Objects of Desire

Chapter 8 - I'm Just a Jealous Guy

By Azrael Geffen

October 31^st 1981

Two Death Eaters Apparated into a forest clearing with two distinct cracks that sounded to all the world like a car back firing twice. They both stood for a moment, looking around, listening for even the most remote sound that would give them an indication as to what might have happened. They both knew that very soon this place would be crawling with around a hundred or more of their kind, but they also knew that they were the first to arrive.

A moment before the Dark Mark on their respective arms had burned black with an intensity that had caused them to both cry out in pain – then it had disappeared, as though it had never been there at all. They both Apparated, using what was left of the magical trail to trace their Master.

The taller of the two pushed his hood back from his head and looked around. He looked at the other, raising an eyebrow but saying nothing. After a moment the other pushed his own hood back.

”Lucius,” the taller man stated crisply.

”Severus,” the shorter nodded in reply.

Severus Snape looked a little closer at Lucius Malfoy, he had something on his robes, over the shoulder. Frowning he scratched his own shoulder, muttering, “You have a little something there.”

Lucius pulled a silk handkerchief from his pocket and wiped absently. “Draco was sick.”

“What, you sit around in you traveling robes then?”

“I was going out and Narcissa asked me to hold him.”

“Charming.”

Lucius blanched. Over the past 18 months Severus had watched one small child reduce the normally reserved and powerful Lucius Malfoy to putty. Severus was the boy's Godfather and he couldn’t comprehend it. He hated children as a rule. Draco Malfoy was, he had to admit, an exceptionally cute child, but Severus Snape had never put much stock in cute. Draco’s main functions seemed to be eat, sleep, shit, cry and puke. Now Lucius was turning up to a call for help from Lord Voldemort with what looked like a chalky milk vomit on his shoulder. It could’ve been worse, as Draco had been eating solids for over a year now.

“So, can you sense him at all?” Lucius asked. He couldn’t sense his Master and that panicked him a little. Snape was far more adept in that department than he was, so he decided not to let the panic overwhelm him just yet.

“No, not at all.” Snape frowned, “Where are we?”

“Godrics Hollow.”

Snape seemed to grow paler, he swallowed a couple of times, trying to produce saliva. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. He told me he was coming here.” Lucius looked about for a source of light that would guide them somewhere other than the clearing they were currently standing in.

They both found the light at the same time. It was faint and flickering, like the remains of a fire, and they both made for it, walking at a fast pace, each wondering exactly what they were going to find. Neither had ever known the Dark Lord to send out a message like the one they had received, one so strong as to cause that kind of pain. The more startling revelation of course was that the mark had disappeared entirely after the pain had stopped.

“How’s Narcissa?” Snape asked, trying to keep the mood as light as he could. He was 21 years old and he did not have the composure of his companion who, at 27 was still looking a little spooked. Snape had a sourness to his demeanor that often hid most of his youth and inexperience from his peers. Lucius Malfoy had no such help. Nature had seen fit to bless him with a flawless face and a look that could have descended from the fairie realm. His only defense had been to practice detachment, and he did so with a natural adeptness for the art. Until the birth of his son, most had suspected that Lucius was not quite human. No emotion crossed his face unless he had just cause to display it. For him to be looking edgy was enough to spook Snape into greater haste.

“Narcissa is fine.”

“Is she coming?”

“No, she has to look after Draco.”

”Why can’t the House Elves do that?”

Lucius threw a disdainful look at Snape and while not breaking stride he let Snape know exactly what he considered appropriate care for his pride and joy.

“He’s really very clever you know,” Lucius was warming to his favorite topic now, “he can say Dog and Cissa and he can say my name… well, mostly say my name. He can yell ‘NON!’... just like that, it’s hilarious because every time he does the damn Elf comes running.”

“I’m glad you’re teaching him something.” Snape never did approve of the way Lucius treated his House Elves, now the baby was yelling at them.

They paused at the edge of the clearing and stared at the house in front of them. Dust and smoke seemed to be rising from the back of it, the front appeared to be intact and normal, with the exception that the door had been blasted off its hinges and all the windows were broken. It was a very ordinary two-storey cottage that any Muggle anywhere could be living in. But they both knew that no Muggles lived here.

Hesitating for a moment, Lucius stepped forward first and approached the house. Snape soon followed suit and they peered cautiously in through the door.

“Master?” Lucius called softly. There was no answer, the only sound was that of a baby crying, but it seemed far away, and muffled somehow.

They stepped through the door and followed the path of destruction to the living room, or what remained of it. The house was a wreck. Whatever battle had been fought there was now well and truly over. At the foot of the stairs lay the body of a man, lying face down, his wand still curled in his hand.

“Accio Wand.”

The wand flew to Lucius’ hand, proving to them both that this man was most definitely dead. They both knew who it was.

“Master?” Lucius called again, “Master are you here?”

Once again there was no answer and Lucius began to ascend the stairs. Snape stood for a moment over the body on the floor before rolling it over with his boot. It was hard to understand what emotions went through him as he looked on the face of his tormentor, frozen now, forever defiant. He looked as though death surprised him. He looked a great deal like his son would years into the future. James Potter was harder than his son, his face was more angular, the nose larger, the lips thinner and the jaw slightly squarer. The curse that had killed him hadn’t even broken his glasses.

Snape crouched beside him and let his fingers trail down over the cheek to his throat and searched for the pulse he knew he wouldn’t find.

“I hate to be the one who said ‘I told you so’, Potter,” Snape sneered softly. He then stood and dusted his robes off before following Lucius up the stairs.

The baby’s crying was louder on the second floor and it had reached a fever pitch of shrill and relentless screams. Snape winced at the sound, wondering why people had children when they could make noise like that, and set about looking for Lucius.

Lucius was in the nursery at the back of the house, but as Snape made to enter Lucius blocked the doorway. “I don’t think you want to come in here,” he said calmly and of course his words spurred Snape past him and into the room.

The door had once again been blasted from its hinges and lay on the floor. One wall of the room had been blown out completely, as though someone had set off a bomb that had demolished it. The night sky shone into the room, chilling the place. Somewhere in the distance they could smell the smoke of an open fire from a neighboring house. Far enough away for them not to have noticed the catastrophe that had befallen the place. Under the rubble he could see the remains of a child’s playpen, the screaming seemed to be coming from in there somewhere. The body of a woman lay sprawled in front of the rubble, her eyes wide open, staring unseeing at the sky.

The next scream did not come from the baby. It came from Snape. He hurled himself forward, landing heavily on his knees, removing skin and tearing holes in his robes. He was pulling the woman’s body from the floor without realizing what he did. He pulled her to him, burying his face in her hair and crying unintelligible words into her ear.

“Nooooo, no Lily, please wake up, please, Lillllly, please wake up.”

“She’s dead Severus,” Lucius said crisply.

Still rocking her body against him, holding her close for just that one time, Snape turned a hateful glare at Lucius, “You said he wouldn’t kill her!”

“He said he wouldn’t,” Lucius shrugged, unconcerned. He crouched down next to a pile of robes on the floor, ignoring the harsh rasping sobs of his companion. With quick fingers he searched through the robes and drew back with amazement. In his hand was a wand, a very familiar wand, and one he had seen used on any number of occasions.

“He’s gone,” Lucius said, “Severus, he’s gone.”

Snape was lost to all reason or understanding. His face was buried in the thick russet colored hair of Lily Potter, and he rocked her back and forward, lost in his grief. Lucius went to the rubble of the playpen and started pulling it out, chunk by chunk, until the screaming child was uncovered and the screaming was loud enough to make the room unbearable. He reached into the pen and lifted the baby out

Holding the child up in front of him, he gave it a good once over and wrinkled his nose. It probably needed a nappy change.

“Hello,” Lucius said in a strange sort of baby talk voice that actually drew Severus from his stricken state, “whose a little Dark Lord killer then?” He then began to bounce the baby around on his hip, going to what was left of a linen cupboard and finding a nappy.

To Snape's utter disgust, he changed the nappy with the skill of a seasoned professional and dropped the dirty one in the nappy bin that had miraculously survived the attack unscathed. He then conjured up a bottle and stuck it in the child’s mouth.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Snape asked at last.

”Well, we couldn’t leave him there in his own shit now could we?”

“Yes, we could.”

Lucius ignored him and began to pace the room, rocking the baby who was now thoroughly content to suck its bottle and stare up at the man holding him. “You know,” Lucius said after he was certain the baby was fine, “this could make things a little difficult for us. Obviously the brat here, what’s his name?”

“Harry.”

“Harry, here, has managed some kind of defense, the Gods only know what, and has done away with our Master. Now, that might leave us open to some rather sticky questions.”

Snape looked up from Lily and glared once more at Lucius. The Dark Lord was gone? His mind worked quickly, no amount of grief would ever alter that process. If the Dark Lord was gone, then what was said about the prophecy was true. “Is he scarred in any way?” he asked.

Lucius checked, “Nice scar, lightening bolt, right on the forehead. I have to admit, The Dark Lord had fabulous aim…even if his choice of targets was a little off.”

Snape frowned, Lily was a dead weight in his arms and any time from now the place would be crawling with Death Eaters, looking for their Master and willing to do anything they chose to her body. He forced a strange sort of calm to himself and looked at Lucius, “put the brat down and get the fuck out of here.”

“Yes, yes, in a moment.” Lucius was still thinking, Snape could almost see his mind ticking over. “We could always take the brat with us.”

“What?” Snape clutched Lily tighter. Then he gently, reverently, placed her on the ground and stood to face Lucius. “Are you insane? Why would we take him with us?”

“Well, he did kill the Dark Lord, so he must have some kind of power.” Lucius held Harry up as though he were some kind of odd toy. Harry giggled and stuffed one small fist into his mouth, not realizing he was looking into the face of evil. “I would prefer he didn’t grow up our enemy,” Lucius said,” Dumbledore knew that something like this could happen. I am sure he will use the brat if we don’t.”

“Put him down,” Snape hissed, “I would rather kill him than use him.”

