Objects of Desire

Chapter 6  - This Corrosion

By Azrael Geffen

“Only the dead have seen the end of war” – Plato

~ ~ ~

The air seemed to have the thick consistency of treacle. Severus Snape tried to clear his thoughts as he ran his hand down the body of the young woman lying beneath him. She gasped; it was the smallest hitch of her breath, but it was enough to drive him wild. She arched her back to meet him, her small breasts, topped with the sweetest pink nipples were offered to him, and he bent his head down to kiss each one in turn, sucking gently on the taut flesh. Their movements were slow, too slow, as though they were part of some drug fuelled hallucination, wondrous beings joined together somehow at that moment, although he wasn’t sure where they had started out or how they had come to be here.

She cried out, she panted and writhed and he pulled her to him, found her mouth with his own and feasted on her wonderfully swollen lips. She tasted like aniseed and liquorice, and her wanton tongue forced its way into his mouth and began exploring his teeth.

“Kiss me”

“I am kissing you”

“Kiss my mouth”

Was that a memory? Yes, yes it must be. They had been drinking, yes, all night long. Had it come to this? It must have.

He was inside her, fucking her and she watched him, her smile seductive, her eyes hooded, her heart shaped face upturned, her swollen mouth slightly opened. She didn’t look like herself, she looked like a wanton temptress. But who was she? She was tight inside, a virgin heat, but he could not remember entering her, or how they had made it to this bed with its satin sheets tangling around them. The air had a floating quality. He felt weightless, yet he was here, inside this woman, fucking her, his cock surrounded by her heat.

He knew who she was.

“Hermione.” His voice seemed nothing more than a breath of air, and she opened her eyes a little wider and smiled the smile of a seductress…and pushed her hips up to meet his thrusts.

He came, hard into her in thick shooting bursts that threatened to never end.

And Severus Snape woke up.

Alone.

He was definitely alone. He couldn’t detect even the faintest trace of a scent other than his own. His eyes darted around the room, checking familiar corners, orientating himself and realizing that he was indeed in his own bed, on crisp white cotton sheets, under thick, warm blankets. From out the window he could see the light fading from the sky and with an unreasonable sense of loss he realized that he had slept the day away.

He soon became aware of the cold, congealing ejaculate in his underwear and wrinkled his nose as a heady wave of disgust washed over him. With this disgust came flashes of memory. Memory that could have been part of a dream. Had to be part of a dream. Drinking. Drinking far too much. The taste of Absinthe on a woman’s tongue. The touch and smell of her.

Hermione.

He sat bolt upright in the bed, disorientated all over again. He had dreamed he’d been having sex with Hermione Granger? There was more than that. He was sure of it. He had done something terribly wrong, but exactly what that thing was, he had no idea. He scratched his stomach absently and ran a hand though his greasy hair before looking down at the mess he had made of himself.

What the hell was he wearing?

He wondered for a moment just how he had managed to get himself to bed. He remembered going to breakfast (and with some shame he remembered that he was most definitely still drunk at that point) and after that he had felt ill.

He’d been sick. Really sick. Sick every where and someone had pulled his head out of the toilet bowl and cleaned him up. The sound of concerned laughter rushed into his mind. Minerva had put him to bed.

Well that explained the choice of clothes. She had no doubt been highly amused. He was dressed in a rumpled black t-shirt that read “Fuck Me and Marry Me Young”… a Christmas present, from Lucius Malfoy in 1983, and what looked like Frosty the Snowman satin boxer shorts, bright red with white snow men and lots of holly...another Christmas present, this time from Albus Dumbledore, 1998. He could never recall having ever worn either in his life. Now he’d orgasmed in them.

Feeling a dull sense of shame that Minerva had undressed him (and that he had been in no shape to fight it), he swung long pale legs out of the bed and padded across the darkening room to the bath room. Taped to the door was a note.

'Dear Severus,

I have put a hangover cure on the sink next to the bath. If you are not awake by five this afternoon, I will come and wake you. I will bring you some dinner up later. Please remember that the new Sports Master is coming tonight. I want you to come to the staff room to meet him.

Minerva.

PS:       I haven’t seen you naked since I had to fish you out of that tree that James Potter stranded you in when you were 13. My, how you’ve grown.’

Trust Minerva to just have to add that. He felt himself go bright red and he pulled the note from the door and crumpled it into a ball. He had forgotten all about the new Sports Master. He still couldn’t believe that after all these years, Hooch had finally called it a day. She had only stayed until a suitable replacement could be found, and as Dumbledore didn’t think Ludo Bagman was a suitable replacement, they had waited for months. So many that Severus had begun to assume that old Hooch would stay.

Hooch’s replacement arrived tonight and he had promised he would go and greet him. Severus groaned. He would meet the poor sap soon enough, why did it have to be tonight?

The hangover potion was indeed on the sink next to the bath and despite feeling fine, he drank it for an extra sense of well being. He removed the offensive t-shirt and decidedly sticky shorts and stepped into the shower. As soon as he did so hot jets of water washed over him and he sighed at one of the few pleasures his life actually afforded. He loved Hogwarts plumbing. He closed his eyes to enjoy the sensation, but in his mind’s eye he saw the line of her jaw, the turn of her nose and sensuous swell of her mouth.

Hermione.

He was erect within seconds.

“She’s a child Severus,” he growled, but, unlike other times when this very thing happened, he could not push the image from his head. He felt for a moment as though he knew her intimately somehow, he could hear her laughter, hear her voice in his head (“tell me a story”), feel the way that her body seemed to fit perfectly into the curve of his own, the hardness of her taut nipples, the tight wetness of her…

He had fingered the girl.

Oh Gods he had! He had touched her. He had made her come.

“Oh fuck no!” He stood stock still under the steady stream of hot water for the longest time. Not game to close his eyes unless he once again beheld what was expressly forbidden to him. He stood there, mouth open, hopelessly erect and wide eyed. He couldn’t have done this. He wouldn’t have. He can’t have!

But he had and he knew he had because all of the regrets from breakfast came back to him with crystal clarity. This was bad. This was very very bad. Then other thoughts came to him. Had she enjoyed it? Had he given her enough pleasure? Would she wake up and wish her life was over when she realized that she had kissed her foul Potions Master? Would she try to hang herself when she realized he had put his fingers inside her?

His cock was demanding he pay attention to it, refusing to go back to its normally flaccid state without some kind of release. Reluctantly (although he shivered with the anticipation) he reached down and curled his fingers around his own shaft and began to stroke himself roughly, picturing her face as he brought himself to his second orgasm of the day.

~ ~ ~

Harry had, just as he had feared, been partnered with Ginny for dueling. As such, he had learned nothing at all today. Ginny had looked at him with the same hurt eyes she had used for the last year and fired her worst at him. He had, of course, easily deflected everything she tried and hadn’t thrown anything serious back at her. The fact was, he noted, that without Draco, Dueling was actually incredibly boring.

It wasn’t Ginny’s fault. She was a reasonably skilled duelist. But there was a difference between dueling and fighting. Harry had been trained by Dumbledore to fight, and fight to the death. Draco had been trained by Lucius Malfoy to fight, and fight to the death. It didn’t take a genius to work out that they were perfect sparring partners. He found himself itching to hurl something really nasty at Ginny, anything at all, just for the fun of it. He also knew that there was no way she would be able to deflect half of what he could throw at her, so he kept it simple, stifling a yawn. He could have, he decided, read a book and still come out the victor.

So, having finished Defense against the Dark Arts that day with little sense of accomplishment, Harry declined the idea of going to watch Gryffindor play Quidditch in favor of returning to the tower to study. That was all he seemed to do these days. Study. He wondered if this was what it was like to be Hermione and decided she must have a rather dull existence. He needed something to happen, something to give a little spark to his life. Perhaps that is why he had thrown caution to the wind and kissed Draco. Then again, he could have just been proving his own idiocy.

Watching Gryffindor practice would only serve to highlight the fact that he couldn’t play and from all accounts, the Slytherins were kicking their asses this year. Ron had agreed with Harry’s sentiment and they had both headed off towards the tower. Ron had some kind of a date with some mystery woman whose name he would not disclose, so Harry could only assume that he knew her. He seemed pretty keen to get ready for it and so they had returned to the tower as soon as the class was finished, to change robes and get ready for dinner so that Ron could go and “satisfy the terms of the contract.”

All thoughts of Draco and the dark voices that often filled his head were banished for a short while and Harry was content to wander the corridors back to the tower with Ron in companionable camaraderie – as though they were kids again and they hadn’t reached this stage of young adultism where they noticed each other faults tenfold and tried desperately to ignore them. All was well until they walked into the common room.

Draco shot back from Hermione as though she had burned him and they both turned to face Harry and Ron, their faces masks of guilt, Hermione having perfected the ‘deer caught in headlights’ expression. Ron’s mouth was working open and closed as he struggled to speak, shock quickly turning to anger.

Draco looked mildly embarrassed and guilty, he was not looking at Ron or Hermione. He was looking at Harry with some interest, wondering exactly what Harry’s reaction would be. Harry stared back, his eyes flicking from Draco to Hermione and back again, trying to process what he had seen. Hermione had kissed Draco, but all her hair had obscured just where she had kissed him. Had it been his cheek? Dear Gods let it have been his cheek! A foul knot formed in the pit of Harry’s belly and began to twist and curl and ache. His own insecurities told him she had kissed Draco’s mouth. He had agonized over Draco all day and now he found him here with his best friend, one of his best friends, soon to be ex-friend.

“Oh my God,” Ron had found his voice. “What the fuck is going on?”

The voice sounded distant and hollow to Harry. What had they been laughing at, why had they laughed as they kissed? She had leaned in, she had put her hand on his shoulder, and she had kissed him (On the cheek? The mouth?) and she had whispered something. What had she whispered? What were they laughing at?

“Is this him?” Ron was demanding of Hermione, “Is this who you were with last night? This piece of shit?”

“What are you talking about?” Hermione’s voice sounded shrill and confused. One minute she had been laughing, now she was being yelled at by Ron.

