermione, the day passed all too quickly and her dread of the evening’s detention caused her to simply exist throughout the day rather than take any active part in it. She had forced herself to eat a large lunch, seeing as Snape wanted her for detention at 5:30 and dinner was at the same time. She doubted the Potions Master would have a nice tray of sandwiches waiting for her.

She had managed to ignore Ron who had spent his day in turn insulting and threatening Malfoy who had drawled lazy replies with the air of someone who is faintly amused but ultimately bored by the challenge. Harry had tried to keep her spirits up, pointing out that, whatever happened, Snape could hardly hurt her and that she was at least still in school, so he hadn’t done his worst. Of course, none of them really knew what Snape's worst could possibly be.

In class, the Potions Master had seemed only a little more nasty than usual and she was sure that he added the extra Matricaria Essence to her cauldron that caused her Angelic Eye Potion to turn blood red instead of silver. She said nothing about it (although Harry had bristled with fury) and accepted that she would fail that particular potion. She had no doubt that she could do it right. She would make it again in her own time just to make sure. It was during Potions class that he informed her of the time she was required for detention.

“What about dinner?” Harry had asked him in a voice that sounded remarkably like a challenge, and Hermione had winced and wanted to tell him that he didn’t need to rescue her from the Evil Potions Master. But that was Harry’s way of dealing with things, and when Snape had simply turned his cynical eye him and sneered before stalking off, Hermione had understood that she would have to listen to a half hour rant about that too.

Once lessons had finished she returned to the tower to quickly get some homework done, changed into a warmer set of robes and set off to the dungeons.

~ ~ ~

Artemisia Absinthium
30g Wormwood Leaves
8.5 g Hyssop stem, leaves and flowers
1.8g Calamus Root
6.0g Lemon balm
30.0 g Anise Seeds
25.0 g Fennel Seeds
10.0g Star Anise
3.2g Coriander Seeds
4.2g Mint Leaves
1.0g Citron Peel Lemon

~ ~ ~

Professor Severus Snape added Hyssop flowers to his mortar and pestle and decided that he really had been teaching for far too long. He had only meant to stay until the Dark Lord was well and truly dead (or had triumphed, in which case he would have simply adjusted his loyalties and survived), either way, he was not supposed to still be here, teaching dunderheaded children how to brew potions they would never use. Once upon a time, his advanced classes were his only solace. Now his advanced classes included Harry Potter and that Muggle Born Granger girl who decided to take complete leave of her senses and hurl water over him at 2am.

If only he had gotten to his wand before he truly woke up. He could hear himself now; “Really, Albus, it was an accident. She threw water over me, I reacted instinctively,” and the girl would be gone and not coming to the dungeons to give him more grief.

He had wanted to go after the war had ended, but Dumbledore…Dumbledore had convinced him otherwise. Dumbledore had asked the obvious question. Who would employ him? What would he do if he wasn’t here? Severus had a pretty enough estate of his own in Wiltshire, left to him by a Father who bitterly clung to life in some vain hope that he would give forth another heir that he considered worthy enough to inherit. Of course the old bastard had managed to gamble away anything that resembled money incumbent on the estate, along with any respect that the Snape family name ever had afforded. Despite Lucius Malfoy’s many offers to purchase the place (it bordered his own estate and the Malfoy’s just hated the idea of not owning everything in sight), Severus had held on to it, hoping one day to actually be able to live in it.

For the time being he had to pay for its upkeep. To do that he needed a job and Dumbledore had been right, who would employ him? He was a petty, foul tempered man with little more than his skill with Potions, a propensity for Dark magic and an ability to play sides admirably to recommend him. While his qualifications were good, there were not many people who would trust him as far as they could kick him. Dumbledore seemed the only person willing or able to look beneath the façade, and whether the old mans trust in him was warranted even Severus did not know.

He would probably be here until he died. It was a fate he secretly considered fairly just considering his sins. It wasn’t such an awful fate. He had the luxury of indulging in making whatever potion he liked and although his passion for them had waned over the years, there were still certain things he liked to throw together. The Artemisia Absinthium being just one of them. His very nature ensured he was left pretty much alone by most of the faculty, staff included, with a couple of notable exceptions.

He was known to go out to dinner on regular occasions with Minerva McGonagall, causing all sorts of speculations amongst the general staff who would never gossip in front of him and who also would never realize that most of their conversations at said dinners revolved around two topics. Minerva’s rather tempestuous relationship with the schools Headmaster (Dumbledore it seemed, whilst being infinitely wise, had absolutely no idea about the female psyche. Minerva wanted marriage, he thought things were fine as they were, they had been together over 50 years, and Severus had no doubt that she had been bemoaning it for the same amount of time) and Severus’s love life or lack there of (the conversations was usually one sided on this account. Minerva would start on him about finding some nice girl to settle down with, and Severus would eat and scowl.)

His other regular conversation partner was Dumbledore himself who would come and bemoan his rather tempestuous relationship with the Transfigurations Mistress (Why on earth, after all this time together would Minerva still want marriage? Things are just were fine as they are, aren’t they?) and since the War was over they would play chess while Dumbledore harassed him about finding some nice girl to settle down with. In such cases, Severus would scowl and carefully position his chess pieces for the kill. Dumbledore could do things with a wand no one had ever seen before, but he couldn’t win at chess…ever.

So, his fate was not so bad and after this year was over he would never have to set eye on Harry Potter again and he would be able to lay that particular ghost to rest. That was until the little heroes progeny turned up. Severus shuddered and hoped against hope that it would be a girl and would take after its mother, whoever that unfortunate girl would be.

He turned his attention back to the concoction in front of him and added the Star Anise. It was beginning to smell overwhelmingly like liquorice, which meant it was coming along nicely. He added the contents of the mortar and pestle to the decantation on the burner and watched as it turned emerald green.

When there was a knock at the door he knew exactly who it was, so he let her wait and stew a little before calling, “Enter”.

Hermione Granger slipped into his office and hesitantly came up to his desk, her eyes flicking over the potion he was working on. “I’m here for detention, Sir,” she said.