“Kill him?” Lucius laughed, “now I don’t see any occasion for that. Besides, we don’t know if he can be killed. He dispatched the Dark Lord, what’s to stop him from dispatching us in a similar fashion?”

Snape shrugged.

“And would you kill her child?” Lucius indicated to Lily on the ground. Upon seeing Snape look down at the woman on the floor and cover his face to suppress a sob, Lucius turned his attention back to the child. “Do you want to come home with me?” he asked in the baby voice he had used before. Harry started to laugh. “I have a baby too, and you could play with him. We have a lake with ducks, do you like ducks?”

Noticing the blue romper suit with ducks on the pocket, Lucius decided that he did.

“Put him down,” Snape said again, “there will be thousands of people looking for him. How are you going to explain where you got him from?”

Malfoy sighed and looked at the child a little wistfully. “Fine, I’ll let him grow up Dumbledore’s tool instead of ours, but I warn you, you might live to regret it.”

Snape had no doubt he would.

Lucius left then, bidding farewell, he had to get home and set his house in order. He knew that the Ministry would descend on the place as soon as they learned that the Dark Lord was gone and he didn’t need any incriminating evidence lying around. As soon as Snape was sure he had gone he lit a fire and knelt into it.

“Dumbledore,” Snape said, masking the grief he felt with militant formality, “Lily is dead.”

~ ~ ~

Severus Snape woke up. He hadn’t had that dream for the longest time. He thought he had banished it forever. He was obviously wrong. He sat up and let the last shreds of the dream fall off him like a caul and wondered how much of it was dream and how much was the horror of the memory.

~ ~ ~

She should have expected it. She did expect it. It was just that she expected it when he first got to Hogwarts, not four days later, when she had settled down and accepted that he was there. Now it was Saturday and she was minding her own business and along comes Krum. Of course he would choose to come now that she was alone. Everyone else she knew was nursing a hangover and sleeping in. Just as she should be, but she had decided against the Friday evening trip to Hogsmeade, settling instead for study.

She was regretting that decision now as his voice, unmistakable with its fractured English said, “Herm-own-ninny.”

She almost choked on her cereal. Then she quickly turned her head and forced an awful smile to her face. It was her fake smile, the one that started to hurt if she left it in place too long. “Viktor,” she said through clenched teeth, “how are you?”

“I am vell,” he said, his English had improved. “How are you? I vas shocked vhen I learned you had come back to Hogvarts, but I am also pleased.”

She felt the corners of her mouth start to ache as her lips stretched further into the smile.

Krum recognized the smile, he had seen her give the same smile to Karakoff years before, but he didn’t blame her for her reluctance to be nice to him. He had, after all, treated her with abominable contempt.

“I…” He paused and looked a little helpless, “I vas vovdering if you vould like to have dinner vith me?”

Hermione frowned, “Oh, um, Viktor, I don’t know if that would be such a good idea.”

“Only as friends,” he said hastily. “Dumbledore has most kindly offered me the position here and I do not vish to jeopardize it in any vay. It is just that I don’t know anyone here and I thought that because ve vere once good friends, perhaps ve could reconcile our differences over a friendly dinner.”

He was so formal he could have been reading it off a cue card and Hermione felt herself feel a little sorry for him. She was also aware of whispering from the table behind her. Loud whispers from the Slytherin table about how Viktor Krum must’ve taken a real nose-dive to be asking her out. Her indignation clicked firmly into place, and she turned her head to glare at the pasty-faced girl who had made the remark before offering a far more sincere smile to Krum.

It was ridiculous. She had never worried about comments regarding her looks before. She had never been so incredibly aware of them before either. As a child she was certain that she would grow into some doe like creature like all girls were supposed to, she never expected to be short and slight and freckled. As much as she hated to admit it, she envied Lavender and while she would never trade her brain for beauty, she was fast learning that people like Lavender had a certain kind of intelligence and a worldliness that Hermione would never understand – and that irritated her beyond belief. So when Hermione heard comments from some doughy looking Slytherin girl who would never want for suitors simply by some accident of birth that she had been born a Pureblood Witch, she felt her own esteem sink into the stone floor.

Krum asking her to dinner stroked her ego and she knew it. She tried not to lie to herself on a regular basis, and the fact that she was now saying yes to him was a clear indicator that she desperately wanted her ego stroked. She couldn’t imagine Severus Snape asking her out to dinner. She could imagine him bundling her into a broom cupboard and touching her all over, but he would never take her out in public, never show her off.

“I have been told that there is a nice restaurant in Hogsmeade,” Krum said pleasantly, still keeping to his formal cue card speech, “perhaps we could go there tonight?”

“Tonight?” She chewed her lip frantically. Severus wasn’t due back until tomorrow, and it wasn’t a date or anything, they were going to dinner as friends go to dinner. Hermione had male friends, she knew the concept was possible, she just hoped that Viktor Krum did too. “Um, sure, why not, tonight sounds fine.”

“Vonderful, I shall make arrangements for eight o’clock?”

“Sure,” she laughed nervously, “eight sounds great. Um, I’ll… I’ll meet you there.”

“Excellent.” Krum smiled at her. That was fine, very fine indeed.

~ ~ ~

“Are you awake?”

“Mmm”

Harry smiled. Draco did not sound particularly awake, which wouldn’t be a surprise, he’d had an awful lot to drink last night. For a moment Harry hoped Ron was alright. An evening at the Three Broomsticks had ended with Ron and Draco having their usual mouth off and Draco had hexed him with a Leg Locker curse and gone home – leaving Ron to the mercy of his friends all of whom were far too drunk to do the counter curse. Harry could only hope that the spell had worn off after Draco had gone to sleep.

Harry was settled into the curve of Draco’s arm, the damp morning chill that pervaded the room was cold on their bodies and he pulled the blankets over them. Beneath the heavy covers, Draco moved a little, drawing Harry closer. It was like being in a warm pocket of space reserved exclusively for him.

He lifted his head to inspect Draco who was lying on his back, his eyes still closed.

“Do you want to go to the Quidditch today?”

“No,” Draco replied, not opening his eyes.

Harry yawned and rested his cheek against Draco’s chest, “It’s Gryffindor versus Slytherin,” he coaxed.

“No,” Draco said again, but there was a smile in his voice.

“Why not?”

“Because that would involve getting out of bed, having a shower and getting dressed and then you would be obliged to go and sit in Gryffindor with the Weasel.”

“Well –“ Harry shifted position, draped an arm across Draco’s stomach and stroked the sharp hill of Draco’s hip bone, “you could come and sit in Gryffindor with us.”

“I would rather choke on my own vomit.” Draco smiled, he still hadn’t opened his eyes but he tangled his fingers sleepily in Harry’s messy hair.

It was the first morning that they didn’t need to get out of bed. Harry didn’t need to run back to his room before dawn. There were no classes to be had, no detentions to be served and thanks to the Invisibility Cloak, Harry could walk out into the crowded Common Room at any time and no one would be any the wiser. They could stay in bed all day, cocooned in this shared warmth and they would both be extremely happy.

Except that Harry had promised Hermione that he would go into Hogsmeade with her that afternoon and do some shopping for Christmas. As much as he hated to admit it, he hoped Ron wasn’t around so that Draco could go with them. He felt a guilty pang at that, but wrapped in Draco’s body, it didn’t last long.

Ron still thought Harry had a secret girlfriend and while he seemed a little put out that Harry refused to give him her name, he hadn’t pushed the issue. He seemed preoccupied at the moment anyway. He had mentioned to Harry about going home for Christmas alone and Harry had been incredibly understanding, making Ron grateful and Harry guilty. Since then Harry had felt a distance between them growing and he wasn’t certain who was creating it, him or Ron. Their conversations seemed now to consist of superficial humor. Ron would give Harry a ribbing about the veritable garden of rosebuds he had on the contract and no full roses, Harry would rib Ron about his seeming inability to execute a perfect Wronski Feint despite the fact that Viktor Krum was now on staff to give him instruction. Meanwhile, Ron was living in fear that Angelina would tell George about what they had done, and Harry was wondering if there was any nutritional value in semen as he seemed to have swallowed a lot of it in the past few days – in fact he’d been unable to stop smiling since Wednesday.

Harry lay there for a moment, listening to Draco’s heartbeat and breathing in time with the slow rise and fall of Draco’s chest. He knew that Draco was sinking back into sleep and an irrational part of his mind didn’t want that to happen. He was lying in bed on a Saturday morning with the first (and hopefully last) lover of his life and the last thing he wanted to do was sleep. He felt more alive than he had ever felt, he wanted to laugh and fuck. Hell, he wanted to talk, unlock the secrets of Draco’s mind, talk about nonsense, talk about anything.

“Draco?”

”Mmm?”

“If you had a million Galleons, what would you do with it?”

“Add it to the pile.”

Harry laughed silently. “So you already have a million Galleons?”

“You could say I have quite a few.”

“Quite a few Galleons or quite a few million Galleons?”

“Quite a few million Galleons.” Draco yawned and stretched, realizing that he wasn’t going to get back to sleep any time soon.

“What would you do if you were really poor?”

“I’m not really poor.”

“But what if you were?”

Draco laughed and sighed, “I’d live off you of course.”

Harry grinned. “What makes you think I have any money?”

“I don’t. You’d just have to get a job and keep me in the manner to which I have become accustomed.” He stroked Harry’s hair, “So are you really poor then?” he asked with more than a little interest.

“Would you hate me if I was?”

Draco considered this. “No,” he said after a time, “I just like to know who my dependents are.”

Harry began to laugh out loud now. “Dependents?” He kissed the smooth flesh of Draco’s chest and flicked his tongue over a pink nipple. Draco finally opened his eyes and stared back at Harry who was watching him intently. “I’m not really poor,” Harry said quietly.

“Are you rich?”

“Let’s just say I am comfortably well off.”

“My what a gentleman. You should start dressing like you’re ‘comfortably well off’.” Draco yawned again. “So, did you inherit your fortune?”

Harry pushed his way up the bed, found Draco’s mouth and kissed him deeply. He loved this, he loved the fact that he could just kiss Draco and have no fear that he would be rejected. He loved the fact that Draco’s tongue automatically sort passage into his mouth and that Draco’s hands gently caressed him from the top of his thigh, over his butt and all the way up his back in long languid strokes.