“The Contract!” Ron snorted, “You did a great job on it, you should go and check it out. It tells us when you’ve fooled around, not that the big fucking love bite on your neck wouldn’t give it away!”

Hermione’s hand fluttered to her neck and she began to stammer out a reply that was lost on both Harry and Ron. Harry paled as though he had been drained of blood. Had it been Draco that Hermione was with last night? Had she been there, somewhere in that room, to bare witness to Harry’s foolish kiss? Is that what they had been laughing at? Had they been laughing at him?

“I can’t believe your taste!” Ron spat, “After Krum I knew you liked a bad boy, but this is ridiculous. You let this fucking scum touch you! I didn’t think you’d sink to the gutter just to get through this deal.”

Hermione glared balefully at Ron and did they worst thing she could have done in the circumstances. “Don’t call him scum Ron, he hasn’t done anything to you.”

While Draco was surprised that Hermione had actually stood up for him, her words only seemed to confirm the worst for her friends. Harry looked at the pair of them in horror.

“Was she there?” Harry asked suddenly, cutting Ron off mid sentence.

“You’ve got the wrong idea,” Draco replied calmly.

“WAS SHE THERE?” Harry bellowed.

“Was I where?” Hermione almost pleaded, frightened by the look on Harry’s face and the sheer volume of his words. She wondered for a moment if this was what he looked like when he turned on Voldemort in that final battle, she wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that he had.

Harry turned on her, his eyes blazing with pure hatred. “Was it fun?” he asked, “Where were you hiding? Did you have a good laugh when I left?”

“H-H-Harry, you’ve got it all wrong. We were talking about school work, Transfigurations, I swear it…” She was on the verge of tears she didn’t know what she could say that would make this right.

“Transfigurations?” Ron laughed nastily, “You’ve babbled on at me about transfigurations for years and you never kissed me over it.”

“Maybe that’s because you’re a weasel faced prat,” Draco retorted. He was quite enjoying this. He had never been there to see the three of them fight before and Harry was as jealous as sin… which put Draco in a very good position indeed. He couldn’t help but smirk.

“I wasn’t talking to you, Ferret!” Ron hissed. Draco kept the self satisfied smirk on his face and shrugged.

Hermione turned desperately to Harry, he was usually the more reasonable of the two and she hoped that his reasonableness would prevail now. “Draco asked me who gave me the love bite, we laughed about it, I told him that I would tell him who. That’s all, really it is.”

Her hopes were in vain. “Oh?” Harry’s eyes narrowed, “I thought you were talking about Transfigurations?”

“We were!” she cried helplessly.

“DON”T FUCKING LIE TO ME!”

Hermione took a step back from Harry who seemed now to be rage personified. There was nothing of the reasonable Harry about him now. “I’m not,” she said, tears stung her eyes, “I’m not lying to you.”

“She wasn’t there, Harry,” Draco was still calm, still smiling, “you have the wrong end of the stick, nothing happened, you’re only going to make a fool out of yourself if you keep this up.”

“FUCK OFF!” Harry jabbed Draco in the chest, “FUCK OFF YOU PIECE OF FUCKING SHIT!”

Draco laughed. “Harry,” he said.

“FUCK OFF!”

Draco shrugged easily and turned to Hermione, “I’ll talk to you about the dueling tomorrow.” He threw a sneer at Ron and Harry who was bristling in anger, “don’t even try and reason with him,” he indicted to Harry, “let him calm down and stop acting like a silly little boy.”

“You cunt,” Harry hissed, he pulled out his wand and pointed it at Draco.

Draco didn’t flinch, he didn’t pull his own wand out, he just looked at the trembling mass of fury that was Harry and raised an eyebrow. “What are you going to do Harry?” He drawled, “Are you going to hex me because I may or may not have kissed one of your friends?”

Harry said nothing for a moment, indeed, for a moment he couldn’t speak at all, then finally he spat, “You are scum, Malfoy. You’re nothing but the filthy son of a filthy scum ridden father who deserves everything he is getting. You are not to touch her again, you are not to sully any of my friends by touching them.”

The smile returned to Draco’s face, infuriating Harry further. “Alright then,” he said, “I won’t lay so much as a finger on you or your friends ever again.”

“Good!” it was Ron now. “I’d hate to have to dump a friend because they were contaminated by filth like you.”

Draco’s smile twisted into a malevolent and positively evil grin. “Really? Well if that’s what you do because I touch them, you will have to actually disown you sister, now won’t you? I must say, she wasn’t such a bad fuck considering the family that raised her, but I suppose she will have a fabulous career ahead of her, don’t you think?”  With that he left the room, wisely doing so before Ron could actually recover his senses enough to hex him.

~ ~ ~

Contrary to popular opinion about the school, Snape not only bathed but he also washed his hair. Relentless teasing in his youth had giving him an almost fanatical fixation with personal hygiene, he was, if nothing else, remarkably clean. Unfortunately his hair and skin really didn’t care what he did and despite his regular ministrations, he looked greasy, he always would. Anyone who actually got close enough to him would attest that he certainly didn’t smell bad, in fact, he actually smelled very good. Minerva had convinced him some years ago to make her scents for her, based on the fact that he made his own with such incredible skill. If all else failed he could always go into the perfume business…the idea appalled him, but he could always fall back on it.

Over the years he had resisted any attempts by well meaning do-gooders to correct his physical deficiencies. He might be obsessed with being clean, but he refused outright to subject himself to the myriad of potions that would make him look better than he did. The very idea brought to mind such loathsome dandies as Gilderoy Lockhart and he often reasoned that if he started with all that nonsense, lilac robes wouldn’t be too far off. He shuddered at the thought. He looked fearsome. He was fearsome. He liked it that way. He had never been handsome and it didn’t bother him.

So why was he thinking about it now?

Hermione. God, what had he been thinking? Or perhaps he hadn’t been thinking and that was why he was in this predicament. The ball was most definitely in the girl's court because she could have him out of Hogwarts with a very brief word to the Headmaster. He had two options. He could be sickeningly nice to her, perhaps even offer to give her perfect scores on her NEWTS…hell, he’d even give Potter perfect scores on his NEWTS…if she kept her mouth shut. But it wasn’t in his nature to do that, and he suspected she wouldn’t accept that either. So the second option was to intimidate her into not speaking. He could do that. He was a seasoned professional at intimidation.

Except he didn’t want to intimidate her. The fact was that she had awakened something long dormant within him. Desire. Desire for a woman. Desire to make someone happy and to be made happy himself. With this girl, however, he could never have that. She was his student, she was too young, she was inexperienced in the ways of the world, she was a know it all little Gryffindor, who was best friends with the Potter brat and had made his life hell for seven or more years. Well, that wasn’t entirely true, she hadn’t made his life hell as such. If anyone was guilty of that crime it was probably himself…or at least Potter.

His biggest concern was that she would wake up, realize what had happened and decide life wasn’t worth living. He hadn’t had sex in almost ten years and that was probably because the last time was so bloody terrible he couldn’t bring himself to do it again. He had, on the urgings of a friend, visited a local brothel. Only to have the girl turn out to be an ex-student (and if he really thought about it, all the young women at the Hogsmeade brothel, or indeed anywhere in England, were going to be ex-Hogwarts students) and she became so traumatized that she’d had to fuck Professor Snape that he was still paying for her therapy.

Oh Gods, don’t let her think that I forced her.

That was the other problem. What if she honestly thought he had forced her? He hadn’t, he was sure of that, but the evidence wasn’t good. They were locked in his private store room, drinking his private stash of extremely potent Absinthe.

He looked at himself in his mirror, a good muggle mirror that wouldn’t make a noise about his looks, his personality or his demeanor, and wished for the first time since childhood that he was a better person than he was. He then swept the thought away, scowled at himself and drew himself up to his full height.

Feeling more like his usual self he swept through his chambers, pulling on his robes as he did so and preparing to go and suffer through dinner with Minerva laughing at his expense. Before he reached the door he saw a letter sitting on his bedside table. Quickly retrieving it he studied the heavy cream parchment. The seal was an ornate M entwined in a tangle of roses. He opened the letter and read its’ contents. Then he sank down into a chair beside his empty fireplace.

Narcissa was dead.

~ ~ ~

“Ginny?” Ron said in shock

“He was probably just pissing about,” Hermione said, attempting to reassure Ron despite the fact that he was so angry with her he wanted to see her rot in hell.

“Ginny?” He couldn’t believe it.

“He only said it to get at you.”

“Ginny?”

Harry turned back to Hermione, his wand dangerously close to her face. “So what’s going on?” he demanded, trying to control his voice, trying to calm down.

“Nothing, Harry, honestly there is nothing going on.”

“So who were you with last night if it wasn’t him?”

She fumbled for a reply.

”Ginny?” said Ron, still in shock at the revelation.

“SHUT UP!” Harry screamed at his friend, who snapped instantly back to his senses.

“I’m gonna fucking kill her!” Ron declared.

Harry rolled his eyes and stamped his foot impatiently. “Don’t you have a date or something that you are supposed to be getting ready for?”

Ron looked at Harry, offended at the tone and decided it was best to bow out of this argument. “Yeah,” he said, giving Hermione a nasty look, “I’ll kill Ginny tomorrow. You’d better hope I don’t kill you to.”

It was Hermione’s turn to roll her eyes now, like Ron was going to kill anyone. Ron gave Harry an encouraging look, hoping to make sure that Harry continued to berate Hermione for doing the unforgivable with the unthinkable, and he disappeared into his bedchamber to get changed.

Harry glared at Hermione. “So?” he questioned. “Who was it?”

“Nothing happened,” she said quietly.

“Who were you with?” Harry demanded stubbornly.

“Not Draco Malfoy.”

“Then who?” His anger was rising again, she could hear it in his voice and the fact that he had gone red again.

“No one important.”

“You will tell me who the hell it was or I swear to you I will do something I’ll regret later.”

She shivered, her mouth went dry and she said in a voice that choked, “Snape.”