“I know that Miss Granger”, he snapped, and she chewed her lip and looked at her shoes. He stirred the potion and returned his hard glare at her, watching her shuffle on the spot and chew on her mouth. He was amazed it didn’t bleed the amount that she did that. He hated it as a habit, but the by-product was that it made her lower lip swell a little and that actually made her mouth look somewhat attractive. He wondered if she knew that when she did it. She probably did, vain little wretch.

He was uncomfortably aware that he found her attractive. He had for a year now. He highly doubted that anyone else did. She wasn’t particularly tall and her face was somewhat plain for current fashions. She had clear brown eyes, a heart shaped face with a freckled nose and a little mouth with an oft swollen lower lip that he occasionally fantasized about biting. She had started tying her unruly hair back which was probably a good thing considering if she was going to make a career with potions (as she was threatening to do according to her careers sheets). She would need to keep it back and out of her work. He had lost count of the times he had been grading her work over the years only to find a great long hair in it. Other wise he preferred it out, he liked the way it frizzed when the weather was damp.

He was fortunate that his appreciation of her physical appearance was tempered with his utter dislike for her personality. She was exactly what he hated in a woman. She was a know it all who learned everything from a book but had no real appreciation for life. She could perform any spell or charm perfectly and expected applause when she did so. She was always mouthing off about what she knew when what she didn’t know could fill volumes. She let the boys take all the glory and walk all over her. Still, she was a student, and she was lucky enough to survive the war, so she had her whole life to become better at it. Just so long as she did so far away from him.

“Down those stairs,” he said and indicated with his wand. The wall opposite opened up and a stair case appeared. “You will find my personal supply room.”

“But I thought your personal stores were…” She stopped.

“Obviously you will be having the filter installed between your brain and your mouth next week Miss Granger?”

“Yes, Professor.”

“And I can assume that I can add stealing to the list of your offenses?”

"No!” She chewed furiously, “I…err…no, Sir”

He smiled, enjoying her discomfort. He was no fool. Students had been stealing from the Potion Masters office since Hogwarts was founded. He certainly had when he was a student. His first order of business upon taking up the post had been to find a safer hiding place.

“You will find, Miss Granger that I do not keep everything within such easy reach of the student populace. What you will find downstairs is among the more…toxic…of ingredients, and you, being the excellent student that you are, I am sure that you will be able to handle them adequately.”

He was well aware that his reference to her excellence as a student sounded like an insult. He made it a practice to never praise his students, especially ones he found distasteful. He was also well aware that she was his star student and the fact the she was a Gryffindor know-it-all Muggle Born irked him beyond measure.

“You will go down there,” he continued, “and you will sort and catalogue every ingredient and potion. Anything that is decanting should be approached with caution as many are volatile, and I would hate to have to get the House Elves to scrape you off the wall.” He almost chuckled at her reaction to that. “If you find anything is running low, you will make a note if it. Anything that is almost empty or is empty you will clean out the jar and set it aside. I expect you to make every effort to get this finished before you leave tonight because I don’t want to have to let you back in tomorrow because of your ineptitude…oh, and I expect you to do all of this without the use of Magic.”

Her mouth fell open.

“I will thank you to stop gaping like a fish, Miss Granger, and I suggest you get started, I am hoping to actually get some sleep tonight.”

She looked as though she was about to cry, and he silently prayed that she wouldn’t. Women who were given over to fits of hysterics drove him to distraction and considering the amount of girls (and boys) he had made cry over the years, it was amazing he was still sane.

But she did not cry. She miserably said, “Yes Sir,’ and descended the stairs.

~ ~ ~

“Impedimenta!”

Harry advanced on Malfoy who was lying on his back breathing heavily, his eyes glinting wildly as he thought about what exactly to do next. It had been a low move and Harry knew it, casting reducto and blowing up a porcelain trinket box and while Malfoys attention was momentarily distracted, he hit him with Impedimenta which had knocked him into his present position. But Malfoy was excellent at shielding and seemed able to dodge anything. Harry had become desperate to hit him with anything he could in any way he knew how.

He advanced on Malfoy, who despite his position of the floor was just as powerful and raised his wand.

“Expelliarmus.”

“Protego.” Malfoy’s shield spell knocked the disarming spell aside effectively, and it disappeared harmlessly into the wall.

Harry opened his mouth to throw something else at the blond haired wizard in front of him. He was going to win this, he always won these things. Malfoy could dodge and shield all he wanted, but when it came down to it, Harry was the winner.

“Primus Apnoea!” Malfoy yelled before Harry could get anything out and a bright yellow burst of light flew out of the wand and hit Harry squarely in the chest.

It was as though hands reached into his chest and squeezed every last ounce of air from his lungs. He desperately tried to draw breath only to discover that his throat was blocked. He couldn’t breathe, not even the smallest intake of air was possible, and he stared wildly at Malfoy who paused for a moment and laughed short and sharp at the success of the curse.

Malfoy picked himself up off the floor and slowly, deliberately, started to dust himself off, picking at even the minutest piece of lint on his robes, smoothing down his hair.

“You like that Potty?” He drawled, “I came up with that one myself, but I have to say, it worked far better than I could have hoped.”

A thin stream of drool began to spill from Harry’s mouth, he brought a hand convulsively to his throat while keeping the other, still holding his wand, trained on Malfoy, not that he could speak or even concentrate hard enough to cast.

“That trinket box belonged to my Mother,” he hissed, “You had better hope I can repair it.”

Harry could barley stand now. When was Malfoy going to counter the hex? No time soon. The blond was grinning with malicious pleasure as he watched Harry drop to his knees, green eyes beginning to goggle and he gestured wildly for Malfoy to release him.

“Now now Potter, you will have to speak up. I can’t understand what you are trying to say to me.”

Fucking evil little shit. He was more like his Father than Harry could ever have anticipated he would be. Harry hauled himself to his feet and lurched out of the room and into the corridor, Malfoy trailing along behind laughed merrily and avoided the trail of spit that Harry was leaving in his wake.