“I inherited money from my parents,” Harry said, “when my Godfather died he left me his house in London and his vault at Gringotts.”

It seemed an odd conversation. For a moment Harry felt as though he was showing off, flaunting his wealth, proving that he didn’t need Draco and the Malfoy millions to take care of him. Perhaps proving that he could take care of Draco if he had to. It was a moot point. Draco Malfoy would never want for a Sickle, ever.

“I’ve been told that your Godfather was Sirius Black.”

“Yeah, he was.”

“I think he was my mother’s cousin. I remember Aunt Bellatrix saying something about it.”

Harry tensed. Aunt Bellatrix had killed her cousin and laughed like a wailing banshee when she did it. Draco felt Harry tense and sighed. A feeling of dismay settled in his gut.

”I’m sorry,” Draco said quietly. “I will attempt not to mention any member of my family while we are in bed.”

"It’s not that,” Harry closed his eyes and frowned, as though trying to remove a memory from his head, “Bellatrix Lestrang…”

“Killed Sirius Black.” This wasn’t looking good, Draco rolled his eyes, “I know, I remember that summer pretty well.”

“How do you know she killed him? Who told you?”

Draco closed his eyes and wished that he hadn’t opened them. This really wasn’t going to end well. He wondered for a moment why it always came down to this sort of shit and he decided that the answer was easy; the difference between them was too great, the conflict was too old and deep. He knew there was no point lying to Harry and he did not want to lie. “She told me,” he said.

“Bellatrix Lestrange told you that she killed Sirius?”

“Well, she told my mother, I was there when she told her.”

Harry rolled away from Draco and lay on his back beside him, staring at the ceiling, blinking.

Draco sat up, so much for a Saturday morning sleep in, he was wide awake now, his low grade wine hangover was making his head ache and he wasn’t in the mood to have this conversation right now. “Look, maybe you should go, we can talk about this later.”

”You want me to leave?” Harry sounded incredulous and Draco instantly regretted suggesting it.

He should have said no, that he wanted Harry to stay, instead he heard himself saying; “I just don’t want to spend the next hour trying to either justify my families choices, or lie outright and say “Oh yes Harry, they were bad people and they all deserved to die a slow and painful death.” You knew who I was when you got into bed, so don’t get that ‘oh so shocked and hurt’ look on your face. I’m tired, I’m hungover and I just want to get some sleep. So shut the fuck up or leave.”

Harry sat up and swung his legs out of the bed.

Shit.

Draco pressed his knuckles into his eye sockets for a second and then thumped his fists back down onto the bed. Harry was picking his clothes up off the floor and Draco couldn’t help but indulge himself for a moment, watching the way the muscles moved in Harry’s legs and arms, the way his spine rippled with each twist of movement. Silently Draco climbed out of the bed and went to Harry, embracing him from behind.

“Don’t go,” he whispered gently.

“You told me to leave,” Harry said angrily.

“Come back to bed.”

“You told me to shut the fuck up or leave.”

“You can talk as much as you want,” he kissed Harry’s perfect shoulder, “come back to bed.”

Harry really couldn’t concentrate when Draco was doing that. He could feel Draco’s body pressed against him from behind, his palms flat against Harry’s chest and belly.

“Did you like her?” Harry asked quietly, trying to ignore the fact that his cock was now hard and begging for attention that Draco would no doubt be happy to give – just so long as they dropped their current topic of conversation.

“Who?”

“Bellatrix Lestrange?”

Oh Good God. “Does it matter?” Draco felt his irritation rise up a notch. He dropped his arms and found his bathrobe.

“Yes it matters,” Harry began pulling his robes on, “she was a fucking evil bitch, she killed him and she laughed when she did it and when I tried to hurt her she….” He stopped. He had screamed “Crucio” at her, knocked her down even, but she’d got back up and taught him a valuable lesson. Righteous anger wasn’t enough, you had to want to hurt someone, you had to enjoy hurting people, that was the nature of the Unforgivables.

Draco watched the war of emotions in Harry’s eyes. He then wrapped his robe tightly around himself and sat on the edge of the bed. “I didn’t really know her,” he said, resigned to the fact that they were going to have this out. “She was in Azkaban for most of my life and when I met her, that summer, my Father was in there and I wasn’t thinking too kindly of you.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “From what I know of her, she was my mother's younger sister, my Father could have married her but chose my mother instead. I think they had some kind of affair, but I can’t be sure. She helped him escape from Azkaban, but I don’t think he liked her very much. She was higher up with the Dark Lord than he was and it pissed him off. She had a really horrible, high-pitched laugh, and she screamed a lot instead of speaking. As to whether I liked her or not, I don’t know, I didn’t know her well enough to form an opinion.” He looked Harry in the eye, “I know that’s not the answer that you want to hear, but it’s the only one I have.”

Harry rounded on him, surprising him with his sudden vehemence. “I don’t get you,” Harry cried, “you seem like this really intelligent person yet you can’t see what is patently obvious. Why can’t you just admit that they were bad people? Why can’t you just admit that they were wrong?”

“Because there are two sides to every battle,” Draco replied hotly, “and to suggest that someone is a one dimensional villain simply because they aren’t on your side is ludicrous.”

“Who are you defending?” Harry demanded, “Bellatrix Lestrange or your Father?”

“Leave my Father out of this.”

“I can’t leave him out of this, because everything with you comes back to him. If you would just take off your rose colored glasses for five minutes you might be able to see him for what he was!”

“Oh really?” Draco drawled, “And what was he?”

“He was a fucking evil son of a bitch who liked hurting and killing people!”

“SO DID YOU!” Draco yelled suddenly, “You justify it by saying they were bad people so they deserved it, but you had to enjoy it or you couldn’t have done it. I remember you, I saw you, standing there in the middle of my fucking courtyard covered from head to toe in blood and grinning like a fucking madman, so don’t you ever accuse me of wearing rose colored glasses when you’re as blind as the rest of us. Just look at your friend Moody and tell me how right and good he is…”

“WHAT DOES MOODY HAVE TO DO WITH THIS?”

“HE HAS PLENTY TO DO WITH IT!”

“Moody didn’t kill people for fun, I didn’t kill people for fun. We didn’t kill Muggles who had no chance of defending themselves. Don’t you try and bring Moody into this when his only crime was to make sure that scum like Voldemort didn’t win and that his supporters got what was coming to them.”

“So torturing Death Eaters families is alright in your books then is it? A conviction at any cost?”

”What the fuck are you on about? Moody didn’t….”

“Get out,” Draco hissed, “just get out of here.” He began shoving Harry’s clothes at him, pushing him roughly towards the door. “Go back to the Weasel and your pitiful little life and leave me out of it.” He shoved Harry out into the corridor and unceremoniously dumped the invisibility cloak over his head before slamming the door in his face.

Harry stood for a moment staring at the door making a mental note to never bring up any conversation that would lead to Draco’s family ever again. Which of course ruled out all conversation.

One thing rang true, Harry did know who Draco was when he got into bed. There was no point trying to romanticize Draco Malfoy. He had never been a lonely, misunderstood kid who had been beaten and bullied into being a nasty, evil little prick. No, Draco Malfoy was the product of an ancient family line of Dark Wizards who spoiled him rotten – literally. Draco liked his family, he was proud of his heritage; he’d defend it to the death.

Even if that heritage was an evil family born of darkness.

Harry sighed, adjusted the Invisibility Cloak and went back to his own room.

~ ~ ~

Curator Semeuse had never had cause to regret the position of the Museum of Magical Arts and Antiquities until the morning that saw the opening of the Dark Magic and Death Eaters Exhibition. From the window of his office he could look down into the street below and the sight he beheld both thrilled and terrified him.

A multitude of Wizards and Witches had begun to assemble in the street and mill about the Muggle market stalls exclaiming at how quaint some of the wares were and laughing outright at others. Magical people would never understand why someone would want buy a statuette that would not move, a mirror that could not talk or a photograph that could not wave back at you. A few were purchasing football merchandise, liking the colors immensely but having no idea who Manchester United was, only that they liked the red, or that just because you like blue and white does not justify the purchase of a Queens Park Rangers scarf.

Most of the Muggles decided that some strange convention was taking place in Soho that day and so long as they were making sales they didn’t really care about the odd assortment of men and women dressed in the strangest looking clothes they had ever seen. Some of Witches and Wizards assembled had made a small attempt at dressing in Muggle clothes, most hadn’t even bothered, knowing that they were about to meet en-mass, they refused to be shown up by anyone else and had worn some of their finest robes. From his window high above Semeuse smiled, they really couldn’t help showing off when they all got together.

How everyone was going to get into the building un-noticed was going to be an issue. Muggles were notorious for not noticing what was right under their noses, but having a thousand or so people disappear into a wall might cause alarm bells to ring. As if to answer his silent question, he noticed a number of Ministry Officials moving through the crowd in pin striped suits, zapping the occasional Muggle with a memory charm if a careless Witch or Wizard tried to pay with a Galleon instead of a pound, or used a charm to draw something to them for a closer look.

Semeuse mentally checked that everything was ready. Lucius had been bathed, his hair dried and brushed, he had been dressed in a fresh shift that was clean and white and modest. There had been the need to change the case at the last minute after Semeuse had discovered a problem with the humidity. It seemed Lucius breathed at a higher rate than the others and the ventilation was inadequate. To the Curators dismay, his Angels hair had taken to frizzing in the most ungainly fashion because of the damp and that simply wouldn’t do. A new case had been constructed and Lucius had been placed in it only yesterday and this morning, at last check, he was looking his usual perfect self.

Except he simply wouldn’t sit up straight, but there was little Semeuse could do about that without wiring him and that was something he refused to do. No, he would be fine, he looked beautiful, wonderful, perfect. He had to.

Semeuse left the window and headed to the Sais Room to check just one last time. 