“DON’T YOU FUCKING LIE TO ME!” He hit her. Hard. Knocking her sideways with such a  force that her head cracked against the fireplace, and she slumped, shocked, to the floor. Tears spilled down her face before she even realized that she was crying and for a moment she couldn’t move; pain invaded every part of her skull and she just sat there, unable to believe he had hit her.

Harry felt the anger leave him and was instantly replaced by horror at what he had done. He reached for her. “Oh God, ‘Mione, I am so sorry.”

She looked up at him with large eyes and pulled away from his touch, the unmistakable look of fear written all over her features. “I have detention,” she sobbed, “I have to get ready.”

“’Mione, I’m sorry.”

She scrambled to her feet and fled the room.

~ ~ ~

“As you can see Minister, the collection is looking very fine, very fine indeed.”

Cornelius Fudge looked at Curator Archibald Semeuse and was immediately reminded of Barty Couch. Not so much in his looks, but by the fastidiousness of his person. The man seemed capable of locating even the smallest, most insignificant piece of lint on his robes. His robes were pressed to within an inch of their lives. Looking closely, Fudge could see that each fold had a perfect crease pressed in.

Fudge nodded. “It looks impressive Curator, the entrance is excellent. The rare Dark Magic memorabilia leading to the Death Eaters is very clever.” His gaze shifted nervously to the Death Eaters in their glass cases. “Goodness, they are eerie, aren’t they?” He laughed to hide the shiver that ran down his spine.

With his eyes shifting from Death Eater to Death Eater, Fudge edged himself closer to the case containing Lucius Malfoy and stared openly at him. How many bribes had he taken from this man? How many ‘contributions’ had Malfoy made to his campaign? Fudge smiled, in Malfoy’s case, silence was golden. Malfoy looked thin and pale. Where the other Death Eaters stared sightlessly and could almost have been at peace, Malfoy had dark smudges under his eyes. Looking into those eyes Fudge was startled. They were not the glazed, dead looking things that sat like marbles in the heads of the others. Malfoy’s eyes were clear, troubled, and intelligent. He shivered again, sure that perhaps it was because Malfoy’s eyes were grey, the color of a stormy sky, perhaps that was the reason they didn’t look so bad as the others whose eyes were once brighter or darker.

“Do they move?” Fudge asked the Curator.

“Occasionally,” Semeuse joined the Minister, more than happy to talk about his favorite specimen. “It is very rare, sometimes it is to simply close their eyes to sleep.”

“So they never speak then?”

”No, they can’t. That is the nature of the Kiss, Minister.”

Fudge smiled and looked back at Malfoy, considerably relieved but still unnerved by the clearness of his eyes. “You have cleaned them up admirably,” he said hiding his discomfort, “perhaps a little too well. I don’t know how people will take them looking so good”

“I have to admit, once I got started getting the filth off I couldn’t rest until I was finished. I think you’ll agree, I found some little treasures.” Semeuse almost purred, his gaze focused entirely on Malfoy.

Fudge looked at the Curator strangely. The room was getting to him and the Curator was speaking almost affectionately of the Death Eaters. They resembled oversized porcelain dolls to Fudge, who couldn’t stand the staring eyes any longer. “Treasures?” He frowned, “I suppose you can call them that. I really think we should move on to the next room Curator.”

Semeuse smiled thinly and lead Fudge from the Death Eaters Chamber. “You must forgive me, Minister. I barely notice them any more, but I know you wanted them to look unnerving and I believe you will agree that I have succeeded in that.”

“Yes, you certainly have.”

“I have to admit that I lose myself in the collections and to me, they are just specimens. I know that this may sound terrible, but I must say that they don’t even feel like people to me any longer. They are as dead and as fascinating as a mummy.”

Fudge nodded, “In order to work so closely with them I am sure that you are thinking of them in the right way. If you dwell on what they were, you might find it difficult to curate the exhibition. Take Malfoy for example, The Dark Lords right hand man, did you know that?”

Semeuse felt anger and anxiety rise. “No,” he said, “I knew he was important to the Dark Lord, but I didn’t know what role he played.”

“Well, he was the worst of the worst. Evil character, the world is better off rid of him.”

Semeuse forced the rage down. Later he would take his Angel down and bathe him, wash his hair and pour a sleeping draft down his throat. The Angel looked tired, he needed to sleep, he needed rest.

“Here at the Museum,” the Minister continued, picking up pace and sounding as though he was about to launch into a political campaign speech, “the Death Eaters can be educational, a cautionary tale if you will, a warning. In this state they can give back to the society they tried to destroy.”

Seizing the opportunity with his usual impeccable timing, Semeuse said thoughtfully, “Yes Minister, you are absolutely right, it will almost be a shame when it comes time to break it up.”

“Break it up? I don’t understand you meaning.”

“After the exhibition,” Semeuse explained, “I understand that the specimens are to be returned to their families.”

“Yes. Or to Azkaban if their families don’t want them returned.” Fudge returned to his usual jovial persona, “I have to tell you, the majority of them will go back to Azkaban, most families have wisely decided not to have themselves associated with these… dregs… of society.”

Semeuse felt his spirit soar. “Well, that is a bit of a shame. I mean, they are all purebloods as well as Villains and it would be such a contribution if, instead of sending them back to Azkaban, you left them here, as part of the permanent collection.”

“The permanent collection?”

Semeuse felt as though he were leading a small child to an inevitable conclusion, “Yes Minister, here at the museum we pride ourselves on the excellence of our permanent collection. There are no other Museums in the world that has a collection of Death Eaters or Pureblood Wizards and it seems a waste to have a perfectly good one rotting in Azkaban. Think of it Minister, think of the future generations of our kind that we can educate.”

Fudge was nodding, “Yes, yes I see.”

This was easier than Semeuse thought. He had feared he would need to use Imperio and he really didn’t want to try it on the Minister of Magic himself. “It will be a testament to you, Minister.”

“Oh? How so?”

“Think of it, Cornelius Fudge, the Minister who brought down the Dark Lord Voldemort and brought his Death Eaters to heel. Here they are, your achievement, for all the world to see.”

That sealed it. Give the Minister and not the young Potter the credit for bringing down the Dark Lord and watch him do anything Semeuse asked.

“Yes!” Fudge exclaimed, eyes shining with excitement, “excellent notion, I will have the arrangements made immediately.”

“Thank you, thank you Minister, you are the very image of benevolence.” Semeuse felt his skin start to almost glow with triumph. He looked back into the room where he could see his Angel bathed in light and ached to stroke the warm flesh.

“Of course, Malfoy will be a loss, but I am sure I can find another to replace him.”

Semeuse froze, “Minister? Malfoy a loss? I thought you said the families didn’t want them?”

“No, no. Most families don’t want them. I’m afraid Malfoy’s son wants his Father returned.”

A son? His Angel had a son who wanted him returned? “I see,” he forced himself to remain calm and looked at the Angel with an aching feeling of panic. “It would be a terrible shame, Minister. Mr. Malfoy there is really the crowning glory of the collection. As you said yourself, Voldemort’s Right Hand man.”

“Well,” said Fudge, “the boy is at Hogwarts, perhaps he could be persuaded. Then there is always money,” Fudge laughed, “Money was always something the Malfoy’s understood.”

Of course! There was nothing so easy. The younger Malfoy was at school, a child, easily persuaded and the Museum had money that could be used to purchase something so important as the crowning glory in a major collection. Children are easily swayed and Semeuse saw nothing easier than persuading a boy that he really didn’t need the burden of a Death Eater Father who had been kissed by a Dementor. The Curator’s gaze became again transfixed on the Angel in his glass case and he smiled at those grey eyes.

~ ~ ~ 

Harry sat in the deserted Common room feeling sorry for himself and asking himself questions that he had been avoiding for months. What exactly had he become? What had Dumbledore made him? He had caught so many snatches of thought from people passing him by. Words and voices that filled his head. He should have died, he should never have survived, he should have died like he was supposed to. They had made him into their weapon and like all weapons, he should have been destroyed once his use had passed.

Ron had dragged him to dinner and subjected him to an hours worth of a rant about Hermione and how she was nothing short of disgusting for having touched Malfoy. Ron then had tracked down Ginny and fairly bellowed at her, and if it hadn’t have been for Ron’s date, Harry was sure that the ensuing fight would have gone on all night. They had then returned to the tower, Ron continuing his rant the whole way with Harry nodding dutifully to everything Ron said. Yes, Malfoy was a disgusting ferret faced git. No, he didn’t understand what Hermione was playing at. Yes, Malfoy was an inbred pure blood eyesore. No, He didn’t know why Ginny had lowered the family name and slept with him. Yes, Malfoy deserved to die a slow and painful death. The rant went on and on.

Harry stopped listening, he just kept nodding and making approving noises and thinking about why the hell he had been so stupid. He had kissed Draco Malfoy and then he had hit Hermione because she did the same thing. His stomach ached at the idea of Hermione’s mouth on Draco’s, doing the same thing with Draco’s tongue as Harry had done last night. He pushed that thought away as fast as he could. Harry had hit her hard enough to knock her down and really hurt her.

They had arrived back at the tower in time to see Hermione rushing out of the tower for detention. She had stopped, and made to say something but quickly turned away and continued down the hall.

“Slut!” Ron called after her and she turned again. Harry grabbed Ron and charged into the common room, not wanting to see the stricken look on her face for a moment longer.

Ron had checked his reflection, mussed his hair, liked what he saw and left for his date, telling Harry not to wait up and giving him a salacious wink. Harry smiled in spite of himself. Once he was gone, Harry was left alone in the deserted tower, left to his thoughts, things that he had been avoiding like a coward. So much for the Gryffindor Hero.

The feel of his hand connecting with Hermione’s face. That sting against his palm which must have hurt her far more. Why had it felt so good? Why had it felt so bloody good to hit someone? To hurt her?

What have I become?