~ ~ ~

Hermione hissed sharply through her teeth and dropped the vial she was holding. She really should have asked for gloves, not that the slimy git upstairs would give her any. She inspected her hand where the contents of the vial had splashed and was alarmed to see the flesh bubbling angrily. By Gods it hurt, it was the fourth time in as many hours that she had done this and she was becoming increasingly frustrated at her own clumsiness. She quickly cast a healing charm over the wound and the burning subsided, leaving a nasty red welt as a scar.

She crouched down and cleaned up the broken vial and cursed the hour that gave birth to Snape. Then she cursed Snape’s mother for going through labor with the slimy git, then she cursed his Father for producing the seed that spawned him. Then she had to actually consider the fact that he was actually some poor couple’s child. How awful for them. He wasn’t that old, not really, around the same age as her own parents and she still had both sets of Grand Parents so chances were that Snape’s parents were still alive! What must they think of the nasty piece of work he had become? She felt a moment’s pity for the couple she had never met.

He would have known that it would take hours to clean this room out. It would have taken hours with magic, and it would take more than double that without it. She considered the idea that he may have just left her there and gone to bed, and she should maybe just use her wand. But no, he would hardly leave a girl he basically knew had stolen supplies from him in that past with an entire storeroom of goodies that many would kill to get their hands on.

And really, the room was pretty special.

There was an amazing array of potions, all labeled with Snape’s cramped handwriting, all dated with the time and date of their decanting. If he was a nicer person she would have engaged him in conversation about the potions he had in here. Shape shifting potions, antidotes for anything and everything including a vampire bite, and essences of things she had never considered even existed let alone had essence. There was an entire shelf of what could only be called, Angel Essence. They were dark and sticky looking, like liquid amber, some had what looked like clots of blood in them and the occasional feather. Each Essence had a name, “Abdiel”, “Chamuel”, “Jophiel”, Michael”, Zachiel”. She had heard rumors and tales of angel essence of course, but she had thought they were myths and fairy tales. The essence was extracted from angels killed during the celestial wars at the dawn of time. It seemed an impossibility that such things would exist in Snapes collection, but here they were.

In another cabinet, she had found the real treasure haul. Well, a treasure haul to the average 18 year old witch or wizard. Absinthe. Not just any Absinthe, but real, Wizards Absinthe. Each bottle, and there had to be twenty of them, labeled and dated. Ron had begged her to make it once, she had found a recipe for it in an old book of potions, and she had read it thoroughly and decided against it. It seemed easy enough, but one wrong quantity could make it lethal and she really didn’t want the death of her two best friends on her conscience.

It had been illegal in the Wizarding world for longer than it had been illegal in the Muggle world. Dating back to the famous trial in 1863 when Argion Mulchet had been imprisoned for standing in the centre of Leicester Square and declaring to every Muggle within earshot that there was a magical world existing alongside there own and if they would just hold still long enough he would prove it. He then proceeded to fly several laps of the square on his broom stick and let off a stream of multicolored fireworks from his wand. In depictions from the time, he could clearly be seen smiling cheerily and holding a mostly empty bottle of Absinthe. He had claimed in his own defense that the Green Fairy made him do it. The liqueur was subsequently banned, and Mulchet was killed on his way to Azkaban by an Auror who was mourning the loss of his favorite tipple. Interestingly enough, the Auror got off.

That Snape could make Absinthe was no real surprise. He was a brilliant Potions Master. She had always thought herself lucky to be studying in his class, regardless of the fact that he was, well, evil. That Snape actually did make Absinthe and very probably drank it too, now that shocked her beyond measure. She had read about it of course. The drink of artists, the drink of bohemians, the drinks of 19^th Century Paris, of music and dancing and light and color. It was a drink that belonged to a different age, it had influenced an entire Muggle art movement. It was a drink of decadence and beauty, desire and delight. It was not a drink of the foul, greasy man upstairs. The very idea of Snape drinking Absinthe was an affront to its reputation. She felt offended for all Absinthe everywhere.

She had never tried it. She was not a big drinker and drinking almost always lead her into trouble (the contract being a prime example). She was certainly drinking more since the war, but so was everyone. Malfoy, for all intents and purposes, seemed to be making a valiant effort to drink himself to death, something that more than a few people would welcome. But Hermione didn’t want the Absinthe for the purposes of getting drunk. She could do that with nettle wine. It was that curiosity, her biggest demon, dictated that she had to try this stuff. She had to because she had read about it. Imagined it. Fantasized about the world that was built around it. She had to try it. She was duty bound to do so.

She wondered if he would notice of she stole a bottle. Ron would love her for it and they could use it as a bribe for Malfoy (who would no doubt fall over himself to get his hands on it). 

What was she thinking? Snape was known to be meticulous, he no doubt counted the bottles and as she was the only other person to ever come down here it would be pretty bloody obvious who took it.

A sip. He wouldn’t miss a sip, surely? She drew out one of the bottles carefully and inspected it. It was the same color as Harry’s eyes and she smiled at it. Having personalized it thus, it couldn’t be a bad thing. She pulled the stopper out and sniffed it cautiously. It smelled heavily of Anise and herbs and something unfamiliar.

Oh well, here goes nothing. She raised the bottle to her lips.

“I wouldn’t drink that if I were you”

She froze, bottle to her lips, eyes wide in horror.

He walked to her and pried the bottle from her hand and replaced the stopper.

“Professor Snape!” she yelped, “Sir, I…I…I…sorry...I…curious…Absinthe…I…Sir…”

“Stop babbling girl!” He snapped, “Really, Miss Granger, there I was wondering why you were taking so long and now I see you haven’t been working at all, but instead you have been helping yourself to my stores.”

“I…I didn’t have any, Sir”

“I can see that, you silly girl, your still standing,”

She blushed bright red, “Sir?”

“Do you have any idea what this is?” He asked.

“Absinthe, Sir, I’ve read about it, I just wanted to…”

“Silence!” he placed the bottle back on the shelf. “One day, Miss Granger, you will find that what you read in books is often vastly different to the reality. Yes, the drink is Absinthe, but it is not the Muggle concoction you would have read so much about. If you had drunk from this particular bottle you would have imbibed more Calamus than you body could handle, you would start to hallucinate and then you would die.”