Lucius was indeed looking perfect, if a little slumped in the corner of the case. His hair had grown longer, it never seemed to stop or slow and at the moment it was curling into tendrils that were lighter than gold and not yet silver and filling the bottom of the case. Semeuse knew he should cut it, but he could not bring himself to cut something that looked as though it had been spun by the dawn.

He opened the case and twisted a lock of hair around his fingers. Then, abandoning all sense of his timetable, he pulled Lucius bodily from the case, enjoying the weight of him, refusing to use a charm to lift him. The public could wait; he needed this moment.

He laid the Angel on the floor and removed the shift. It was a good one, Egyptian cotton and it wouldn’t do to get it dirty now. Sitting back he took in the sight of the body, naked and almost painfully thin, long hair spread around his head like a corona, his clear eyes stared unblinking back at Semeuse. He could have been dead. Except that he wasn’t. He was very much alive.

“We have met before,” Semeuse smiled, “I hadn’t remembered before, it was a long time ago. Your father brought you here, he was going to donate some money to the museum and you were playing with the sacred bundles in The Eretria Room, do you remember? You broke one and I was so angry I demanded that your father replace it, and he beat you then and there. Do you remember that Lucius? You were a very naughty little boy.” He traced the line of his Angels cheek and pushed his thumb between the pale lips to stroke the soft pink tongue inside.

Some small part of him longed for a bed, but there would be time for that later, when everyone had gone home he would take Lucius to his bed, for now the floor would have to do.

He pushed Lucius’ legs back against his pale chest, not bothering with the task of preparing Lucius, there simply wasn’t time, and he enjoyed the friction against his cock. Semeuse positioned himself against Lucius' entrance and pushed his hips forward. He felt the strong ring of muscle grip around the head of his cock and he waited impatiently for the muscles to become used to the sensation and relax, allowing him to push deeper into Lucius’ body.

The feel of Lucius's inner muscles clenching and the heat around his cock was magnificent, as it always was and he gave into animalistic fucking, knowing there was no time to truly savor the feel of his lover, he had to get this over with, there was time later for gentleness. Then came the first slick of blood and he cursed silently. Lucius always bled, he was prone to do so and with the blood came another familiar feeling and one that made the bleeding worthwhile. The odd sensation and feeling of hands pushing him away, light and ineffectual, like breaths of air. He could feel them, pushing desperately at his body, trying to push him away. He had experienced this before and had come to the conclusion that it was some kind of residual magic left inside Lucius, a simple defense that would never win but still tried to do so. It didn’t surprise Semeuse. Lucius had been a powerful Wizard, and it made sense that some kind of primitive instinctive magic might be left in his body. The resistance was also quite delicious. Not effectual enough to stop him, instead the feeling was almost erotic, as though Lucius was an active, albeit unwilling participant. The sensation hastened his orgasm along and he came deep inside Lucius and fell onto the warm body, relishing the feeling of feather light fingers still trying to push him away.

He cast a quick charm to clean them both up and hoped that Lucius would not bleed a great deal. He quickly pulled the shift back over his head and hauled him back into the case. Semeuse propped him up in the corner of the case and pulled the shift down over his legs. He had no desire to show the public more than was absolutely necessary; some things were his and his alone to enjoy. He then began to tend the long tendrils of hair that were now disheveled and decidedly erotic. It was tempting to leave him that way, but he knew he couldn’t. He brushed it straight, like a curtain of light and closed the door to the case, locking Lucius in and the world out.

The Dark Magic and Death Eater Exhibition was ready to open.

~ ~ ~

“Professor Snape, you cannot remove those books from the library.”

Snape glared at Madam Pince and continued on his way out the door.

“Professor, I will have to inform Dumbledore if you do not respect my authority in the library.”

He turned, the armful of books he was carrying was getting remarkably heavy and he really wanted to get them downstairs. “Madam Pince, I believe that you should spend more of your time ensuring that the students behave themselves and less sticking your nose in to my affairs. Professor Dumbledore has no qualms with my removing these books from the library, and I shall return them promptly.” He pushed past her, leaving her standing there infuriated.

Oddly enough, Pince was one of the few people at Hogwarts that he could tolerate with equanimity, but today he just couldn’t be bothered with niceties. He had come back early to ensure that he got every book on Angelic Magic that the library had to offer before any know it all student like Granger took it upon themselves and decided they wanted to learn the intricacies of the art. Madam Pince was no doubt more concerned that he had taken half the books from the Restricted Section out and they were currently sailing down the stairs to the dungeons. He was gambling on her not mentioning this to Dumbledore because if she did he would be forced to explain and what did he say then?

“Oh sorry Albus, you see, while I was at the Museum I got this odd feeling that Lucius wasn’t quite gone and when I went through his things all pointers seemed to indicate that he had conjured up an Angel and stolen its’ wings in order to make a potion to save his soul.”

It sounded stupid even to his ears. He also doubted that Dumbledore would allow him to do anything about it. As revolted about the punishment as Albus was, Dumbledore wasn’t about to allow anyone to try and set Lucius Malfoy free and Snape wasn’t about to be the one responsible for setting him free.

If he could be freed.

If Snape wasn’t going mad and imagining all of this.

The one benefit that he had derived from having this to concentrate on was that he had managed to push all thoughts of the rather delectable Miss Granger from his head for a few days. Now that he was back it was harder. He could detect her scent in his office and decided it was time to have the House Elves disinfect the place.

He was dreading Monday. He figured he could avoid her all weekend, but on Monday he was going to have to teach a class with her in it and all attempts at keeping his hands off her had thus far failed miserably. Of course, he had other things to think about now, and that was very fortunate indeed. She was also very young, and the young had marvelous powers of recuperation. As far as he knew she could have a new crush to focus on. It was only when one grew older that absence made the heart grow fonder.

Well that wasn’t entirely true, he had pined after one person for years from the time of his youth, but he wasn’t an ordinary child.

Neither is she.

Yes, but I was completely fucked in the head.

Point taken.

He left the library and headed down the stairs towards his private chambers. This was not a topic to study in his office, and she might come to his office. He didn’t want her to know he was back. Of course, if that were true he wouldn’t be in the Library in the first place, it was the place she considered a second home and he knew it. He would also be taking the back stairs instead of the main stairs that all of the students use.

These are more direct.

Liar.

It didn’t matter any way. She hadn’t been there. He ignored the feeling that seemed very much like disappointment and kept going. He had more important things to think about right now.

~ ~ ~

Remus Lupin had resolved not to attend the Death Eater Exhibition. He had spent months denouncing it. He had actively campaigned to have it scraped – as a Werewolf it was hard for him to get the Ministry to take him seriously, but he had campaigned nonetheless. He had reasoned that these people had families who still had to be considered, they did not want their relatives dragged all over the country being observed and heckled by the masses. It had done no good at all. The Exhibition opened, and for some reason – he would only ever be able to put it down to morbid curiosity – Remus found himself paying his five Galleons and going inside.

He had to admit that the Dark Arts paraphernalia was fascinating, although he wondered where it was collected from and if it was even legal. He would hate for such a collection to fall into the wrong hands. He also noticed that the display cases were warded very heavily, people could look but they certainly could not touch. Aurors dotted around the entrance to the Death Eaters room were eyeing everyone with suspicion. They needn’t have worried, most of the people coming out of the darkened display room appeared pale and un-nerved, Remus had even heard a couple of people express the sentiment, “you almost feel sorry for them.” Something he never imagined he would ever hear said about a Death Eater.

He edged closer to the doorway, letting it loom up large before giving up all pretense and plunging into the darkness. He regretted it immediately. His first instinct was to turn and flee, but he didn’t. He was unsure of what to expect, perhaps a something like a Muggle waxworks, or a house of horrors, but this was nothing like anything he’d seen or heard of before. The room was dark with twelve glass cases on black pedestals. Each of the glass cases was filled with a white light that made the case and its contents appear to be suspended in space. Try as he might Remus' eyes would not adjust to the dark and the only way he could see individual faces in the crowd was as people were milling around the light cast from within the cases.

The Death Eaters appeared to be stiff somehow. Sitting in their cases as though petrified. As Remus approached to look more closely into their vacant eyes he realized that they had been wired, in much the same way that a Muggle would wire a flower. The wire had been passed through limbs, and he could see neat holes drilled into flesh at the wrists and any visible joints. The fine wires held hands to knees, backs straight and faces forward.

He wondered if they could feel pain, he hoped not.

“Gods that’s awful,” a shocked voice exclaimed next to him.

He nodded dumbly to the person beside him.

“I guess they deserve it though,” the voice stated indecisively.

He nodded again, perhaps they did. But he really couldn’t bring himself to say that. By doing this the Ministry was proving itself to be as bad as the Death Eaters, and he was just as guilty for paying to gawk at them.

“Professor Lupin?”

It had been a long time since anyone called him that. He looked closer at the man next to him and in the dim glow of the case he made out Ron Weasley. “Hello Ron,” he said quietly.

“I didn’t think you were coming,” Ron said staring at the case.

“I wasn’t. I didn’t think any of your family would come.”

“Well, I only came to see Malfoy, but the crowd around him is too deep. I’m just killing time till I can get a good view of him.”

Remus frowned. “Why would you come all the way from school just to see Lucius Malfoy?” he asked, a little disturbed. He knew just how much the Weasley’s hated the entire Malfoy clan, but Arthur and Molly had been against this too. It seemed odd that Ron was here.

“I just want to see him. After what he did to Charlie, I just want to know he’s getting what he deserves.”

“They never proved it was him,” Remus said gently. Not that it mattered, Ron had believed it was Malfoy who had killed his brother from the moment it happened. The Death Eater who killed him was wearing a mask and a hood, but he flew like Malfoy and he carried a black staff, just as Malfoy had.

“It was him,” Ron said bitterly.

The crowd around Malfoy’s case was thinning and they took the opportunity of making their way to it before others had the chance.