“A weapon should be dismantled, all that power shouldn’t be allowed to fester.”  Where had he heard that? The mind of Molly Weasley. But she loved him like a mother. No, Harry’s mother was dead, if his mother was alive he wouldn’t be who he was.

Familiar voices filled his head. He didn’t deserve to have lived. He was supposed to die. He shut his eyes. This was the product of too many nights of not sleeping (and when he did sleep there were the dreams to contend with). He was finding it harder to ignore them lately. Perhaps he had always believed they were wrong, but now he had hit his friend and he had loved the feel of it. All of those years he had kept himself alive and cold had culminated in this. He was an obsolete weapon waiting to explode.

“Over your little temper tantrum yet Potty?” Malfoy’s drawl was inevitable but Harry jumped regardless.

“You’re nothing  but a filthy slut Malfoy,” Harry snapped.

Draco shrugged. “Don’t believe everything you hear, Potter.” He laughed derisively, “Are we dueling?”

“No.” Harry wanted nothing more than to duel, he needed to get some of the aggression that had built up in him out, but he didn’t want to give Malfoy the satisfaction. “I’m not in the mood.”

Draco yawned and stretched, exposing a flash of the pale belly that had driven Harry mad two years before and had no doubt lead him to this current mess. It had a similar effect now. Harry stared transfixed at the place where the flash of belly had been.

“So, where is everyone?” Draco stifled another yawn.

“Library.” Harry reluctantly drew his eyes away from Draco’s stomach to take in the whole package. He was wearing a black t-shirt and low slung black pajama pants. His feet were bare. Harry felt his cock stir and begin to harden.

”Studying?”

”Yes.” Harry purposely looked past Draco and focused on the suddenly fascinating fireplace.

“So what are you going to do?” Draco asked, “Sit there all night feeling sorry for yourself because you made a total prat of yourself this afternoon?”

“I did not make prat out of myself this afternoon!” Harry growled defensively, “You were the one sitting there canoodling with Hermione!”

“Canoodling?” Draco laughed, “I don’t think I have ever ‘canoodled’ in my life.”

Harry blushed and then felt his anger rise. “So what were you doing with her then?”

Draco sighed; “Exactly what we said we were doing. Talking. We were onto transfigurations and then I asked her about the love bite, that’s all.”

”So why did she kiss you?”

“I don’t know! Sign of affection maybe?”

“Must’ve been some fucking talk you had,” Harry turned away, sulking. “It got rid of seven years of hating your guts.”

“Well,” Draco raised an eyebrow, “it isn’t the most surprising kiss I’ve received in the last twenty four hours, so I kinda didn’t question it.”

Harry blushed and looked anywhere but Draco, he changed the subject, knowing that he really didn’t want to. “I read about your mother,” he said and regretted it when Draco visibly tensed and hugged his arms defensively.

“Made the Daily Prophet did it?”

“Yeah,” Harry said quietly and watched a muscle work in Draco’s cheek.

“Well,” he drawled with forced sarcasm, “she always loved to make the society pages.” 

“Does it upset you?”

“Of course it upsets me! What do you want me to do, break down?”

“I…”

“Look,” Draco interrupted, “I really don’t want to talk about my mother at the moment, so can we drop it?”

“Sure”

”Good.” He looked at Harry and made his mind to act, “Do you want to come to my room?”

Harry looked quickly back to him, his mind racing. “Why?” he asked quickly, sounding untrusting, almost fearful.

“Talk, snog, fuck, whatever.” Draco turned away from Harry, listening. “Someone’s coming,” he said.

Harry listened hard and heard footsteps coming up the stone stairs.

“If you want me, I’ll be in my room.” Draco turned and walked away. After a moment, Harry followed him.

~ ~ ~

Hermione managed to stop the flow of tears on her way to the dungeons. She was more than a little distressed that she was about to go and see the man she had spent most of last night rocking her body against with her eyes and nose red from crying. Harry had slapped her. There was still a part of her mind that couldn’t believe it. The mind numbing pain in her skull attested to the truth of it. He had slapped her because he thought she had been with Draco. He had kept accusing her of being somewhere, she had no idea where she was supposed to have been, but she was certain she hadn’t been there.

It was almost as though he was jealous.

Almost? It was exactly like he was jealous! But how could that be. Harry wasn’t in love with her. So who was he jealous of? Draco? That wasn’t possible. Unless…

No. Not possible…Unless.

It didn’t matter anyway. She wasn’t going to forgive him for hitting her.

The cold of the dungeons hit her like a physical force. She swayed a little. She hadn’t eaten for almost two days and her head ached. She felt a rush of nausea wash over her.

“Pull yourself together girl,” she muttered and knocked on Professor Snape’s office door.

“Enter.” came the growled response from inside and she pushed the door open a little and slipped inside.

He didn’t look up when she entered the room and she stood nervously for a moment before saying, “Professor?”

“What can I do for you, Miss Granger?” He asked her silkily, not looking up from the papers that he was marking.

She blinked, and blinked again. The very least he could do was look at her when he spoke. “I have detention, Sir.”

He did look up then, scowl perfectly in place. He looked at her as though she was little more than a piece of dirt on his dress robes. “I see,” he said, “it was good of you to remember. I would suggest that you take yourself off to Mr. Filch and tell him that I sent you for detention.” He went back to his marking.

Hermione didn’t move. She couldn’t move. She felt glued to the spot. He had dismissed her entirely, as though she truly was nothing but dirt on his dress robes. She glared at him, hands balled into fists by her side and fury rising in her throat. First Harry hits her, then Ron calls her a slut and now Snape was ignoring her! After last night the bastard should worship her!

He looked at her questioningly. “Did you misunderstand my meaning Miss Granger? I will make it very clear for you, lest your brain be unable to process the instruction. Go-to-Mr.-Filch-and-tell-him-that-I-sent-you-for-detention. I am sure he will have a suitable task for you.”

“You!” she cried suddenly.

“Yes?” he replied evenly.

“You greasy, slimy son of a whore!”

His eyes widened, she was furious, she was so angry that she was shaking. So the kitten had claws. He almost smiled.

“How dare you, you disgusting wretch! You should get down on your fucking knees and thank me for even coming down here!”

She was brilliant, inside he was down on his knees with his arms thrown around her waist, but he said; “Are you quite finished with your temper tantrum Miss Granger?”

“No, I’m fucking not!” She cried, “We spent an evening together, which I am sure you will agree was more than a little entertaining, and you greet me with by telling me to go and see Filch? You’re lucky I don’t get up there and slap the scowl off your ugly greasy face!”

“Well thank you, Miss Granger, for your very witty references to my personal appearance and as for our ‘entertaining’ evening together, I shall remind you that we were both under the influence of a great deal of alcohol and didn’t know half of what we were doing.”

“I can repeat it back to you if your need your memory refreshed,” she hissed harshly, “I can give you a word by word, action by action account if you like.” She straightened, drawing herself up to her full, albeit rather short, height. “Or perhaps I should tell Professor Dumbledore. I am sure he would find it very interesting.”

By the Gods, she could have been a Slytherin, the evil little imp. He sat back, “All right,” he said, his tone softer, more respectful, “do you want to discuss what happened last night?”

”Yes,” she couldn’t suppress her triumphant smile, “I would.”

~ ~ ~

“So what was it like?” Harry asked.

“What was what like?”

“Your parents getting the Kiss.”

Harry stood awkwardly in Draco’s chamber. He had dueled in here in this room dozens of times, but now all he could think about was last night and the feel and taste of Draco’s tongue in his mouth.

Draco sat on his bed and looked at Harry long enough to make Harry shift uncomfortably on the spot. “For me,” Draco said, “it was…” he fumbled for a word, not wanting to sound foolish but wanting to be truthful, “traumatic. I didn’t want to be there but I was ‘required’ to attend by the Ministry. Dumbledore and Snape came with me. My mother was first, she went really quietly. She just seemed to accept it.” He stopped, frowning a little, suddenly troubled. “My father…” he looked away, towards the far wall and the bookshelves there. Harry followed his gaze and saw a picture, a black and white photograph of Draco’s Father. Harry looked away, not willing to look at Lucius Malfoy just yet. “It scared him.” Draco said quietly, “I’ve never seen him scared before, but the Dementor scared him. He didn’t want to go.” His voice choked on the last words and he drew a long shuddered breath and closed his eyes. Then he suddenly snapped out of it and glared at Harry, “is that what you wanted to know?”

Harry nodded and looked back at the photograph. The last time he had seen Lucius Malfoy was in battle. Harry had killed Voldemort and had turned away from the body, to see Malfoy standing halfway up the stairs with a look of utter shock on his face. He had looked from Harry to his fallen master and then back to Harry and for the briefest moment Harry saw a smile (was it relief?) cross the Death Eaters face. Then his countenance changed and he looked as though he expected a fight, or to be killed outright. He had moved the staff he was carrying to a better position to strike and Harry thought, ‘this is it, now I am going to die.’ Then seven stun spells struck Malfoy and knocked him to the ground.

Draco had that same look on his face now, the one where he expected a fight and Harry really didn’t want to fight with him. He also decided that it would not be a good thing to tell Draco that he was there when his Father fell. He doubted that Draco would understand it and if anything was going to be conductive to fighting it would be Harry casually saying; “you should have seen the look on your Dad’s face when he went down.”  Truth be told, Harry was wondering if it would be possible to kiss Draco again. It was a wholly inappropriate thought for that time.

Gods, he turns me on. Harry shook his head a little to clear his thoughts. There had been a time when he had thought himself not quite normal. Nothing had aroused him. Ron seemed to get turned on by anything that moved and Hermione, though more guarded in her opinions, was able to point out some cute guy or other. Harry had never really felt any of this. He had forced himself into futile relationships because it was expected of him. He was supposed to meet the right girl, settle down and begat children. He figured his libido would kick in eventually.

Of course, when it did kick in it had been all wrong. Instead of some nice girl it was Draco Malfoy, son of Death Eaters and an all around asshole. How utterly typical of Harry’s twisted life. He had spent two years masturbating guiltily in the dark with Malfoy’s image in his mind – and then he’d try and wash it away as easily as the ejaculate it produced.