“I…I didn’t realize Professor.”

“Obviously not.”

“I’m sorry Professor”

She was positively gnawing on her lip now and he resisted the urge to slap her. He raised a cynical eyebrow and said; “You will also find that saying sorry doesn’t automatically make things better. Detention, for the remainder of the week.”

“Yes Professor.”

He turned from her and looked about the room. “I see you have been taking your time,” he tutted silkily, “my my, only half way finished, it looks like you will be back tomorrow night. Unless of course you would prefer to continue until you are done?”

She was about to say, “No Sir, I’ll come back tomorrow,” she was about to because anything that could get her out of that room right then was the best thing ever. She was about to, but she didn’t. She didn’t because she was interrupted. She was interrupted by the very loud slamming of the very heavy door to the store room.

That’s ok, he’ll just open it and we will go our separate ways.

His face drained of color.

Oh, that doesn’t look good.

“Shit,” he said.

Oh, he swore, that didn’t sound good.

He went to the door and whispered, “Alohamora”, nothing happened.

Not Good.

“Fuck!” he exclaimed.

Really, Really, Not Good. If he was swearing without reservation in front of her, it really couldn’t be good.

He let out a stream of hexes and obscenities at the door which remained unmoved and very decidedly closed.

“Professor?” She asked.

”Stupid fucking, shit assed wanker of a…..”

“Professor?”

“Piece of shit fucking…”

“PROFESSOR!”

“WHAT?!?” He rounded on her, eyes blazing.

“Umm, do we have a problem?”

He snorted impatiently. “What? Has that marvelous brain of yours suddenly taken a leave of absence?” He retorted scathingly, “Yes, Miss Granger, we have a problem. The Castle has decided to lock us in for the night.”

The night? Was he kidding? “The Castle?” she yelped, “Can it do that?”

“Really, have you never read ‘Hogwarts, A History’? The Castle can do what ever the hell it likes.”

“Oh.” She returned to gnawing away at her lip, “What are we going to do?”

“The only thing we can do. Sit down and wait it out.”

~ ~ ~

By the time Harry reached the common room, he was turning blue. Ron, who flew into a state of total panic, was no use at all, if it hadn’t been for Anthony Goldstein who leapt forward and cried “Finite Incantatem”, he probably would have died. He liked to think that Malfoy may have freed him before that happened, but in all honesty he wasn’t so sure. He fell forward and took a long, sweet heavenly breath of air.

“Ohthankthegods (breathe) I couldn’t (breathe) breathe (breathe)”

“Had enough, Potter?” Malfoy drawled from the archway.

“Fuck (breathe) you (breathe) Malfoy (breathe)”

“Not tonight, Potty,” he replied nastily, “So I take it you want to continue?” He pointed his wand at Harry, sneered and prepared for a fresh attack.

“Stop it Malfoy!” Ron cried and raised his own wand.

Malfoy raised a sarcastic eyebrow. “We’re sparring Weasel. Potty hasn’t called finish yet.”

“That’s because he can’t you bastard!”

Malfoy laughed. “Bastard? I’ll have you know my parents were married five full years before I was born.”

“Oh yeah,” Ron scoffed, “your parents. I wouldn’t be too proud of that twist of breeding.”

Malfoy turned his wand on Ron, his pale eyes narrowed, his voice suddenly lowered, the drawl becoming a growl; “What did you say about my parents?”

“You heard me,” Ron smirked. “I wouldn’t be too proud of that if I were you. They probably only waited that long because your Father liked the idea of touching himself more than your Mother. Probably had to call a vet in, that’s how they inseminate cows you know.”

Draco turned red, then white and hissed through bared teeth, “I’m a damn sight more proud than you have any right to be. At least my family has the ability to afford to give me the best of everything, unlike your gutter trash lot who produce more than they could feed. But then I hear they are a couple of mouths less these days, must be such a relief for your parents.”

This was getting dangerous. Both boys were facing each other, wands raised, teeth bared. Everyone but Harry took a step back, desperately wanting to see what happened but having no desire to be caught in the cross fire.

“Ron, calm down” Harry said as firmly as his sore throat and lungs would allow, “don’t pay any attention to him, you know what he’s like.”

“Yeah, I know what he’s like,” Ron hissed, “so proud that his family can do this and that and every bloody other thing besides. Wake up to yourself Malfoy, your parents can’t even wipe their own asses anymore! My family has the gratitude of our world, my Father looks like being the next Minister of Magic and your family is part of a traveling freak show. The Amazing Drooling Malfoys. Now there’s a show I’d love to see, I’ll go every fucking day when it comes to Hogsmeade! Ma and Pa Malfoy, sitting in their own shit, and I’ll go and take pictures for you so you have something to remember them by.”

Malfoy had paled even further. His wand hand had fallen slackly by his side and at the end of Ron’s tirade, the wand clattered to the floor. His eyes glazed over and he stared, unseeing, at the red head in front of him.

“What’s wrong, Ferret?” Ron laughed, going in for the kill, “Did I hit a soft spot? Going to cry? I heard you did when they got their little kiss good bye. I heard you cried like a baby, I…”

“RON!” Harry grabbed his friend and spun him around to face him. “Stop it, this is beneath you.”

Malfoy had gone. He’d turned and disappeared down the corridor and back to the sanctity of his room.

“He needed to be told Harry,” Ron said defensively. “He deserved it.”

Harry looked around at his group of friends, they all seemed to be uncomfortably agreeing with Ron. They had all taken some kind of perverse pleasure in the exchange. He shook his head, trying to make sense of the fact that he hadn’t. He had spent years hoping on day to see Draco Malfoy taken down a few pegs, now when it finally happened, he just felt sad for him.

“We’re doing a late night study group in library, you coming?”

Harry shrugged, “Umm. Yeah, later, I want to have a bath first.”

“Ok, sure.” Ron looked at him, trying to read his face. “Malfoy deserved it Harry,” he said after a time. “He would have let you die before he released that curse.”