Lucius Malfoy was not wired like the others and somehow that made it worse. The others did not look quite human or alive; they were far too stiff, like dolls arranged in boxes. Malfoy on the other hand was slumped in the corner of his case, his knees drawn up and the white shift he was wearing covered him entirely. His hair was so incredibly long that it trailed across the floor of the case and his face was pale and starting to look gaunt. His pink-rimmed eyes looked haunted, as though he had cried recently and did not resemble the dead things of the other exhibits, they were clear and a little glassy, as though he could cry. He looked as though he were cowering in the corner of the case, although it was impossible for him to be doing so. No, the Curator had put him in there like that, so that he looked for all the world like some kind of unearthly innocent, someone that shouldn’t be here. He looked incredibly young despite his forty-five years.

“How could he look like that?” Ron asked after a time. “How could he look like he’s the one that has had all the wrongs in the world done to him. He’s the most evil of the whole fucking bunch, and he looks like that.”

Remus did not have an answer to that. He had seen Lucius Malfoy on countless occasions and whilst no one would ever dispute that he was a good-looking man, he had never looked like this. Even as a thin stream of drool escaped his mouth and slid down his chin, he still looked innocent, perhaps even more so. Could it be that once the sneer and the aristocratic demeanor was stripped away, he could look like this? It had to be. It didn’t seem fair.

“He didn’t look like that before,” Ron insisted, but then he paused and thought of Draco. Ferret. He had his moments, when no one was watching, when he was reading or peaceful or falling asleep in a chair, he had moments when he looked that young and that innocent. “He didn’t look like that in battle,” Ron finished lamely.

“I know, but everyone looks fearsome in battle.”

They both heard the approach of the Curator and shuffled aside as he busied himself checking that all was well with the case, that no one had tried to harm his Angel in any way. Ron and Remus watched him go about his tasks and when he was finished he smiled pleasantly at them.

“I trust you are enjoying the exhibition,” he said in a genial manner.

“I don’t think ‘enjoying’ is the word,” Remus replied, “it has been – interesting.”

Semeuse cleared his throat and said nothing.

“We were just commenting that Malfoy here looks very…” Remus searched for a word, “um, good.”

“Ah yes, a rare beauty,” the Curator purred. Remus and Ron both stared at him, searching for any reason at all why someone would have such a sentiment about Lucius Malfoy. The Curator looked at the man in the glass box with a look of undeniable affection that made Remus shiver. “Did you know him?”

“You could say that,” Ron’s retorted. “I tried to kill him once but the bastard wouldn’t die.”

The Curators hand balled into a fist in his robes. “Well, I am glad you didn’t, he is the jewel of the exhibition, one of a kind.”

Ron snorted loudly. The Curator was obviously a few Sickles short of a Galleon. “Hardly one of a kind, not while he’s got Ferret running around loose.”

The Curator was well and truly confused at the red head, he frowned, “A Ferret?” he asked, unsure he wanted to hear the answer.

“He means Draco,” Remus replied, nudging Ron. “Draco Malfoy is Lucius Malfoy’s son.”

Semeuse smiled tightly, the son. The damn son who was a troublesome boy who would probably not sell the Angel to him. “Ah yes, the boy at Hogwarts. You know him then.”

“Yeah, fucking little wanker.”

“Ron!” Remus smiled, “Yes, we know him. I taught him in his third year Defense classes. It was a while ago now.”

Semeuse frowned again. A while ago? But the boy was only a child; it can’t have been that long ago. “I was given to understand that Mr. Malfoy’s son was a child at school.”

“A child!” Ron laughed nastily. “He’s the same age as me! Actually, I think he’s a few months older.”

Semeuse felt his eyes widen. Not a child. A man. He felt his mouth start to salivate in anticipation; the Angels son was a man. “Tell me, do they look anything alike?”

“Spitting image,” said Remus.

“Chip off the old fucking block,” said Ron.

A son, a man and he looked just like him. Direct bloodline. An old bloodline at that. Two of a kind. The Curators macabre collectors mind began to reel.  A matching set.

And he’s at Hogwarts.

~ ~ ~

“You’re back.”

Snape turned and smiled at the form of Minerva McGonagall leaning against his doorframe. “I am,” he said simply.

Minerva hobbled into the room and with some dismay Snape noticed that she was leaning heavily on her cane. She looked a little pale.

“Are you alright?” he asked quietly, knowing that she would say yes regardless of how she truly felt.

“Of course I am, my legs just feel a little stiff today, that’s all.” She sat down gratefully into one of the wing-backed chairs by the empty fireplace. Snape quickly set a fire in the grate and cast a warming charm around the room.

“I’ll make you some Osteofacilite Serum. Have you been to see Poppy?”

“I’m fine.”

“Did you go to the Quidditch today?”

“No, why?”

“Then you’re not fine.” He set a cauldron on the fire and disappeared for a few minutes to his office, leaving Minerva by the fire to contemplate his rather sparse chambers and enjoy the steam rising from the cauldron.

When Snape returned he started throwing things into the pot, some of which she really didn’t like the look of. Things like flowers she could handle, it was when he was throwing ingredients that looked suspiciously like animal bladders into the cauldron that she really didn’t care to know what went in to her medicines.

“You know what we haven’t done in a long time?” she asked, watching him work and admiring his hands – something she considered his best feature.

“What?”

“We haven’t been to dinner for months. Let’s go to Ushers tonight, it’ll be fun.”

“I was really hoping to get some work done tonight Minerva, that’s why I came back early.”

“Are you going to refuse a feeble old girl like me? I could be at deaths door.”

Snape felt his stomach flip. “I highly doubt you are at deaths door Minerva, you probably just need to keep taking your medicine,” he said, forcing a derisive tone to his voice to mask the terror he felt when she mentioned dying.

“It tastes revolting.”

“It’s good for you.”

She sighed and smiled at him, “Come here”

“Why?”

“Just come here.”

“Why?”

“I want you to hug me.”

He tensed and frowned, “Have you been drinking?”

“Do you have to ask so many questions? I am feeling melancholy, Dumbledore is at the Ministry, and you are the only one I want a hug from other than him. Is that a good enough reason?”

He glared at her, knowing full well that he really didn’t want to hug her. Not because he didn’t like Minerva, he did, he just wasn’t a particularly affectionate person. She was looking at him expectantly, and he decided he was simply going to have to do it. He bent down and awkwardly enfolded her in long arms. He was surprised by just how tightly she returned the hug, and despite the fact that he was as tense as a board, he could see why people did this. The hug was extremely warm, almost motherly – not that his own mother had put much stock in hugging him. It became evident that she was crying, and he pulled away and frowned again, “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

“It’s nothing,” she said, wiping her eyes with a scrap of a silk handkerchief, “I’m being stupid.”

What was stupid was the utter impracticality of her tiny handkerchief. He stared at her questioningly, raising an eyebrow and silently prompting her to continue.

“I went to the Death Eater Exhibition.”  She blew her nose, “And I know I shouldn’t have gone but I did and it was awful and all I could think about was that if you hadn’t come over to our side when you did it could have been you in one of those bloody cases.”

Ah, not good. “Well,” he said slowly, trying to be gentle when all logic told him that he was standing here so why all the fuss. “I did come over to your side, so it is pointless speculating about it.”

“I told you I was being stupid.”

He rolled his eyes and replied as he knew he should; “you’re not being stupid.”

She looked at him with watery eyes and offered him a smile and suddenly he felt very grateful that he had her as a friend. Before he knew what he was doing he hugged her again, deciding that he must be going soft in his old age.

“Have dinner with me,” she said into his chest and sniffled.

Like he could turn her down now, “You are an evil woman, you know that?”

”I know. Have dinner with me.”

“Alright.” He sighed, annoyed at himself for giving in just because she had shed a few paltry tears. “What time?”

“We should look at getting there for 7:30 pm. I’ve already made the reservation.” She sat back from him and dried her eyes. “Now, how long is this stuff going to take you to make?”

~ ~ ~

Hermione should never have taken both Harry and Lavender into Hogsmeade with her. What started out as a peaceful trip to do some Christmas shopping had turned into Hermione buying robes for her date she didn’t want to go on tonight with Viktor Krum.

So far, Lavender had vetoed everything Hermione had tried on and Harry was busy laughing his arse off at an article about the perfume zodiac in Witch Weekly.

“What do you think of this one?”

They both stared and grimaced in unison.

“You look like my Aunt Marge going to a wake,” Harry said, his lip was curling in disgust.

“What’s wrong with it?” Hermione stared at her reflection. It wasn’t that bad!

“Nothing,” Lavender said with disgust, “if you’re thinking of taking the veil.”

“Well I don’t want to encourage him!”

“Yeah, but you don’t want to look like a man repellent either!”

Hermione stamped her foot in frustration. She had purposely chosen something modest, high necked and long sleeves. Lavender had spent time studying the model clothing and pattern books, along with the samples of fabrics in varying shades and was trying to influence her to choose something more feminine.

“Look, just because you have a thing for Snape, it doesn’t mean you have to dress like him,” Lavender pointed out and shoved a set of robes in Forest Green Silk over Hermione’s arm.

“She knows?” Harry asked, “Lavender knows about Snape?”

“Well obviously.” Hermione pulled the curtain across in the change room.

“You mean I have kept my mouth shut for nothing?”

“What do you want to say?” Hermione called, not really wanting to hear Harry’s opinion on this.

“OK, tell me again why you are going out tonight with Krum if you kind of have something going with our ‘esteemed’ Potions Master?”

“It isn’t a date Harry.”

”Then what is it?”

“He hasn’t got any friends. He just wanted someone to take to dinner.”

Harry and Lavender exchanged looks.

“Honey,” Lavender said concerned, “a man doesn’t take you to the most expensive restaurant in Hogsmeade to be your friend. He takes you to the pub to be your friend.”

Hermione emerged from the change room in the green silk and surveyed her reflection. It really was a beautiful set of robes. Still high-necked, still modest, but with a more pronounced waist and full sleeves.

“I like this one,” Hermione smiled at her reflection, “I really like this one.”

“Yeah, it’s beautiful,” Harry said, “for going on a date with Krum. Looks very expensive, he should really think you have no interest in him at all.”

“Now Harry,” Lavender pointed out, “there’s no reason for Hermione to look like a Hag just because she isn’t interested in the guy.”

“Alright then, answer me this, are you going to tell Snape about your ‘friendly’ dinner?”