“Hey, earth to Potter.”

Harry blinked and quickly looked at Draco, forcing down a blush and not quite succeeding. Draco grinned an evil grin.

“Knut for your thoughts, Potter,” he drawled.

“Nothing…I…”

Draco enjoyed his discomfort for a moment. After Harry’s display of jealousy this afternoon, Draco was in no doubt of Harry’s feelings, even if Harry was. Draco had plenty of experience when it came to women fighting over him and the scenario this afternoon had been very much the same – save of course for the fact that one of the party happened to be The Boy Who Lived. Harry also happened to be The Boy Who Made Draco Malfoy Wank This Morning. Not that Draco masturbating was such an unusual occurrence, he just normally chose nameless, faceless individuals to picture while he was at it.    

Draco fell to seriousness for a moment and wondered just what Harry wanted from him. There had been a time in Draco’s life where he would have simply grabbed Harry and bedded him without question. In fact, he was renowned for grabbing and bedding a multitude of women – some of which was true and a lot of which was pure fantasy – but he hadn’t taken a lover since the war. He was perfectly aware that when he chose to do so it would have to be someone very special, perhaps even someone he loved or could at least fall in love with. Once upon a time the idea had made him shudder, but the war had changed a lot of things. The war had left scars that would not wash away.

Still, he did have a desire to see just how far Harry would go. He figured that at the very least he could get another kiss out of Harry and that was worth any fight that might ensue. The gentleness of the kiss last night, the very unexpectedness of it, had thrilled him no end. Who knew that Harry Potter would feel and taste that good?

“So,” he said with forced casualness, “why did you kiss me last night?

~ ~ ~

Snape really did not want to discuss last night. Discussing last night could lead to more foolishness, like throwing himself at her feet and declaring his undying devotion – and that was something he simply wasn’t prepared to do. “All right then,” he said, concealing panic with impatience, “What do you want to say?”

“I…” Hermione hesitate for a moment. What did she want to say? So many things filled her head but now that she was actually sitting here across from him they all seemed irrelevant. She was suddenly tongue tied. “I…did…do you remember what happened last night?”

He contemplated lying but decided against it. “Yes,” he said, “I remember what happened.”

“So how do you feel about it?” Point one, Granger for knocking the ball back into his court.

He sighed, “I believe it was foolishness brought about by an excessive intake of Absinthe – which as I explained, is an aphrodisiac. That is all.” He hoped that would make her happy. It wasn’t her fault, she could not be held accountable for her actions, it was the drink and that was that. She could now forget it ever happened and go about her life.

“That’s all?”

“Is there supposed to be more?” He raised an eyebrow and decided that he really was becoming irritated with this conversation. He was 38 years old, he didn’t need to be sitting here discussing the emotions attached to a drunken grope with an 18 year old girl. He highly doubted she would be doing this if the grope had occurred with say Potter or the vacant headed Weasley boy. Then again, maybe she might.

“Well…yes, yes there is supposed to be more!” She was sounding indignant, but she chewed her lips which betrayed her nervousness. “You can’t tell me that everything that happened was simply because we were drunk!”

“Miss Granger,” He rubbed his temple with frustration and stood, “I think you should realize that people do a great many stupid things while they are drunk. Hurling water over their Potions Master in the middle of the night, for example.”

Or writing unbreakable contracts. ”I wasn’t drunk when I drenched you,” she said hotly.

“My point is that the alarming rate of teenage pregnancy is a clear indication that people tend to lose control and inhibitions when they are under the influence of alcohol.”

“You are hardly a teenager.”

He almost slammed his fist into the desk, what did she want from him? “We had drunk the better part of three bottles of highly potent Absinthe, things were bound to get a little…warm.”

“Warm? I would say we were more than a ‘little warm’, Professor.”

“Whatever. I believe that we need to now take stock, put it down to foolish things that happen and move on with our lives.”

Hermione’s anger rose in her chest again. “What?” she demanded, “You think we should ‘take stock, put it down to foolish things that happen and move on with our lives’?”

“Well what did you expect, Miss Granger?” he hissed. “Did you think I was going to throw myself at your feet and declare my undying devotion to you? If that is the case I am sorry, but you will have to drag your head out from the cloud in which it is currently residing!”

“I don’t expect anything except the respect you owe me!” She began to pace, her face flushed with anger, “I have never been with anyone before last night and then you, of all people, touch me and kiss me and tell me I am beautiful and then you manage to some how, the gods only know how, give me the most erotic experience of my life and now you tell me that you want to forget it and go back to business as usual? Well I am sorry, Professor, but that is not possible.”

“WELL WHAT DO YOU WANT?”

“I WANT YOU!”

They both froze. Had that just happened? Had she just cried that she wanted him? Both of them knew there was no sense in that.

“Miss Granger,” his voice shook a little and he tried desperately to calm it, “you are a very clever witch and you have thus far proved a certain willingness to learn. Take this as your first lesson in love and sex; Life is short and love is always over in the morning.”

She felt her face drain of blood and she was horrified by the pricking of tears in her eyes. The last two days had been two much and she had just been flatly refused by the ugliest man she knew. Her head swam and nausea washed over her and as she turned to walk away she stumbled.

~ ~ ~

Harry began to stutter. Why had he kissed Draco? Why had Draco asked him?

“I enjoyed it, by the way.” Draco smiled that dazzling smile, “It was very nice indeed.”

“I...” Harry lowered his gaze. This was where he had been aching for the conversation to go but now it was here he felt as though his stomach had turned itself inside out. “I’ve never…”

“Kissed a guy?”

“Yeah, that.”

“Well, neither have I, but it felt pretty good to me.” Draco patted the bed beside him, “Why don’t you sit down?”

There were chairs and a lounge and for a moment Harry contemplated sitting in one of those, but Draco patted the bed again and Harry realized that if he wanted something to happen (and he was fairly certain that he did) he wasn’t going to get any closer to it if he sat at the other side of the room. He sat on the edge of the bed.

“So, nothing happened with Hermione?” Harry asked nervously.

“Nothing.” Draco smiled, it wasn’t his dazzling smile, it was softer than that. It wasn’t entirely true about Hermione, they had technically kissed each other but he really didn’t think it was worth mentioning such a small incident if it was going to destroy the rather shaky bond that was forming right now.

Harry blushed furiously and wondered why this was so bloody difficult. “Um, Draco,” he said quietly.

“Yes, Harry?” Just as quiet.

“Um…would…would you like to kiss again?” Oh Gods did that sound as stupid as he thought it did?

Draco smiled indulgently. “Yes Harry, I’d like that.”

They looked at each other, not moving closer. Harry’s eyes widened in what he was certain was fear, Draco looked nervous, a little uncertain. That threw Harry. He had just assumed that Draco would be confident and worldly about taking and discarding lovers, Harry never expected to see nervousness and uncertainty on Draco’s face.

Harry didn’t move and Draco sighed quietly. If anything was going to happen it was no doubt going to be him who would have to instigate it and he didn’t know if it was the best idea. He’d be fine so long as he could keep his shirt on. Harry looked positively terrified and it certainly wasn’t the most sensual way to start this.

“Are you alright?” Draco asked softly.

”Yeah.” Harry laughed a small laugh and looked at his hands, “I just really don’t know what to do.”

“What do you want to do?’ Draco’s voice had taken on a breathy quality, his eyes were wandering over Harry’s face, lingering on the scar and then following the subtle arch of his nose down to his mouth.

“I don’t know.” Harry bit his lip and was instantly reminded of Hermione. “I’ve never…”

“You’ve never had sex with a man before?”

“I’ve never had sex…with anyone.” When had this gone from a kiss to sex? Harry didn’t know and it didn’t matter because Draco was staring at him in a total state of shock.

“But everyone loves you,” Draco was wide eyed in amazement, “how could you have made it to 18 a virgin? There must’ve been a line the length of Diagon Alley and beyond of women wanting to be the one who gave you your first shag!”

Harry was as red as Gryffindor Quidditch robes. ‘Dear gods he’s serious’, Draco thought with no small amount of wonder at it.

“Have you done anything?” There was no derision in Draco’s voice, just pure unadulterated amazement.

“No. A few kisses - not good ones,” he shrugged, “until last night.”

“Wow.” Draco felt himself relax considerably. If Harry was a novice, perhaps he wouldn’t notice if Draco wasn’t so good. Not that Draco was bad in bed, quite the contrary, but he’d never been with a man before and he really had no idea where he was supposed to start. He figured he could just wing it and do to Harry what he’d always liked having done to him.

“So I guess you’d be pretty disappointed with me,” Harry was saying, his voice was tinged with a sadness Draco didn’t think was possible in the Boy Who Lived. “You’ve probably done this a lot, huh?”

“Well, I’ve had sex,” Draco conceded, “I think Dad would have died of shame if I’d been a virgin past 15.” He laughed affectionately when he mentioned his father, causing Harry to fidget a little. “I’ve never been with a man though,” he finished.

Harry looked up at Draco uncertainly. They were sitting side by side on the bed, close enough for their shoulders to be touching. Harry leaned in and gently touched his lips against Draco’s. The touch was feather light at first and then Draco’s hand came up to cup the side of Harry’s face gently, long fingers splayed into his hair and over his jaw, the cool palm flat against Harry’s cheek. The kiss deepened, their lips crushed together and Harry nearly lost himself in the heady sensation of Draco’s tongue running along the inside of Harry’s upper lip.

“You taste amazing.” Draco whispered when they parted.

“So do you.” Harry’s voice was strangled, he didn’t want this to end. He willed Ron’s date to be the best date ever so that he couldn’t come back and disturb this.

Draco gently traced the lightening bolt scar on Harry’s forehead with the tip of a finger, taking in the raw silk texture of the marred flesh and Harry moaned the softest of moans, barely discernable above the rush of their breathing, but it made Draco smile. Slowly Draco moved away, shifting his long limbs gracefully until he was lying on the bed on his side, his head propped up on his elbow.