Harry doubted it, but what did he know? Malfoys were rotten to the core, that’s what everyone had always said, and none of them had ever proved other wise. He smiled reassuringly at Ron, “Yeah Mate, whatever. I stink, I’m going to have a bath, and I’ll come up to the library straight after, ok?”

“Great. I’ll see you there.” Ron turned, “Oh, Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you stop by the kitchen on your way and grab some snacks…we’ll probably need ‘em by then.”

Harry grinned and headed to the bathroom.

~ ~ ~

Over her time at Hogwarts, Hermione had learned that if she nagged and persisted enough,  eventually she would get her own way. So it had been now. Locked in a cupboard with Professor Snape. It was late, probably after midnight, and she decided that it was ridiculous to be scared of him. She was eighteen, she had faced far worse, she wanted to try Absinthe, and he had a supply of it - it was time to start on him.

It was surprisingly easy. It only took an hour of solid whining, and he had capitulated. She couldn’t believe he had. She really did think he would be harder than that.

For Snape’s part, he estimated that it would take two drinks and she would pass out. In fact, he was counting on it. He pulled out the bottle with the strongest concentration of the Artemisia that he had and decided that it would be sufficient to completely knock out a novice to the drink. Anything to shut her up and make the time in this ridiculous situation pass as quietly as possible.

There was a time in his life when he had drunk Absinthe with alarming regularity. He still enjoyed it although he had found he wanted it less and less. It was one of the few liquors that could truly get him drunk, possibly because he made it himself, and it was incredibly potent. He knew that he should not be sharing something that was not only his guilty secret but also highly illegal with Miss Hermione Granger, but he didn’t want to be sitting in his store room all night listening to her and with this in mind he poured more than a little of the green liqueur into two glass goblets and placed little silver slotted spoons over each. On top of the spoons he placed some sugar, drizzled enough of the Absinthe over to soak the sugar and then set it alight. She watched, fascinated as the sugar bubbled and melted and fell into the liquid waiting below like fiery little tears.

Just because he wanted to knock her out didn’t mean that he shouldn’t observe the niceties that went along with the drink.

“Absinthe,” he said, “is the aphrodisiac of the soul.” He stirred then last of the sugar into the drink and waited until the blue flame died away.

He passed a glass to her and she turned it, marveling at the color in the light. You were supposed to add water to it, he said, if you did you could see the louche, but they had no fresh water and he said the effects would be the same. She didn’t like the idea of creating the louche anyway. To do so would interfere with the glorious color of it.

He raised his glass to hers. “Salut,” he said.

“Salut,” she replied and clinked her glass to his.

He had told her to swallow it straight down in one quick gulp. In every film or painting that she had ever seen, the drink had been sipped, seductively, but he put paid to that notion, informing her that most Muggles who make such films and paint such pictures have no real concept of what the drink actually tastes like… or were so seasoned to it they could stomach the flavor. It was best for her to get it down as fast as she could.

So she did.

And was grateful that she had! The liquid blazed a trail of fire and Anise down her throat so vile that she gagged. Dear Gods it was the worst taste she had ever encountered, and she had drunk Polyjuice Potion! Why on earth would artists fall in love with this? Why would this awful, horrible, terrible, vile stuff be so loved and held in such esteem and notoriety?

The answer came less than a minute later when her entire body suddenly felt remarkably warm. The taste in her mouth had died down to a hot Anise flavor in the back of her throat. She felt incredibly, perfectly relaxed. She looked over at Snape who had rested back against the shelves, he was watching her intently.

“Is it always like this?” she asked, feeling a dopey smile slide across her face.

“It depends,” he said, his voice had taken on a different quality, it was almost sleepy, or dreamy. “What does it feel like?”

“Um, like I am, um, really relaxed.”

“That sounds about right.”

“So the more you have the more relaxed you feel?”

“Not necessarily,” he frowned,  and the fact that he still could amazed her considering how relaxed she felt. “It is different for everyone. More could make you go to sleep, or be creative or any number of things.”

“Get violent?”

“I doubt it.”

“Can I have another one?”

He smiled thinly and began pouring another round of the liquor. “The Green Fairy,” he said,  “who lives in the Absinthe, wants your soul…but you are safe with me.”

She smiled, feeling dreamily happy and wondered if she really wanted to be safe.

~ ~ ~

Harry had bathed and dressed in old blue jeans and last years Weasley jumper that was sadly becoming too small. He wondered briefly if he was too old to get one for Christmas this year. But then remembering that Bill and Charlie had both received them last Christmas, he lived in hope. That was, of course, if Mrs. Weasley still felt like knitting them. Since last Christmas, she had lost two of her sons, she may never want to knit again. He pushed the thought out of his head. Of course she would knit, she loved to knit! She would be convinced that Harry and Ron would freeze to death without a jumper to tide them over.

The Common Room was deserted and he had the strongest urge to collapse into the armchair by the fire and study alone.

“I’m turning into Hermione, “ he muttered with more than a little disgust. He couldn’t stay, because if he stayed here alone his mind would wander into realms that he didn’t want to think about at the moment. And while he had no control over his dreams, he could at least try and control his waking thoughts.

Something on the floor caught his attention. He looked closer and realized that it was Malfoy’s wand.

Draco Malfoy. Now that was in the realms he didn’t want to think about. Still, what a brilliant curse! Had he not been choking to death he would have had the urge to shake the mans hand for that little stroke of genius. Harry had never been able to construct his own spells. Some people had the gift and some didn’t. Harry didn’t. He could learn how to do ones that other people had come up with and he wondered if Malfoy would teach him that one.

He looked at the wand a moment longer and then picked it up. Malfoy must have been pretty upset to leave it behind, and he couldn’t have gone to the library with the others. Malfoy was no fool. He had a lot of enemies and he knew better than to go anywhere without his wand. Besides, he’d hate to miss the opportunity to hex some poor unsuspecting first year. The wand was made of a wood so dark it was almost black. The handle was ornately carved, looking closer Harry realized that what he had taken to be serpents were actually dragons entwined around each other. He wondered if Malfoy had the handle added after he had chosen the wand. He doubted Mr. Ollivander would do that though.