Hermione chewed her lip, “Well no, I wasn’t planning on it.”

“Why not, if it’s just a ‘friendly’ dinner?”

“He might not understand.”

“Exactly.”

She rounded on Harry, “You hate Professor Snape…Severus, why are you suddenly carrying on like I’m betraying your best friend or something?”

“I’m not. I am just pointing out that if you like Snape you shouldn’t go out with Krum because Snape will probably find out, and you’ll end up all depressed and miserable when he freaks out about it.” Harry folded his arms, “although I have to add that Krum is probably a better catch than Snape, I mean, it’s Snape… ewww.”

“Harry?”

“Yes Lav?”

“Are you a fag?”

“WHAT!?”

“Well, only fags say “ewww””

“Oh fuck off!”

“Guys?”

They both turned back to Hermione who was staring at them, hand on hips.

“Can we just get these robes and get out of here. Lavender has to do my hair and make up yet.”

Harry and Lavender exchanged looks again. So much for this not being a date.

~ ~ ~

Ushers in Hogsmeade had two factors that made it such a popular eatery. The first was that the menus were charmed to provide the diner with a range of dishes that they were guaranteed to like. The second was that the restaurant had adopted a Muggle style of ordering and being served by waiters, something that most Witches and Wizards found to be novel and quaint.

While Minerva perused her menu she took the opportunity to survey her dinner companion. It had taken a long time for them to trust each other. She remembered him as a child, mercilessly teased by James Potter and Sirius Black; he had been unpopular and as dark as the shadows of the Forest. Darker than he was now. Not many would ever believe that, only those who had known him then could understand just how dark he had been. That he had become a Death Eater hadn’t surprised her. It hadn’t concerned her either. He was simply another enemy for the Order to face and at the time she had other worries to dwell on.

He had arrived at the castle one night, still dripping in darkness but with a look of desperation written across his features that had caused Dumbledore to take him in. His Master, the Dark Lord Voldemort, had turned his eye on James and Lily Potter and their child Harry, convinced that the rumors of a prophecy concerning the birth of a child that would be his downfall were true. Voldemort sought to kill the family, and Lily had to be protected, at all costs.

Lily Potter was the last person Minerva could remember Severus Snape ever loving, which was a shame because Lily had thought very little of him. Indeed, Minerva thought the very idea a travesty, Lily Potter and the reptilian Snape. The mans head must’ve been in the clouds. Minerva had begged Dumbledore not to take him in, not to trust him. He had been a rotten child, and he was a rotten man. One only had to look at where his path had taken him.

“Yes,” Albus had said quietly, “the path to our door.”

Later, after the Potters were dead, Voldemort gone and Harry was safely with his Aunt and Uncle, Albus had brought him to the school to teach. She would never understand that decision. He was a sour man who despised children. He was also Dumbledore’s pet project. Minerva had done what every other member of staff had done. She avoided him, leaving him to his dungeons. Aside from Dumbledore, she doubted that anyone said two friendly words to him for five years. Then one night, at Dumbledore’s request, he had turned up at the Three Broomsticks for drinks with the staff. Minerva had turned angrily on Albus, demanding to know why he had brought the dour Potions Master to the table when he knew the man wasn’t welcome.

Albus had looked at her with sadness in his eyes and said, “He can hear you, Minerva, he’s not deaf.”

She had felt a shame that she had never felt before in the entire of her life and from that moment on she had made it her business to get to know him. It had taken another five years to actually develop a friendship. Now, some 13 years after that fateful night at the pub, and she counted him as one of her greatest friends.

The truth was that Minerva McGonagall adored Severus Snape. If he wasn’t a miserable, nasty bastard he just wouldn’t be the same. It pained her that others couldn’t appreciate him on the same level as she did. Of course, with a temperament that was naturally bad and a tendency to be just plain mean to everyone that he met, it did rule out a good many people actually wanting to get to know him, but Minerva still held out hope that some girl would come along and look under the surface to discover the wealth that was hidden there.

She was well aware that it may be a bit of a pipe dream.

“What are you eating?” Snape asked, sweeping his eye over his own menu and wondering what was on hers.

“I was thinking of the king tiger prawns in garlic.”

“I do not envy Dumbledore tonight.”

She laughed, “You never envy Dumbledore. He might come later, by the way, when he gets back from his meeting with Fudge.”

At the mention of the Minister, they both rolled their eyes and drank down a glass of wine.

Minerva signaled a waiter, “What are you having?”

He frowned, unlike most of his kind he hated having too much of a selection to choose from on his menu, he could never decide. In the end he opted for the duck in red wine jus and it went well with the wine he was drinking. He decided that Lucius would be proud; Snape finally knew what wine went with what food.

She decided against asking him about London and the Museum. She had been there herself already, and she felt little more than horror and shame after viewing the Ministries catatonic prizes. The Malfoy’s were Snape’s friends, she couldn’t imagine how it would have made him feel to collect the woman’s body, maybe even see Lucius Malfoy. She shuddered at her own recollection of that experience.

Instead, she subjected him to twenty minutes of complaining about Dumbledore, something she knew would soften him up for the big question she was almost bursting to ask.

“So,” Minerva smiled cheerfully, “what about my party then?”

Snape could have banged his head on the table, as he should have known that this was coming. There had been hardly a moment in the last two months when she hadn’t made some hint about it. “Your party?”

“Come on Severus,” He voice had taken on a peculiar whining quality that he now recognized as her ‘do this and he will say yes to shut me up’ voice. “It has been years since anyone had a party and we should be celebrating, the war is over, we won, we can at least see in the new year with some cheer!”

“I agree,” he said, sipping his wine and appreciating the flavor, “but why in my house?”

“You know why. It’s big, it has a ballroom and it isn’t Hogwarts.”

“You must know other people with ballrooms.”

“Not like yours!” Minerva had first set eyes on the Fenn after a battle at Malfoy Manor that had all but demolished the left wing of the Manor house and resulted in Narcissa’s capture. He had allowed the Order to use the Fenn as a makeshift hospital and while the ballroom was full of bodies and invalids, Minerva had been walking around staring up at the ceiling and imagining party lights.

“No one would come,” he grumbled, “I have hardly made it the practice of my life to go about garnering friends.”

“It’s my party,” she insisted, “people would come for me.”

“To my house.”

“I will repair anything that’s damaged.”

He raised an eyebrow, “Damage?”

“There won’t be any,” she said quickly and laughed. “Please, come on Severus, it will be fun, I promise.”

”Alright,” he sighed quietly. He was going to give in anyway, there was no use prolonging the inevitable.

“And I swear to you,” Minerva continued, oblivious to the fact he had just agreed to it, “if you let me have the party I will be forever in your debt, and I can get you a date for it too, I’ll…” She stopped and stared hard at him, “Did you just say yes?”

“Yes, you can have your party.”

“Oh my gods, I love you.” She clapped her hands together, not bothering to even attempt to conceal her joy. For a brief moment he could see what she must’ve been like as a girl. “You will love it, I promise.”

“I seriously doubt it, you will have fun however, and that is the main point.”

She fixed him with a mischievous grin, “I’ll set you up with a nice girl.”

Snape rolled his eyes dramatically; he should have known this was coming too. All of their conversations went this way. He had no idea who this mysterious ‘girl’ was that Minerva was constantly wanting to set him up with or why she had no dates of her own, but he really did not want to meet her. In eight years he had never once said yes, he was hardly going to start now.

“I don’t need you to set me up with a girl,” he said silkily.

“She is very nice,’ Minerva smiled, “you’ll like her.”

“I am not interested.”

“Severus!” she pouted.

“Minerva, “ he mimicked her tone perfectly, then sat back from the table and folded his arms defensively across his chest. “I am capable of finding my own romantic partners.”

“Since when?” She snorted with derision, “In the entire time I have known you I have never seen evidence of so much as one girl. I’m beginning to think you’re not interested in them.”

“I’m interested in women,” he said indignantly.

“Oh really? Any ‘special friends’ I should know about?” She meant it sarcastically but was amazed and horrified as a blush crept across his features. Her mouth fell open in shock. “Oh my Gods,” she said slowly, “you’ve met someone.”

“I…” he tried to tame the blush, “don’t be ridiculous, I…”

All conversation stopped, for a moment it seemed to Snape that the world stopped turning, if just for that brief moment, and his mouth was frozen open, mid speech. Hermione walked into the restaurant, with Viktor Krum at her heels.

~ ~ ~

Hermione walked into Ushers with Krum close behind and felt immediately out of her depth. Lavender had styled her hair to perfection, creating shining ringlets that trailed down her back and she had woven long slender strands of pearls through it, so that Hermione felt like a princess. Her makeup was also perfect, she didn’t feel like herself at all, and she most definitely looked too good to be going out with Krum. The only thing she had adamantly refused was the loan of a pair of shoes. She reasoned that she would be walking into Hogsmeade and her regular black shoes would do well for that. Stepping into the restaurant she was grateful that the robes covered the shoes.

It was plush and elegant, the kind of place she imagined her parents would enjoy. Everyone there wore dress robes, and there was nothing casual about it at all.

Krum smiled charmingly at the young Witch who was waiting to show them to their table. He had lost a good deal of the surliness he had once had and Hermione secretly considered it a pity. On the other hand, the witch was giggling and blushing and flirting with him outrageously.

‘There,’ Hermione wanted to say, ‘you can have anyone you want, why are you picking on me?’

The Witch beckoned for them to follow and they walked into the dining room where Hermione promptly froze.

Oh Gods Severus. She actually mouthed the words. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He wasn’t supposed to be back until tomorrow. He wasn’t supposed to be glaring at her with that vein throbbing in his temple like she was a first year who had melted her tenth cauldron in as many weeks.

She felt a hand on her back and Krum guided her to her chair. She knew exactly what this looked like, and she really didn’t want it to look like that. She wanted to go over and explain that this wasn’t a date. It was a friendly dinner. Instead she sat down and questioned her motives. If this wasn’t a date then what was it? She had new robes, was wearing makeup and she had bothered to get her hair done. It felt exactly like a date. Except she didn’t want a date with Viktor Krum, she would have given anything to have swapped places with Professor McGonagall at that moment.