“Take your robes off,” he breathed, “you have far too many clothes on.”

Harry almost choked. He was looking anywhere but at the blonde on the bed. But he had to come back to him in the end. Draco Malfoy, stretched out on the bed, his eyes the color of a swirling storm, every little witches dream and he wanted Harry, who would have died for him. Harry pulled the robes over his head, leaving only his old cutoffs and trainers on his body. Draco watched, enjoying the sudden revelation of Harry’s naked torso, his smooth bare back and long toned arms. Steeling his courage, Harry slipped the trainers off and moved to lay down facing Draco.

~ ~ ~

Snape’s first thought was that Hermione would faint dead at his feet. She had gone deathly pale and her mouth dropped open. She stumbled, yet when he reached for her she jerked back and there wasn’t a single ounce of uncertainty in her expression.

Her glare said plain enough that she was well and truly pissed off and that she wanted nothing to do with him.

His sense of indignation rose but he found himself not entirely sure of what he could say. He couldn’t pull his gaze away from her face. Regardless of his obvious need to reject her, he was surprised by the sudden rush of protectiveness that he had felt when she stumbled. Up close he could see her huge doe like eyes were differing shade of brown, ringed with the darkest lashes. Her nose tipped up at the end and her small stubborn chin was slightly pointed. There were slight hollows under her cheekbones, giving her a delicate appearance, and her pale skin only added to that image. He had once heard her described as ‘plain’, but he couldn’t see it. Her swollen lower lip made her mouth incredibly sexy, lush and well defined, even if she refused to smile.. or perhaps especially since she refused to smile. He could imagine that mouth performing a multitude of sins on him. A smattering of freckles crossed her nose, she had not tied her hair back today and it hung wildly curly over her shoulders, untamable.

He found himself instantaneously aroused and was thankful for the very nature of robes.

“I’m sorry,” he said, trying for an ounce of dignity in the awkward moment, “I thought you were going to faint.”

“Well I wasn’t,” she snapped frowning up at him. The fact was that she had almost toppled over, it was only righteous indignation holding her upright.

“You went pale,” he said silkily, his attention resting on her swollen lips for a moment. He envisioned kissing the mulish expression of her mouth and he had to force that image away before he embarrassed himself.

Hermione rolled her eyes and folded her arms over her breasts – small, perfect breasts, he noted. The top of her head barely reached his chin but she still managed to look imposing, possibly because he wanted her so desperately that it hurt.

“I haven’t eaten for two days,” she said, “ I hit my head earlier and you have just insulted me. I think I am entitled to go a little pale.”

“I will get you some dinner,” he said, thankful for the opportunity to turn away from her. “As for hitting your head, that is hardly my fault.”

He mumbled something into the fireplace and almost instantly a plate of sandwiches appeared on his desk. She hadn’t realized just how hungry she was until she saw them.

“And I didn’t mean to insult you,” he said, his tone softened.

“It sounded like you did,” she sulked.

”You should have something to eat.”

Hermione didn’t need to be told twice and he watched as she sat down in his chair, not even bothering to ask him if she could, and began to feast hungrily. He paced around her, watching in an almost predatory manner. She had come here expecting something more than his rejection and he hadn’t expected that at all. He hadn’t expected to have to reject her. She was supposed to be the one doing the rejecting. That was how it happened in his life.

Right now he was wishing to all that was sacred that she had rejected him because now she had given him a hope of something he couldn’t possibly have. His own weakness irritated him. He had always known who he was. He had felt the sting of lost love once before, so long ago now that he should have forgotten it. But he hadn’t. He wasn’t going to let it happen again. And with a child no less. He felt the shame of it wash over him.

“So,” she said, swallowing a mouthful of food, “why were you a total prick to me then?”  

He really wasn’t accustomed to being addressed as an equal by a student and he was on the verge of telling her so but stopped himself. As unused as he was to this kind of situation, he knew what not to say if he wanted to keep the peace and given last night it was possible she had every right to address him as an equal.

Seeing that she was sitting in his chair he conjured up another and sat opposite her. At that moment his greatest obstacle was to look at her without lust overcoming him. It would be best, he decided, to treat her as an adult and be truthful with her. “I am not used to the niceties required in these situations,” he said tersely, “I have to admit that I never expected to have something like this happen. My behaviour last night was unforgivable, taking advantage of you at such a moment was very wrong and I must apologize for it. When you came down here I was fully prepared for you to be humiliated by what happened. I never expected that you would feel otherwise.”

“So it took you by surprise then?” she grinned at him.

“Yes,” he cleared his throat, “you could say that. I knew that I had to ensure that it never happened again and I obviously went about it very badly, I insulted you and I am very sorry for that.”

Hermione sat back from the desk and looked at him with a questioning frown. “Why can’t it happen again?” she asked.

“Do I have to remind you that you are a student, Miss Granger?”

“So? If the war hadn’t happened I’d no doubt be working for the Ministry right now. Would you be so against it if that were the case?”

“If you were working for the Ministry and not here at Hogwarts it would never have happened, Miss Granger.”

She snorted impatiently, “Firstly, Professor, you made me orgasm last night, so I think you can call me Hermione now, and second, I am 18 years old and I can make my own decisions. There was nothing wrong with what happened last night.”

What really amazed him was that the girl wasn’t utterly horrified by the whole incident. The fact that she wanted him was beyond his comprehension. “Actually, there is something wrong with what happened last night,” he said, “It was unethical. I could be fired for it.”

“Dumbledore wouldn’t fire you, not if I explained.”

“I am also old enough to be your father.”

“Well,” she smiled mischievously, “I don’t think of you in a fatherly way, if that’s any consolation.” She bit her lip in a way that promised no end of pleasure and his erection pressed painfully against the confines of his trousers.

Hermione was surprised when she was rewarded with a shy smile from her Potions Master. Snape had never struck her as being shy before, then again, he had never struck her as being sexy before either. She found herself wondering what he looked like under the robes.

“Regardless,” his throat was dry and sore, “it would be best if we chose not to think about what happened.” He lowered his gaze and murmured to himself, “no matter how pleasurable it was.”

Hermione heard and smiled.

They settled into silence and were both amazed that it was not awkward. She finished her sandwiches – having to demand that the plate stop refilling itself – and he watched her eat, aching to throw her on the desk and fuck her senseless. She asked if she still needed to go to Filch for detention.

Snape laughed in spite of himself and told her unequivocally that no, she did not have to go to Filch for detention.

She got up, not wanting to leave but knowing that she should. She was enjoying being in his presence, a thought she’d had the previous night came back to her; That when he was not being “Professor Snape” he was actually incredible to be around. He was so still and calm when he wanted to be, the gentle sound of his breathing, his very presence was somehow comforting to her. She could have sat here with him all night. But she could not and it would be best to go now while she could do it without fighting it.

“Thank you for the sandwiches, Professor.”

”It was no trouble.” He didn’t want her to go, he wanted to take her to bed and wrap her up in his arms for the night.

As she moved past him she leaned down to kiss him chastely on the cheek. “Good night, Professor,” she whispered and moved to brush his cheek with her lips.

Snape turned his face to hers to reply, not realizing just how close she was to him.

Their mouths met.

~ ~ ~

So now Harry was lying on a bed with Draco Malfoy. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest and he was sure Draco could hear it, if not see it beating. They stared at each other for a long while, learning the intricacies of each others eyes and wanting more. Harry’s mind was screaming out a million incoherent thoughts. He was here, he had never been at this point before, he never thought he would be.

“What would you like me to do?” Draco whispered.

“Anything,” Harry breathed in reply.

Draco gently pushed Harry onto his back and leaning over him, he ran his tongue along the sharpness of Harry’s collarbone. Harry hissed a sharp intake of breath at the touch that was so unfamiliar to him and yet so craved. This was happening, this was really happening to him, Harry Potter. Draco’s tongue gently licked its way up Harry’s throat, flicking over his ear lobe and then Draco covered Harry’s mouth with his own and began kissing Harry again. He was careful at first, wanting to learn the shape and texture of Harry’s lips and to test the sharpness of the teeth behind them.

Harry felt Draco’s hands sliding down his body, relishing the touch of warm flesh. Reaching the band of Harry’s jeans, Draco slid his hands under the fabric, into the jeans to caress Harry’s buttocks. Harry moaned, louder this time, into Draco’s mouth.

Harry’s erection strained against the the denim of his cut offs and he flushed with embarrassment at his own arousal. He had kept any sign of his own erection, or indeed any indication of arousal at all, hidden away for so long. It was a product of living in a dorm and the repressive life he had lived at the Dursley’s, that he now felt shame at his very evident erection. What he had always kept hidden was now nestled snuggly against Draco’s hip bone and Draco’s own erect cock was pressed hard against Harry’s body.

The realization that Draco was as aroused as he was released Harry and gave him an abandon he had never felt before. He sucked Draco’s tongue and pulled it deep into his mouth, deliciously aware of the low moan it elicited from Draco. He was so used to the mass of his own tongue that he never noticed it, now that there was the alien feel of another’s tongue doing battle with his own he became aware of its existence like never before. Their tongues twisted around each others, probed each others teeth and gums in a frantic battle of teeth and tongues and lips and spit.

Following Draco’s lead, Harry allowed his hands to roam the plains and hollows of Draco’s all too clothed body. He made to pull his T-shirt off, wanting to feel Draco’s naked chest against his own, but Draco chuckled softly and brushed Harry’s hands away, using his clever fingers to tease Harry’s nipples, plunging into the unfamiliar nerve endings and creating beams of sensation that traveled through Harry’s body, to his brain, his mouth, his belly and his aching balls.

Draco’s hand caressed the concavity of Harry’s belly, tickling him, causing him to gasp in pleasure, before skidding his hand further down to cup Harry’s hard cock through the worn denim of his jeans. Draco’s mouth then kissed a slow trail down Harry’s chin, along the curve of Harry’s throat and the hollow of his collar bone and finally wrapped hot and wet around Harry’s nipple. Harry felt his heart lurch, his cock ached and his mind began to dissolve in pleasure.