He went down the corridor and knocked on Malfoys door.

No answer.

“Malfoy?” He knocked again. No answer. He turned the handle and peered into the room. “Malfoy? I found your wand, I’m just returning it, I…”

Draco, he couldn’t think of him as simply Malfoy right at that moment, was curled on his side on his bed, eyes closed and breathing shallow breaths. He was almost as pale as the linen that the house elves changed each day, and the paleness only highlighted the darkening shadows under his eyes. Clutched to his chest was a wood bound book that Harry recognized as a photograph album. He had one identical to it, it contained the only pictures he had of his family. Draco had a whole shelf of them. Harry had noticed them once before when they had been sparring in here. He was glad he hadn’t sent the Reducto curse at them earlier as he had originally planned.

As quietly as he could he placed the wand on the bedside table next to the broken pieces of the trinket box and turned to withdraw from the room – and knocked over several pieces of Draco’s Chess set which yelped in protest.

Harry froze and stared at the figure on the beds eyes snapped open and blinked, saw Harry, blinked again and he sat bolt upright.

“What the fuck are you doing in here Potter?” he spat, “come to have another laugh at how disgusting my family is?”

“No!” Harry flushed pink, “I found your wand on the floor, I came to give it to you.”

Malfoy continued to glare at him.

“Look” Harry sighed, “Everyone is at the library studying. I was going to go and join them, do you want to come?”

“No,” he snapped.

“Ok, fine, whatever,” he turned his back on Malfoy and was about to walk out the door when he added; “I’m really sorry about your parents.”

“Why should you be?” Draco choked. “They weren’t very nice people.”

~ ~ ~

“Eurydice was called. She came from among the newly-arrived ghosts, limping with her wounded foot. Orpheus was permitted to take her away with him on one condition; that he should not turn around to look at her 'til they should have reached the upper air. Under this condition they proceeded on their way, he leading, she following, through passages dark and steep, in total silence, 'til they had nearly reached the outlet into the cheerful upper world, when Orpheus, in a moment of forgetfulness, to assure himself that she was still following, cast a glance behind him, when instantly she was borne away. Stretching out their arms to embrace each other, they grasped only the air! Dying now a second time, she yet cannot reproach her husband, for what had she to complained of but that she was loved too much? "Farewell," she said, "a last farewell," -- and was hurried away, so fast that the sound hardly reached his ears.”

“What happened to Orpheus?” Hermione asked, sitting beside him and wide eyed with wonder. She took another mouthful of her drink.

“He came to a bad end. He decided to mourn forever, developed a passion for extremely young boys and was eventually torn apart by the Ciconian Women, who believed that the beauty of his songs mocked them.”

“Gods, that’s awful.”

“It’s a Myth, Miss Granger.” Snape poured himself another, and seeing that she was running low he topped her up. It was amazing how fast one could get through a bottle, if she didn’t pass out soon he’d have to get another down.

~ ~ ~

Ron looked at the great clock on the library wall. Where in hell was Harry? Just a quick bath eh? He wouldn’t put it past Malfoy to try and drown him. He wondered for a moment if he should go and find out.

“So, what did you get for that reading?”

“Pardon? What?”

Padma sighed and looked annoyed. “Honestly Ron Weasley, if you want me to help you with Divination, you have to at least pay attention to what I am trying to show you.”

“Yeah, sorry Padma.” He smiled in a way he hoped was endearing. Padma rolled her eyes but smiled in spite of herself. He brightened up. Maybe making sure Harry wasn’t lying at the bottom of the pool could wait for a little bit.

~ ~ ~

“Truth or Dare?”

Snape thought for a moment before saying, “Dare”.

“You never choose Truth.” Hermione admonished.

“Perhaps I don’t want to share them with you.”

“Fair enough.” She was still beside him, leaning slumped against his arm, “Ok, Dare… Um, recite a passage from Shakespeare for me.”

He sighed and languidly stretched out his long limbs, upsetting her from her position. He caught her before she fell face first onto the floor and wrapped an arm around her shoulder to steady her. “Why is it that whenever I choose Dare you get me to tell you a story?” he asked.

“Because your voice sound like magic at the moment.” She nestled into the comfortable curve of his body. “When your not being 'Professor Snape’ you have a very nice voice, I could listen to you for hours.”

He sipped his drink and considered the compliment. The girl had to be ridiculously drunk and that had to be the Absinthe talking because most students left Hogwarts hoping never to hear his voice again. In fact, it had been known to evoke nightmares.

“Professor?”

“Mmm?”

“The Dare, you don’t want to go naked for a day do you?”

“No, of course not. Shakespeare did you say?”

“Yep”

“It had to be a Muggle, didn’t it?”

“What did you expect from a Mudblood?”

He smiled, “What indeed?”

“If you don’t know any Shakespeare I win, and I get to choose a reward.”

“Not so hasty, if you please…‘ I have of late (but wherefore I know not) lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercises; and, indeed, it goes so heavily with my disposition, that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory; this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o’er hanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why, it appeareth no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapors. What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason! How infinite in faculty! In form and moving, how express and admirable! In action, how like an angel! In apprehension, how like a God! The beauty of the world! The paragon of animals! And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me; no, nor woman neither…’”

“That was pretty good.” It was more than good and she knew it, but it wouldn’t do to let him know that.

“Thank you.” He poured himself another drink. “Truth or Dare.”

She considered it seriously; “Truth” she said eventually.

“How many times have you stolen things from the supplies in my office?”

He mouth fell open but she felt none of the horror that would normally accompany such a question from Snape. She craned her neck so that she could look up at him, “All up since I started at Hogwarts?” she asked innocently.

He chuckled, “Lets start at first year and work our way from there shall we?”

~ ~ ~

Harry turned back to Draco. “No,” he said reluctantly, “they weren’t nice people.”

Draco stood and placed the photograph album back in the shelf. “So why bother lying to me and telling me how sorry you are?”

Harry frowned, “I…I am sorry…perhaps not for them, but for you.”

“I don’t want or need your pity, Potter.”

“I don’t mean it that way.” He sighed heavily and wondered how handle the situation. “It obviously upsets you, so I’m sorry for that.”