Speaking of which, why was he here with Professor McGonagall?

She felt the vein in her own forehead start to throb.

~ ~ ~

“So, who is she?”

“Who is who?” Snape downed a glass of wine with one gulp and poured himself another glass. He was wondering where his dinner was and all he wanted to do was get out of there as fast as he could. Except he knew that as long as Hermione was sitting at the other table, he knew wasn’t going anywhere.

“The girl you’ve met, what’s her name.”

“None of your business.” He drank another glass and poured more for himself. Noticing that there was very little left, he signaled the waiter to bring another bottle.

Minerva was taken aback. His mood had taken such a sudden turn for the worse that even she had a problem accepting it. “Is there something wrong?” she asked carefully.

“No.” He cast a sidelong look at Hermione and scowled.

Minerva followed the line of his gaze, “You don’t approve?”

“I really don’t care.” He finished the last of the wine and was interrupted by the arrival of his dinner. He looked around, trying to track the waiter bringing the fresh bottle of wine. Honestly, this eating like a Muggle business was too much to be borne. If he wanted to dine like a Muggle he could go to any one of the countless eateries that populated the country.

He knew his annoyance was entirely irrational. This was what he wanted, what he had hoped for. Yes, Krum was a teacher at Hogwarts, but he was of a similar age to Hermione and a far more suitable companion than Snape would be. She deserved someone like Krum. He had to be far more amiable than Snape, of that he was certain. He should be happy. The fascination she’d had for him was remarkably short lived and now he could go back to the quiet solitude and order of his life.

But he wasn’t happy. The sick feeling rolling around in the pit of his gut twisted once more and he felt the rising heat of anger surging up his throat. He had been gone less than four days and already she was out giggling and flirting with that washed up Bulgarian Seeker!

“So, are things serious with this girl?”

He snapped back to the conversation. “No,” he said, “we had nothing in common.”

“Had? So it’s over?”

His gaze strayed back to Hermione. Over? It had never really begun! “Yes, I think so,” he said absently.

“Why?” Minerva persisted.

Not taking his eye from Hermione, who had sipped a glass of wine and was staring fixedly at Krum, he replied, “I think she likes someone else.”

Minerva frowned and followed his gaze again – back to Hermione Granger. She blinked and looked back at Severus and back to Granger again. The girl shifted in her seat, she looked nervous and Minerva watched as the girl cast a sidelong look at Severus, caught his eye, blushed and went back to her own conversation. Severus looked even more sour.

Minerva choked back some saliva. Oh dear.

It was impossible of course. Severus and the Granger girl. She couldn’t imagine Severus Snape letting his guard down even for a moment, especially not for a girl who was twenty years his junior and a student to boot. He had seen the girl grow up, go through puberty. Hermione Granger had irritated the life out of him.

On the other hand, she could understand Hermione’s fascination completely. The girl was intelligent and resourceful and in desperate need of companionship on an equal level. Whilst Harry and Ron were also intelligent, it was a different kind of smarts. They did not have the thirst for knowledge that Hermione possessed, nor could they understand it, and as for the friendship that appeared to be developing with Draco Malfoy, Minerva would have to admit that it frightened the hell out of her. Malfoy was intelligent with a thirst for knowledge, that was true, but he was also his Fathers son.

Minerva was under no illusions that Severus Snape was the perfect catch, but if Hermione had managed to break through the armor and see what was beneath the façade, even for a moment, well, Minerva had no doubt that the girl could fall for him. The only thing that didn’t sit well was that Minerva considered Hermione Granger to be a bit of a romantic, and she couldn’t see Severus ever being romantic at all.

Also, could Severus ever forget himself long enough to have started something with the girl? She doubted it. So perhaps she was wrong, reading the signs incorrectly.

“Are you sure she likes someone else?” Minerva knew she had to tread softly here, “I mean, did she tell you that?”

“No,” he snapped and started prodding maliciously at his food. “It doesn’t matter, we had nothing in common, it was simply a matter of misplaced attraction and that is all.”

“But something must have happened,” Minerva reasoned, “you are not the kind of man who gets worked up over nothing.”

“I am not worked up.”

“Oh yes you are.” Minerva smiled gently and once again Snape was reminded of the mother figure he’d never had. “I think you like this girl.”

“That is nonsense, I barely know her.”

Minerva rolled her eyes, exasperated as Snape eyed a waiter, another ex-student he noted, who scuttled over with a fresh bottle of wine and apologized profusely for the delay.

“Severus,” Minerva said eventually, “how do you think couples all over the world actually get together? The fact is that very few of them know each other well when they first start out, sexual attraction often comes first.”

“How very un-romantic of you Minerva,” Snape retorted tartly, “I would have thought you’d be advocating the marriage of true minds.”

“In a perfect world, yes, but the fact is that nine times out of ten a couple meet, have a great shag and get to know each other later.”

Snape coughed a mouthful of wine into his napkin. He didn’t know what was more shocking, Minerva having that sentiment or Minerva saying ‘shag’.

“The point is that attraction plays a very important role in relationships. Desire has to be there or it won’t work.” 

“Thank you Minerva, I will take that under advisement.”

“Oh for goodness sakes Severus!”

He glared back at Hermione who shifted uncomfortably in her chair as though she was aware that she was being watched. Good, he thought bitterly, let her squirm, the little slut.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” Minerva announced.

“Charming, don’t let me keep you.”

~ ~ ~

“If you vill excuse me Herm-own-ninny, I must use the bathroom.”

Oh thank the Gods. Hermione smiled and let him go. Krum was drinking too much, they had been in the restaurant a half hour and he was already tipsy. He was also babbling on about Quidditch, a game Hermione would rather read through and thus a conversation she would rather sleep through. She really didn’t care about the intricacies of Roderick Plumpton’s three and a half second capture of the Golden Snitch in 1921. He caught the damn thing in three and a half seconds, how many intricacies could there be? How could three and a half seconds equate to so much conversation on only one topic?

Once he was out of sight and she noted that Professor McGonagall had left Severus alone, she pushed herself away from the table and quickly made her way across the room to speak to the man who had been giving death stares since she had arrived.

“Severus?”

He sneered up at her, “Yes Miss Granger?” he asked silkily.

“I…I want to explain,” she began to chew her lip, a habit she really had to curb because every time she did it he started to stare at her mouth and she knew it must irritate him. “This thing… with Viktor… We’re just friends… It’s not a date or anything.”

“Miss Granger, whomever you choose to see, or not to see, is hardly any of my concern, now is it? What concerns me most is your penchant for teachers. I believe I have pointed out that they are inappropriate romantic partners considering your current position in the school, and I would hate to see Mr. Krum lose his job over a friendly meal.”

Hermione stared open mouthed, “But…you don’t understand…Severus…”

”And might I remind you that you are to address me as Professor Snape or Sir whilst you continue as a student of Hogwarts, Miss Granger, is that clear?”

She trembled, but straightened her back defiantly, “Yes Professor, perfectly.”

“Good, now if you don’t mind, I am trying to eat my dinner.”

She spun on her heel and returned to her table, just in time for Krum to return and start on his ‘Beauties of Bulgaria’ speech that she had heard before.

~ ~ ~

Evil, evil, evil little minx. Waiting for one man to go to the bathroom before coming over to torment another. Krum was looking drunk and decidedly amorous. Just friends indeed. Later tonight when Krum was inside her, fucking her, making her his, she wouldn’t be saying that.

The very thought of anyone else touching her caused his stomach to convulse. He felt sick. He looked over at her, her dinner had arrived and she was angrily jabbing at it in much the same way he was jabbing at his own.

“Good evening Severus. Minerva said you would be here.”

Great, just what he needed, Dumbledore to come along, look into his mind and fire his arse. He scowled miserably and drew his thoughts closed; something that immediately made the old mans eyes twinkle mischievously.

“In a fine mood I see. Is Minerva trying to set you up with a nice girl again?”

“No I am not,” Minerva sat down and poured herself another glass of wine, “he got himself into a bad mood and I had nothing to do with it.”

Snape willed her not to bring up their previous conversation and Minerva, being no ones fool, kept quiet about it. Instead, she started berating Dumbledore about not letting Potter play Quidditch this year. Gryffindor, it seemed, were waging a losing battle on the Quidditch pitch this year.

Snape downed still more wine and began force-feeding himself. He knew that the duck should taste exquisite, but at the moment nothing was going to taste good in his mouth – except perhaps Hermione Grangers tongue and judging from the way Krum just put his hand over hers, that wasn’t going to happen any time soon.

‘Ok Snivellus,’ his rational mind began in earnest, ‘we have been friends a very long time, but we shall have to part ways if you keep this up. This is exactly what you hoped for, you should be relieved.’

‘He can’t have her, she’s mine.’

‘Oh I give up.’

Snape could almost see his rational mind packing its bags and walking out the door.

~ ~ ~

Hermione slid her hand out from beneath Viktor’s and set her fake smile on her face. Viktor was fast going from tipsy to just plain drunk. Beneath the table his foot stroked her calf, no matter where she moved her leg. At that moment she would give a million Galleons to be back at Hogwarts, with Ron giving her hell.

Snape was looking at her again. Professor Snape. She had actually hoped he might be a little jealous, instead he appeared to have returned from London his nasty self. Obviously he had spent his time getting over any inclination he had felt towards her. She was happy that she at least looked as though she wasn’t mourning the loss of him. Although she would rather drink Skelegrow before the thought of actually doing anything even remotely sexual with Krum looked appealing.

“Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?”

Hermione grimaced. Viktor’s breath smelled of sour wine and he had leered in to her. She pulled back, smiled and thanked him again for the compliment. Snape had never told her that.

But he had, that night in the store cupboard, he had told her she was beautiful, when he was bound to tell the truth. She cast a longing glance at him. Why couldn’t it have been someone else? Someone who wanted her? Why couldn’t it have been Krum?

She looked at Viktor and suddenly it all seemed clear. She had liked him when she was a good deal younger, and she had found him attractive. Now that she looked at him she could see the similarities of their features. Black hair, big nose, black eyes and fearsome countenances. She had taken him as a substitute. He was a second rate copy of what she had always wanted.