This is happening, oh Gods this is happening, this is…this…this… th…

Harry choked back a mouthful of saliva and suddenly panicked. “Don’t,” he gasped.

Draco’s mouth paused but he did not move it away. He slid his hand up from Harry’s cock to the ridge of his hipbone and gently stroked the warm flesh. “Why not?” he asked softly, his voice caught in his own quickness of breath.

“It feels…” Harry’s eyes rolled, close to delirium, “It hurts, my stomach hurts.”

Draco raised his face to Harry and smiled gently, “A bit of a pleasure overload?”

Harry nodded, trying to take in what he was feeling and staring at Draco, absorbing Draco’s beauty. He had never experienced someone giving him pleasure before, he never thought he would. He was suddenly overwhelmed with amazement. He was lying here beneath Draco Malfoy and this was happening and nothing would ever be the same again. It was too much.

“We can slow down.” Draco kissed him. “We can just kiss,” he kissed Harry again, “Or we can kiss until you want me to do something more.” He brushed Harry’s lips with his own.

Harry’s head swam as he arched his body up into the kiss and bitter voices filled his head telling him that he didn’t deserve this, that so many people had died and the only one who truly deserves to be dead was now being pleasured. He was a weapon, he could only destroy those he loved, he had only ever destroyed those he loved. His parents, Sirius, so many of his friends.

Draco lay half on top of him, holding his and kissing him languously and Harry felt a slick tear escape his eye and run down the side of his face and get lost in the tangle of his hair. Draco pulled back and saw the tears and caught them on the tip of his tongue, licking them away, swallowing the darkness for a time.

“I won’t hurt you,” he whispered, his hands stroking Harry gently and at that moment Harry believed him.

Harry knew that Draco would hurt him in the end though, because this tangle of limbs was far too intimate to be born of anything but love and Harry had desired this for so long. He had no doubt in his mind that he was in love with Draco and he had no doubt in his mind that when this was all over, Draco would forget about it and laugh it off. Harry just wanted this moment. Just this moment to believe that he could possibly be loved, to believe that maybe Draco was a good person, to experience something he had thought would be denied him. He would have been surprised to learn that Draco Malfoy was more than capable of love and that Draco Malfoy was more than capable of loving Harry Potter. It would have surprised him to know these things, but he didn’t, so Harry slid into desire with his mind full of doubt, until it became impossible to think of anything save the texture and flavor of Draco’s mouth and body.

Draco kissed Harry for the longest time, stroking Harry’s body until his own need became urgent. The kisses increased with urgency and passion and Draco moved from Harry’s mouth and he was nuzzling Harry’s neck and chest again. Harry arched his body up into Draco’s hungry mouth and twinned his fingers in Draco’s pale, moonlight colored hair. Draco’s fingers deftly unbuttoned Harry’s jeans, his mouth moved across the concavity of Harry’s stomach, pausing just above the band of his pants.

”You ok?” Draco murmured.

”Yes…yes…”

Draco gently tugged Harry’s jeans down, sliding them under the curve of Harry’s butt and down Harry’s toned legs and pulled them away easily. With Harry panting in anticipation, he repeated the process with Harry’s cotton boxer shorts and Harry was suddenly aware that he was very, very, naked, his throbbing erection right in front of Draco’s face.

Oh Gods, I’m naked, this is happening, this is going to happen, what’s he gonna do?

As Harry watched, wide eyed with what could have been fear or wonderment or both, Draco looked up and smiled the most dazzling smile Harry had ever seen and gripping the Shaft in one hand, he kissed the tip of Harry’s cock, caressing the head of it with a swirl of his tongue. Harry gasped in choked surprise.

“You’ll like this,” Draco whispered, “I promise.”

Kissing Harry’s cock again, Draco began to lick all over the head as though Harry was the best ice cream cone he had ever tasted. Harry was gasping and moaning unintelligible words as Draco licked his lips and took the entire throbbing shaft into his mouth.

Harry cried out almost in anguish at the pleasure of it. His mind began to spin. Suddenly there was no conflict here, no bed beneath him, there was no Ron, no Hermione, no contract, no bitter voices speaking to him in the dark. Hell, he wasn’t even the Boy Who Lived anymore. There was only Draco, and the narrow wet tunnel of Draco’s mouth surrounding him and Draco’s energetic tongue tracing patterns on the underside of his cock. Harry’s hips bucked up into Draco’s waiting hands and he could hear a voice he recognized vaguely as his own crying “Draco, Draco, Draco...” into the air of the room.

It was as though every nerve of his body had sprung to attention. His scalp, the palms of his hands, even the tips of his toes tingled. He was beading with sweat, his hips thrusting up in gentle motions into Draco’s mouth, his moans becoming increasingly urgent. Harry felt his body cresting, he couldn’t hold on and he tried to push Draco away, but Draco persisted.

“I…” he opened and closed his mouth, struggling to get words out, “I’m coming…. I’m coming...”

Draco kept working him, not caring, relishing the intimate taste of Harry’s body.

Harry tried desperately to hold on, not wanting to come in Draco’s mouth. He didn’t know if it was the right thing to do, he didn’t want Draco to hate him. He tried to think of something else, anything else, but nothing could over ride the feeling of Draco working his mouth up and down Harry’s swollen shaft.

His thoughts were cut short because his peripheral vision shut down and everything went white as he came, crying Draco’s name out over and over. A year’s pain seemed to leave him as he came, ebbing from his balls, leaking from his eyes and expelling from his lungs in short harsh gasps.

~ ~ ~

Snape knew full well he should have pulled away. He should have pushed her gently; he should have excused himself and left. He should have, but he didn’t.

After the accidental touch of lips they both moved apart, frozen, faces only inches from each other. Hermione waited, holding her breath while Snape considered what he should and shouldn’t do.

His fingertips touched her jaw, suspending all thought. Gently he tilted her chin, and she was suddenly filled with the heat of his gaze. She saw gentleness in those eyes, incongruous with his fearsome demeanor, an intriguing contrast to everything that she knew of him. He is full of secrets, she thought, he hides his beauty inside.

His eyes closed,and she closed hers instinctively and waited for what seemed like an eternity for the kiss. Then she felt it, a brief heated touch of his mouth on her own. His breath was hot on her cheek and he moved his lips slightly, coasting over hers, teasing her mouth with the lightest of touches.

She wanted to touch him, to put her hands on him and feel that body beneath the multitude of robes. When gliding down the corridors the Professor seemed to consist entirely of billowing robes, it was easy to forget that there was a body under there, a body she wanted to discover and explore.

Slowly he pulled away, just enough to put space between them, but not enough that she couldn’t feel the heat that positively radiated from him. She opened her eyes and found him watching her, his gaze intense and dark. She opened her mouth to speak but he laid a finger over her lips.

“Don’t,” he said, “not yet.”

Feeling numb, she nodded and leaned in again to find his mouth. The heady scent of him filled her, and she felt drunk and anxious and hot. His tongue slid along her bottom lip and nudged her mouth open and explored the edge of her teeth. Nothing moved on either of them save their mouths. Their hands stayed motionless, as though the rest of their bodies were paralyzed.

He moaned low with pleasure and want and the sound brought him back to himself. He jerked back from her, the spell broken.

She straightened and they stared at each other, sharing looks of amazement and wonder. They were stone cold sober and their kisses still felt and tasted so very good. They still wanted each other. How could this be happening? How could they find each other so inextricably attractive?

“I’m sorry,” she whispered and her voice was harsh to her ears, “I…I will leave you now.”

He folded his arms across his chest and nodded. In a whisper that rasped from deep in his throat he said, “Goodnight Hermione.”

She wanted to explain, to tell him that this couldn’t possibly be a bad thing. She was not a child and student or no, she knew what she wanted. Instead she looked to the door and said, “Goodnight Severus.”

As she walked from the room she turned back to him. She saw his head drop back in the chair, both hands over his eyes like a man in desperate pain.

She closed the door behind her.

~ ~ ~

Draco crawled up and lay his head on the pillow next to Harry’s, purring very much like a contented cat. His lips were swollen and smudged with traces of Harry’s semen and he seemed to glow, the light sheen over his skin making him seem a luminous being to Harry who was in a state of bliss.

“Oh my God,” Harry said at last. He felt exhausted, as though he had played a fifteen hour game of Quidditch and as happy as if it had been the World Cup and he’d won. “Oh my God,” he said again. He could believe it had been like that. He couldn’t believe it could be that mind numbingly good.

Draco propped his head up on his elbow to look at Harry, lying naked on his bed, eyes glazed in post orgasmic bliss. If someone had ever told Draco that this was where his relationship with Potter would end up, he would have hexed them for being insanely stupid.

“Good?” Draco asked and Harry nodded wordlessly, his mouth open in amazement. Draco kissed him again then, sweeping his tongue over Harry’s teeth and lips and Harry could taste his own come mingled sweetly with the unique taste of Draco’s saliva. Draco’s hardness pressed against his thigh and alerted Harry to the fact that Draco had not yet come.

“Do you…Do you want me to suck you too?” Harry asked, suddenly shy.

Draco laughed and stroked Harry’s cheek. He kissed Harry again, relishing Harry’s mouth and willing tongue. “No,” he whispered, moving his mouth to Harry’s ear, “not yet. I wanted you to feel what it was like.”

“I want to,” Harry gasped as Draco’s tongue flicked over his earlobe, “ I want to pleasure you too.”

Draco tensed suddenly and pulled away. He sat up. “Not tonight,” he said tightly, “maybe another time.”

Harry frowned as Draco slipped off the bed and wrapped his arms around himself as though cold, shutting Harry out entirely.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked, his voice quivered slightly and he cursed himself for it.

“Nothing,” Draco replied, not looking at Harry, still standing there holding himself.