“Well hey, “ Draco said bitterly, “shit happens.” His eyes became glassy again with unshed tears. He hadn’t cried since the day he watched his parents be utterly destroyed, he wasn’t going to cry now, certainly not in front of Potter. “You should go” he said quickly, “I’d hate for the Weasel to wonder what happened to you, he might come up here and I’d have to hex him.”

Harry laughed. “He might deserve it.”

“Yeah.” Draco shrugged and looked away. “He might be right.”

How did Harry handle this? Draco Malfoy, full of lazy drawling sarcasm and spite he could handle. Draco Malfoy full of remorse and defeat? That was something else entirely. Lucius Malfoy was one of the most despicable men Harry had ever known, beside him Uncle Vernon was a perfect saint, so how could Harry comfort Draco when he honestly believed that his father got no better than he deserved.

“Draco…” he said, fumbling over the name and shifting uncomfortably on the spot.

“Don’t worry Potter, I’m not going to cry on your shoulder or anything.”

Harry suddenly felt as though his heart had swelled in his chest, he looked at the man in front of him. Draco was indeed a man, the boy had been left behind when the war had destroyed whatever had been left of their childhood. He had filled out since his youth, although he was built on a slighter frame than Harry, he was tall like Ron. His blonde hair feathered around his face, deliberately messy. He looked a lot like his father, He had the same narrow nose, grey eyes, cheek bones and pointed chin. But Lucius Malfoy was more angular and his build bigger. There was almost a prettiness to Draco that had perhaps been the only thing that his mother had contributed to his appearance. He looked tired, possibly from too many nights lying in the dark with his eyes closed trying to fool himself into sleeping.

“Draco,” Harry said again, but it was more like he breathed the word than spoke it. He stepped forward and without thinking (because if he had thought about it he would have turned and left right then) he placed his hand, opened palmed, on Draco’s chest and felt his heart beating strong behind his ribs.

Draco’s eyes never left his, under the touch he seemed to uncoil a little, and then tense as though he had accidentally let his guard slip for the smallest of moments. It was too late for Harry to stop now, he had already touched him, he reached his free hand up and as light as gossamer wings he ran his finger over the shadows under Draco’s eyes. Draco’s eyelids fluttered for a moment, and at the last minute the stayed open and allowed Harry to explore the fragile texture of the silken skin beneath his eyes. Then those fingers trailed down over the smooth curve of his cheek and along the sharp line of his jaw. Harry leaned in, not really sure of what he was meaning to do, and captured Draco’s mouth in a clumsy kiss.

~ ~ ~

Hermione was felt as though she was nestled into the most comfortable chair on the earth. That it was in fact her Potion Master didn’t really matter. Her back rested against his chest, her head in the hollow of his shoulder. One arm was wrapped around her, keeping her steady because she kept falling forward. His thumb was employed with absently brushing against her collar bone.

“Truth or Dare?” she asked.

He hesitated for a while, fascinated by the fact that pin points of light seemed to be descending from the roof and wondering just when he had managed to drink so much he’d started to hallucinate. “Truth,” he said at last and shook his head to clear it.

“What do you think is the sexiest part of a woman’s body?” She asked, wondering how the hell all the fairies had gotten into the room and how she had suddenly gotten so bold.

He laughed and said softly into her ear, “What do you think I would think the sexiest part of a woman’s body is?”

“I’d take you for a breast man,” she replied seriously and he laughed. Gods he should laugh more often because it is a beautiful noise.

“A breast man eh?”

“Uh huh.”

“Well, I’m sorry, you're wrong,” he said, and looking appreciatively at the small swell of hers under her cloak he added, “although I have nothing against breasts.”

“Then what part is it?” She snuggled into the warmth of him a little further.

“I like the way a well formed throat curves down from the chin and descends to the Suprasternal Notch,” he whispered.

“The Supra What?”

“The Supra-Sternal-Notch”

“Where is that?”

He ran his fingers along her collar bone to the point where it met its twin. “It’s here.” His lips brushed her ear lightly as he spoke and she closed her eyes at the feel of it. “The hollow at the base of a woman’s throat.”

She moved her head aside a little and was sure that he kissed her behind her ear. She let out a groan so soft he could barely hear it…barely.

“Is there any Absinthe left?” she asked in a voice that was little more than a whimper.

“A little,” he murmured, inhaling the scent of her hair. “Do you want another?”

“Yes.”

~ ~ ~

They both grew tense. Harry thought, ‘oh shit, no, no I shouldn’t have done that!’ and Draco's hands came up to push him away. He would say something cutting and Harry would be the laughing stock of Hogwarts for the rest of the year. But Draco’s hands were treacherous beings and the traced Harry’s body up from his waist, over his back and locked in behind his shoulders and pulled him deeper into the kiss.

He nudged Harry’s mouth open with his tongue, just a little at first, enough to run his tongue along the silken inside of Harry’s upper lip, and then a little wider, testing the sharpness of Harry’s teeth before seeking a deeper entry and meeting Harry’s own tongue and meshing against it in an intimate embrace.

Ohhhhhhhhhhhh. Draco tasted like honey and spices and wine and Harry almost lost himself in the flavor of him. He closed his mind, not wanting stray thoughts to distract him for a moment from what he was experiencing. He needed to savor the moment, to make it stretch and stretch so that it would be imprinted on his memory to replay whenever he thought there was nothing wonderful and good left in the world. He buried his hands in Draco’s silky hair, hungrily feasting on his mouth, groaning at the feel of Draco’s body pushed hard against his. He needed this. They both needed this. They both needed to over come the terrible sense of loneliness that had come to reside in both their souls.

The kiss drew to a reluctant end and they rested, foreheads together, breathing, hands still on each other, the heat still between them.

“Oh Merlin,” Draco whispered, panting softly.

“I…” Harry’s voice was husky, his mouth swollen from the kiss, “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Still soft, still whispered.

Harry blushed, “For kissing you.”

“I liked kissing you” Draco breathed in reply and moved back into kiss him again, to reclaim Harry’s mouth.