The sudden realization didn’t make her any happier.

She began shoveling food into her mouth at top speed, deciding that she needed to get out of the restaurant and back to the castle. She hoped it wasn’t going to be too hard to ditch Viktor.

~ ~ ~

“So Severus and I will go to the Fenn for Christmas to get the place ready for New Years Eve. You can come as soon as the feast is finished.”

“So you plan to abandon me and rob me of any adult companionship for Christmas dinner?”

Minerva looked distressed despite the twinkling in Dumbledore’s eyes. “It isn’t as though you won’t see us at all, not if you come right after.”

Snape sighed and listened to Minerva’s plans to transform his house into a full Wizards party room. It had been a long time since anyone had held a real Wizards Ball and it was obvious that she had counted on him saying yes because she had already planned it in great detail. She had even had invitations made up, all she had to do was send them, which she planned to do tomorrow. The only stipulation she had made was that no students would be invited. It had been so long since she’d had an evening entertainment that didn’t involve Hogwarts that she had lost the last time in the failings of memory.

That was fine by Snape. He hardly wanted students knowing where his home was. Besides, the only student he would care to invite – aside from Draco – was currently flirting shamelessly with a man who taught children to ride broomsticks.

So much for her marvelous mind.

~ ~ ~

“How about ve get out of here?” Krum leered and Hermione was grateful he’d suggested it, although she was fully aware of what he meant.

“Good idea,” she laughed nervously. She figured once they got back to the castle she could lose him there. Or she could do what she was doing now. Krum went to settle the bill and she slipped out the door and began walking as fast as she could towards Hogwarts.

~ ~ ~

Snape watched Krum go to pay the bill and Hermione slip out the door.

Interesting, she wasn’t waiting for the washed up old has-been.

He felt more than a  little dismay as desperation and the faintest glimmer of hope washed over him like a wave on a beach.

“I have to go,” he said abruptly, cutting Minerva off mid sentence and throwing a few Galleons on the table, he turned and positively fled the dining room.

Dumbledore looked confused. Minerva shrugged, as if to say, who knew what was going on in the Potions Masters mind. He wasn’t himself lately.

“Oh look,” said Dumbledore when the awkward moment passed, “there’s Viktor, he must’ve come down for dinner.”

Minerva looked, noticed Hermione was gone and a smile crept over her features, “Yes, Albus, call him over, we really should find out how his first week has been.”

~ ~ ~

This was ridiculous, Snape was certain he was about to make a complete idiot out of himself, and he was running – something he made a point never to do unless it was a dire emergency. Still she had a good head start on him and he had to run to catch her.

“Hermione!”

She spun on here heel and stared at him with wide eyes. Her heart lurched with apprehension, “Professor!” she squeaked, “I…”

He anchored an arm around her waist, which threw her off balance, and gasping in shock, she grabbed handfuls of his robes for support and hurled him off the path and into the forest. She stumbled and fell backwards, pulling him down with her. He swore and grappled to cushion her fall. He managed to cradle her head so it didn’t hit the ground, but they both landed bodily amongst the trees and he was sprawled on top of her

Hermione was instantly aware of his body pressed against hers. Her robes had twisted around her body as she fell, revealing her legs and her panties, she instinctively moved to let him rest between her thighs and struggled to hold on to any shed of control she still possessed. “Severus…”

“Shhh,” he whispered, is warm, damp mouth nuzzling her neck and he inhaled the scent of her. Oh Gods he missed her. His fingers traced the elastic band of her panties, down between her thighs and lingered there before sliding back and stroking the length of her thighs.

She whimpered, gasped and moaned, astonished at just how quickly he could elicit those gloriously wanton sounds from her.

He said nothing, but his mind was screaming out ‘Mine, Mine, Mine’ over and over again, releasing him from all reason. She needed to know that she was his and his alone. No one else could touch her and he would make her his. His hands caressed the gentle curve of her hips, pushing the robes up further, exposing the slender dip of her waist.

His hands found her breasts next, his palms skimming up over the small mounds and with fumbling fingers he made to undo the buttons of the robes. Hermione reached up to help him, tearing at the collar and feeling the buttons give way, not caring that she had only just purchased the damn things. He tugged gently at her bra and with more luck than skill, the front clasp gave way and her breasts, as full as they would ever be and aching for him, sprang free.

Oh Gods they are perfect.

Watching her and still driven by lust and jealousy, he licked a finger and touched it to one sensitive pink bud. Her breath caught in her throat and she almost cried out, but he smothered the sound in her throat as he covered her mouth with a kiss that was hot and wet and made her dizzy. His tongue found hers and tangled in the intimacy of it while his hands caressed her breasts and stroked her sensitive nipples. His erection strained against her groin, pressing insistently through the fabric of his robes.

She wanted him, she wanted to see him. She wanted to disrobe him and look at what was now pressed hard against her and was yet so infuriatingly hidden. She ached to pull his robes from his body, despite where they were and the risk they were running of being caught. None of that mattered now, her body was awash with desire and a wet heat was growing between her thighs where his fingers were straying again, stroking along her panties, this time slipping under the elastic and delving into the slick folds of her pubis to stroke her intimately.

His fingers were clever beings, stroking, knowing exactly what she wanted and what she liked. His thumb made lazy circles around her clit and one, then two fingers pushed deep into her, working in and out of her wetness and causing her to cry ragged sobs into his throat. She felt as though she were melting, the ache in her was growing stronger, he robbed her so completely of her reason that she wanted nothing more than to stay here in the cold damp forest forever.

She was desperate to touch his. She had never managed it before, she pulled his robes apart and slid her hands inside. Her palms connected with hot flesh and firm muscle, but she still couldn’t see him. For the moment she would have to content herself with this contact and this incredible heat. His heat beat matched hers, beat for beat, racing against each other’s pace. She needed him, she wanted him inside of her. It would be a simple matter of pulling his robes up, unbuttoning his pants, but anyone who happened past would see her feet in the air, the curve of her calves topped with heavy black school shoes and they would know just how intimately they were connected. If someone happened past they would think that now!

The delicious weight of him, the taste of his tongue and the slick movements of his fingers unraveled what was left of her reason. Her body convulsed and her hips bucked up as she came in waves of ecstasy. She moaned into his mouth and clung to his body until the intensity of the pleasure in her own subsided.

Snape slowly broke the kiss and rested his head on her shoulder until her breathing regained a normal pace. His own breaths were ragged and he stroked her hair, now disheveled from lying on the cold ground. He reached down and began pulling his own robes up, fully intending to remove her panties and take her right there.

She smiled at him and reached a hand up to stroke his cheek. She wanted him, she wanted him to know that.

“I want you inside me,” she whispered.

He needed little more incentive, his fingers tangled in her panties and he would have simply torn them off rather than have her move from her current position.

Then it ended abruptly with a loud and familiar voice calling; “Severus? Severus are you in here. I tell you Albus, he didn’t come in here.”

“I’m sure I saw him go into the forest,” Dumbledore was saying in reply.

Snape felt the sudden urge to cry, tears actually welled in his eyes and he swore softly. This really was not fair. If he didn’t have her soon he was going to explode. Hermione looked up at him and he was somehow pleased to see that she looked as frustrated and stricken as he felt. They lay silent and still for a moment, willing the intruders to go, to pass them by without noticing, but sounds of twigs breaking as someone stepped from the path into the forest propelled them to action. He replaced her bra and readjusted the top of her robes over her breasts. When he moved to stand he pulled her up with him and looked into her eyes. His own blazed with a possessive fire that frightened her and thrilled her.

He gently stroked her lower lip with his finger and felt a rush of grim satisfaction. He had seduced her on purpose, deliberately, like a possession. He had branded his name across her arse, had he been a dog he would have pissed all over her to mark his territory.

Minerva’s voice called again and he frowned. He kissed Hermione quickly, possessively and thrusting his hand into his pockets he turned and disappeared into the night.

After a time Hermione heard Professor McGonagall again.

“There you are! What have you been doing, hiding in the forest?”

”Call of nature.”

McGonagall laughed, “Oh Severus. Pissing in the woods.”

Hermione stared in that direction for a long time, tears filled her eyes and she suddenly felt empty. He had left her there, alone in the cold of the forest. She forced herself to walk, stepping back out onto the path, tears of frustration and anger burning in her throat.

Two hands settled heavily on her hips and a distinctly male body pressed in behind her, rubbing a semi erect cock against her arse. She whirled around, convinced her had come back and prepared to forgive him anything. The she smelled the sour rush of wine and hot breath and she jerked back, horrified and staring at Krum.

“Hey, it’s only me,” he slurred, his fingers tightened on her waist and he drew her to him, rubbing his body against hers.

“I… I’m sorry,” she laughed nervously and tried to pull away. His hold was strong and unrelenting and short of breaking his fingers, she was trapped in his grasp. “You startled me.”

“I’m sorry baby, I didn’t mean to.” Desire and lust gleamed in his eye and he drew her face to his, “I vas vondering vere you disappeared to.”

Panic settled in and she swallowed tightly, wanting nothing more than to get away from him. She wondered if she screamed would anyone be close enough to hear her.

“Viktor –“ She sucked in a breath of air and pushed hard away from him, his hand snaked up her body and groped her breast.

“You like that?” He whispered to her, his hot breath in her ear, he had obviously mistaken her gasp to be one of pleasure, “how about ve go for a valk in the forest, there are many quiet places there that ve can be alone.”

She grimaced, her stomach lurched at the thought of it. She forced herself to be calm, she had to get control of this. She removed his hands from her breasts deliberately and firmly. “Actually Viktor, I think it is time we went back to the castle.”

“Good idea,” he sounded enthusiastic, “My chambers are nice and quiet.”

She squirmed out of his reach just as a hand squeezed one soft buttock. “Actually, I think I should go to my own chambers, Viktor, I’ve got a bad headache and I think I got my period, I’ve got really nasty cramps.”

Leaving him standing there, all desire effectively doused, she walked up the hill to the castle.

Chapter 9 >>