Harry blinked, what had gone wrong? He had thought Draco would want to be touched, that he would want Harry to do everything he had done to him. Draco wanted none of it. He didn’t want Harry to touch him at all.  Harry grew cold and horribly aware he was naked. He shivered and fumbled for his robes, desperate to get out of there and the cold feeling of isolation that was enveloping him.

Harry’s movements snapped Draco back to the moment. He dropped his arms and turned back to the bed, seeing Harry trying to reach his robes. “Are you cold?” Draco asked quickly, “I’ll get the fire started. I cast a  warming spell earlier but it must’ve worn off.” He began pulling blankets over Harry, fussing about making him comfortable before hurrying over to the fire.

Harry was now well and truly confused. Draco lit the fire and came back to the bed carrying extra pillows. He then set about re-arranging the bedding to make room for Harry to sleep comfortably. Was this some kind of etiquette? After you have sex with someone you are supposed to make sure they are comfortable so that they don’t hate you so much when you reject them the next day? Draco didn’t want Harry to touch him at all, Harry would rather leave right now.

“Draco?”

“Mmm?”

“Is something wrong?”

“No why?” Draco spoke to quickly, he sounded detached, absent somehow.

“Do you have a problem with me touching you?” Harry’s insecurities had surfaced in full force. Did Draco think he would hurt him? “You don’t want me to touch you?”

“I…” Draco looked away.

Harry panicked, so it was true, Draco didn’t want to be touched by some second rate hero who didn’t know how to die when he should. Post orgasmic and emotional, Harry inexplicably wanted to cry. “I-I-I-I know,” he stammered, his voice choking on the tears that threatened. His mind reeled and all the dark voices insinuated themselves again and engulfed him. Even now, after all this, Draco couldn’t bare to have Harry touch him. Harry was nothing but destruction, he didn’t deserve this, not when so many people who were dead when they should have been alive to experience the same pleasures.

“I know,” he said again, trying to clear his voice and not succeeding, “I know I’m nothing, b-but I d-didn’t mean to l-l-live, but I d-did and…,” he couldn’t stop the tears from coming, he felt foolish, unlovable, helpless, “I c-c-can try to b-be something you w-would want b-but I don’t know how. I c-can t-try, I-I can.” He covered his face with his hands and burst into tears, unreasonable tears from his fragile soul, “I didn’t mean to live…I didn’t…I…”

Draco rushed to the bed and pulled Harry to him, pushing Harry’s head into the hollow of his shoulder and burying his face in Harry’s messy black hair. “It’s not like that,” Draco whispered fiercely. “Don’t ever think that, don’t you ever think that.”

Harry cried into Draco’s shoulder, hesitantly wrapping his arms around Draco and feeling their bodies interlock with each other, as though they were two pieces of the same puzzle. Draco’s body felt to Harry like a reflection of his own and they were melting together, like wax made too hot by flame.

What did they do to him? Draco thought, holding Harry tight and inhaling the scent of his hair. How could he think that he should not have survived? How could he possibly believe that?

“I do want you to touch me,” Draco murmured, “but the war…”

Harry pulled back a little and looked up into Draco’s gray eyes. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“No, don’t you be sorry.” Draco looked troubled, as though trying to work out what to do, how to approach this. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You didn’t start the war and if it wasn’t for you the outcome could have been far worse than it was. Even I know that. So stop all this bullshit about not believing you should have lived. Anyone who thinks that is a fool.”

“Then why don’t you want me to touch you?”

Draco frowned and Harry felt him tense again but he didn’t pull away this time. “It’s me,” Draco said reluctantly, “I don’t want you to see me. You might not like what you see.”

Harry remembered the game of Quidditch in the rain so long ago and the flat expanse of Draco’s belly that had driven him wild and caused him to question everything he knew about sex and attraction. There was no way he didn’t want to see that again. “Do you have the Dark mark on you? Is that it?” If it was, would Harry be able to stand it? He didn’t know if he could deal with the fact that Draco had been a Death Eater.

Draco laughed bitterly. “No. It’s nothing like that.” He sat for a moment, trying to find his courage. He spent years as Harry’s enemy and in the space of a day so much had changed. He had just made love to the Wizarding worlds hero, and he was not the kind of person who called it ‘love making’ lightly. He knew the difference between a fuck and a real connection. He had just swallowed Harry’s cum – as far as Draco was concerned, this was more than a passing fuck. He took a deep breath, stole what courage he could find and pulled the t-shirt over his head.

~ ~ ~

Snape stormed down the deserted corridors towards the Staff Room, knowing full well he was late and not really caring at all. He had other things to worry about, he didn’t want to spend what remained of his evening meeting the new Sports Master. As far as he was concerned, any idiot could teach a bunch of children to ride a broomstick, and the Quidditch teams taught themselves. He saw no real need to fill the position at all. The only thing Hooch had been good for was being a  referee and any number of people here could do that.

Snape was not much of a sportsman. Having learned very early on that he was going to have his skinny ass whipped on the Quidditch pitch, he chose to secret himself in study instead. Not that it stopped him from watching the sport, he had to at least watch Slytherin play, he was head of house after all. He had also learned to referee, more out of a desire to prove he could actually fly and fly well than any major interest in doing it. Not being a sportsman, he had little respect for anyone who was. He hated Sports teachers. Their entire lives revolved around broomsticks and quaffles and “Did you see such and such catch that Snitch, best catch of the year I’d say.”  Merlin save him from that.

He wondered if Hermione was back in her chamber yet. Getting ready for bed. In his mind he wrapped her in the finest silk nightgown that slid over her slight curves and accentuated the hardness of her nipples (the reality of her comfortable Winnie the Pooh Flannel pajamas and bed socks would have horrified him). He imagined what it would be like to actually sleep next to her. Would she disturb his sleep? He doubted it. She was such a little thing, he could just curl around her. He was smiling like an idiot at the thought and he quickly wiped the smile from his face as he reached the Staff Room door.

Forgetting about the newly oiled hinges on the door, Snape shoved it too hard and as a result it banged against the wall loudly, knocking down a picture which landed on the floor with an indignant thud.

All eyes turned to stare at him.

He could have said sorry, instead he sneered, letting everyone know he didn’t want to be there in the company of his peers. He glared at Sinistra and Fat Professor Sprout who had  sequestered themselves by the fire in Snape’s usual chair. Sinistra returned his glare and curled her lip into a sneer of her own, Sprout shuffled uncomfortably and only stayed put after Sinistra told her to stop fidgeting. Minerva caught his eye and broke into a mischievous smile, causing almost every one there to wonder what in hell she saw in the self satisfied bastard.

“Severus, you made it, I do hope you are feeling better.”

“Tolerable,” he growled.

“Good, good.” She bustled over to him and placed her hands on his shoulders, steering him to a seat next to hers. “How did you pull up this afternoon then?” she whispered, “I meant to bring you up some dinner but I lost track of time.”

“I am fine. Thank you for getting me to bed, interesting choice of bed clothes.”

She spread her hands, feigning innocence, “I couldn’t find anything else. Don’t tell me you sleep in the nude.”

If he hadn’t been in the staff room he would have smiled. “So, where is he then? I want to get back to bed.”

Minerva rolled her eyes, “You only just woke up.”

“I have been awake for some time, I have been marking essays.”

“Very productive.”

“I think so.”

She sighed and put him out of his misery. Leaving him for a moment she returned with a young, surly looking man with intense dark eyes and a look on his face that threatened some kind of physical violence. He was also sickeningly familiar, and Snape felt his stomach plummet.

“Viktor, this is Professor Severus Snape, head of Slytherin house and Professor of Potions here at Hogwarts. Severus, this is our new Sports Master, Viktor Krum.”

~ ~ ~

Harry looked at the smooth pale body before him. The contours of Draco’s chest and stomach were lean and toned and caused Harry’s breath to hitch in his throat. A dusting of hair, slightly darker than the hair on his head trailed from his navel into the low slung band of his pajama pants. 

Dear Gods, he’s perfect. Harry almost began to pant as he absorbed the utter perfection before him. He wanted to kiss Draco’s chest, lick and worry those small pink nipples. Draco smiled sadly at Harry’s reaction and slowly, hesitantly, he shifted positions, turning his back to Harry. He closed his eyes, winced and fought back tears of his own as he heard Harry gasp again, but it wasn’t a gasp of awe this time.

Harry stared in horror at Draco’s back. What was once, no doubt, as perfect as the font was now a mass of dark purple scars. Some kind of acid, it had to be, Harry could see the splatter marks. What ever it was must have had some kind of mind of its own because scars that looked like long tendrils radiated out from the original splatters, causing a  web of long purple furrows in the pale skin. The scars disappeared into his pants, so they went lower, and they weren’t that old. Less than a year. They looked raw and ugly and fresh. It must have happened just before the end of the war, or after it had finished.

“Did Voldemort do this to you?” Harry demanded.

“No,” Draco said quietly, “and neither did my father, if that is your next question.”

“Then who?” Harry reached over and touched Draco’s back and Draco flinched, but not with pain.

“No one,” Draco muttered, “no one important, don’t worry about it, it’s passed.”

Harry went to say something, possibly to demand a more satisfying answer, but he stopped himself and made a decision he would never have made a year ago. He decided not to pursue it. If Draco wanted to tell him he would and maybe, later on, he would tell Harry without much prompting. Harry was going to accept that something had happened, something bad and to do with the war, and he would find out later. For now, Harry was gong to pull his blonde lover into bed and thank every god he could think of that he was here because he never thought he would be. Pulling Draco back against his chest he kissed Draco’s throat and rested his chin on Draco’s shoulder.

“The war left lots of scars,” he said carefully, “Some you can see, others you can’t.” He nuzzled Draco’s neck, “I still want to touch you.”

Draco smiled and craned his face around to Harry’s. “Not yet, it’s too soon.”

“Do you think it ever goes away?” Harry spoke against Draco’s shoulder, kissing the top of Draco’s shoulder blade.

”The scars?” Draco frowned.

”No, the War. The memories. The pain of it all.”

“’Only the dead have seen the end of war.’” Draco whispered.

Chapter 7 >>