“HARRY?” Ron’s loud searching voice carried to them from the common room stole the moment, “Harry, Where are you?”

They tensed, tore apart from each other and put some distance between them. Harry averted his eyes from Draco.

“I have to go,” he mumbled.

“Ok, so go,” Draco murmured in soft reply.

He looked, one last time at those grey eyes and that soft mouth before turning and fleeing out the door to Ron and everything he held sacred.

~ ~ ~

“Fuck Harry. What the hell were you doing talking to Malfoy?”

“Nothing.” Harry thanked the Gods for the fact that his hair was usually a messy rats nest and so it didn’t look out of place. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Ron. “He left his wand out here, I took it back to him, that’s all.”

“Well, you must’ve had a really long fucking bath.”

“Yeah, well, you know Circe, she hates to let you leave quickly.”

“I have a feeling Myrtle spies on us you know.”

Harry nodded, “I wouldn’t put it past her.”

“Shame you can’t screw a ghost, We’d be free of this bloody contract in minutes.”

“Oh Gods, Ron, that’s disgusting.”

Ron laughed.

“Is the study group still going?”

“Nah, its pretty late, or should I say early, it’s 4am.”

“SHIT!”

“Yeah.” Ron yawned, “I figure we just hit the sack and get some sleep.”

Harry smiled, nodded and tagged along back to his room and his bed and his inevitable dream filled sleep.

~ ~ ~

“Truth or Dare?” she whispered.

“Truth,” he replied and surprised her.

Her robes were open and she was sitting between his knees, her back pulled tight against his chest. His hand was under her jumper, gently cupping her breast, the other rested against her bare thigh.

“Do you think I’m pretty or ugly?”

“Neither.” He kissed her throat, allowing his tongue to linger on the flesh and taste the salty sweat of her arousal. “I think you’re beautiful.”

“If your lying,” she whispered and gasped as clever fingers squeezed her nipple, “I’ll know because you’ll be giving a nude potions class tomorrow.”

“Don’t worry.” He sucked the spot on her throat for a moment, marking it. “I’m not lying.”

“Truth or Dare?" She whispered.

“It’s my turn, silly.” He kissed a trail down her neck to her shoulder.

“I don’t care. Truth or Dare?”

“Dare,” he breathed

“Kiss me.”

“I am kissing you.”

“Kiss my mouth.”

He lifted his hand from her thigh and turned her head to face him. He covered her mouth with his, hungrily kissing her, thrilling to the fact that she responded with the same intensity. She ached to twist around enough to put her arms around him, but if she did that she would dislodge his hand from her breast and at that moment she would do nothing to jeopardize that, so she contented herself with probing his mouth with her searching tongue, wondering at the flavor of Absinthe and spit and aching for him to move his hand that he had returned to her thigh further up under her skirt.

The parted for a moment, pulled apart and looked and through the drunken Absinthe fueled haze they really saw each other, as though for the first time. He wasn’t the vile Potions Master any longer, he was simply Severus, knowledgeable, Shakespeare quoting Severus who smelled oddly good and kissed like it was the most delicious of sins. She was Hermione, beautiful Hermione, who wanted to know everything the world possessed, who thought his voice was magical, and who gave in to passion with such abandon it would make the saints weep for the shame.

They meshed back into the kiss.

His hand pushed up under her skirt and gently probed the lips of her vagina through the wet cotton of her underpants. She shuddered as he brushed her clit through the sodden cloth, it was as though an electric current had run from her clitoris up through her belly and into her brain. She began to melt into the touch, and when slowly, like a thief, he slid his fingers under the elastic of her panties, she urgently lifted her hips, aching for him to enter her. He pushed a long slender finger into her body, moaning softly into her mouth at the wetness her knew he would find there. He could feel her around that single finger, tight and virginal and that cut through the Absinthe a little. Moving his finger in and out of her, he gently massaged her clitoris with his thumb, never relenting on the kiss, still caressing her breast.

It was a sensory overload, too much pleasure. She had never really masturbated. Her school years had been spent in a dorm and a communal bathroom. At home she couldn’t help but think that her parents were in the next room and felt awkward. At Harry’s house in London she lived in fear that one of them would walk in. So the only times she had managed it had been quick and shameful moments in the dark with her mouth clamped shut and a quick perfunctory orgasm that hardly counted. Not so now. She was moaning between kissing him, her body writhed in his hands, wanton and aching, when her orgasm came it tore a scream from her that echoed around the tiny room. Her hips bucked and tensed, and she ground her groin down into his hand, riding the wave of pleasure coursing through her until she came to rest, spent against him and he pulled her into the curve of his body and held her.

“Are you alright?” he whispered and by way of reply she moved to face him, crushing his mouth against hers and wrapping her arms around him. She lay back, pulling him with her until he was atop her, cradled between her thighs, kissing him desperately as though she would devour him.

He pushed her jumper up, made to pull it over her head and discard it, wanting nothing more than to take a bare nipple into his mouth, when a rush of fresh air filled the room.

The door swung open.

They both lay there, staring at it. He looked back at the young woman beneath him. His student, panting, post orgasmic and quite possibly the most erotic sight he had ever seen, even in her rumpled school robes and uniform. He looked back at the door and muttered; “Damn, damn damn damn damn damn.”

Hermione could have cried. She wanted to tell him not to worry, she wanted to tell him that it was only a door and that they could just close it again and keep going. Her body was still aching, she was weak from orgasm and as he pushed himself up onto his haunches and stood, she slammed her hand against the floor in frustration.

He reached a hand down to her to help her up. The room smelled like Absinthe, burnt sugar and the feminine smell of Hermione’s orgasm. He would never go into the room again without being able to detect that scent.

Ensuring she was standing and not about to topple over, he turned and swept wordlessly out of the room.

++ The recipe for Absinthe is correct, however I do not advise anyone try to make it as it dates back to 1903 and things were pretty hit and miss back then so it could do some terrible things to you.

The Green Fairy Absinthe references are from Dracula.

Much thanks to the English Patient for alerting me to the wonderfulness of the Supra Sternal notch.

Chapter 5 >>