Objects of Desire

Chapter 9 - A Short Song About Love and Hate

By Azrael Geffen

Harry slept fitfully, alone in his bed and unable to quell the rising cold within himself. He missed the sound of Draco’s breathing, the hypnotic rise and fall of breath, the steady beating of his heart. He missed the heat with which Draco warmed his soul and kept the voices in his head at bay.

Lying in the darkness, listening to the gentle sounds of Ron’s snoring, he wished it were closer, and belonging entirely to someone else. He charmed his pillow to rise and fall, to have a heartbeat, but it was no use. It wasn’t Draco. There was no intimate tangle of limbs, no exquisite heat, no unique scent of spices and herbs and clean sweat.

In the end he just lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling and waiting for the cold light of dawn. He let the silence surround him and press against his chest until he felt himself on the edge of terror and then he let it press some more. It had been less than a week since he’d first gone to Draco’s bed and already Harry felt his body so in tune with the other that he could get no rest without him.

Not that he had slept well before.

As morning came, Harry found himself going through the motions of his morning routine, despite having gone into Hogsmeade the night before, most people had made it to breakfast. By comparison, Draco, who had not ventured into the Village at all, had not come down. Harry was left to rumple his already messy hair and stare into his coffee cup as though scrying for an answer to a question he didn’t know. Deep shadows ringed his eyes and he had barely bothered to shower let alone shave.

“You look like shit, you know that?”

“Thanks Ron.”

“Just stating the obvious mate.”

Harry had to agree, as he hadn’t even brushed his teeth.

“So, Hermione got another rosebud.” Ron glared down the table at Hermione, unsure as to why he was still angry with her, but still angry anyway. “Wasn’t she out with Krum last night?”

“Huh?” Harry frowned and really had to think about what Ron had said before he could formulate an answer, “Oh, yeah, she was.”

“Looks like he’s been playing sticky fingers then.”

”Ron, that’s fucking gross!”

Ron laughed heartily at this. “Hey buddy, your rose bush got so full the contract grew you another one, I’d think you’d be used to the idea of it by now.”

Harry flushed a deep shade of red, and returned to contemplating his coffee. So Hermione had succumbed to Krum? He felt an odd sense of disappointment. Whilst he did really despise Snape, he had always considered Hermione more loyal than that. He gave her a quizzical look and after a time she cast a disparaging look at Ron, picked up her breakfast and moved defiantly to sit next to Harry.

“Well, if it isn’t Hogwarts randy little sex queen,” Ron drawled in a voice that smacked of bitterness.

“At least I’m getting some Ron,” Hermione replied crisply. She had just finished returning a bouquet of roses to Krum via an owl. After last night’s efforts, she decided it would be best to end all contact with him, even be cold and cruel if she had to. She didn’t want a repeat of the ‘curse in the mail’ episode from two years back. She turned to Harry and shook her head, “You look shocking.”

“Thanks,” Harry muttered. “So, it must’ve been some ‘friendly dinner’.”

“Try, boring as all hell dinner, then the sleazy bastard tried to cop a feel on the way home.”

“And succeeded by the look of it.”

“Huh?”

“The Contract,” Harry explained, “you got another rosebud.”

“Oh.” Hermione flushed and a mischievous smile spread across her face. She looked up at Severus, caught his eye, smiling and she saw his lip start to curl up before he checked himself. She grinned a little wider. “That wasn’t Krum,” she said quietly.

Harry looked up at Snape who glared back at him, sour expression fixed. Professor McGonagall was beside him and whilst Harry could never be certain, it did look as though she was tormenting the man with no small amount of glee.

Which was impossible, who would even attempt to torment the Potions Master?

Then again, who would think he was sexy?

Harry looked back at Hermione, once again wondering at just how bad her taste had become. Then he smiled, she was certainly full of surprises. “So between dinner and Krum groping you, when did you find time for Snape?”

“Forbidden Forest, on the way home.”

Harry, who had hitherto been miserable all morning, burst into laughter. Ron, who had been so pointedly ignoring Hermione that he had heard none of their conversation, scowled at them both and shifted to give Padma his full attention.

“I take it you’re still fighting with…” Hermione stopped and lowered her voice, “well, you know whom you’re fighting with.”

Harry frowned, retuning his gaze to his coffee. “It isn’t really a fight,” he said quietly, “more like a realization of just how different we are.”

“And you didn’t know that before?” Hermione snorted, “Good grief Harry, just get over it and apologize for calling his dad a…what did you call his dad?”

“A fucking evil bastard.”

”For calling his dad a fucking evil bastard, and make up.”

“But his dad is a fucking evil bastard.”

“Well we all know that, but Draco loves him so you might just have to put up with it. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? The guy is less than a vegetable now anyway. When this exhibition thing is over, Draco will put him up in the attic and he’ll gather dust.”

“I can’t see Draco putting his Father in an attic.”

“Yeah, but he’ll hardly display him either!”

“True.”

At the sound of wings, Hermione raised her eyes heavenwards. “Post’s here.”

Harry never expected post, but lately he always got it. Another letter from Tonks, and one from Lupin, as well as his usual Daily Prophet. He set the letters aside for later and unrolled the Prophet, looking about the room in case Draco had decided to join them late.

Ron was laughing. It was a high malicious laugh and he nudged Harry excitedly.

“Did you see it Harry? Gods I wish Malfoy was here, I’d love to see the look on the wankers face!”

Huh? Harry frowned again. Ron was laughing hysterically now and Harry turned to Hermione and shrugged. Hermione didn’t return his shrug. She was staring at the front page of Harry’s Daily Prophet, her mouth open in shock. Harry looked at the paper. It took a few moments for it to really register what it was looking at.

The cover story heralded the opening of the Dark Magic and Death Eater Exhibition in London and came complete with a large, full color photograph of Lucius Malfoy.

Fucking evil bastard indeed.

Except Harry couldn’t think that now. Harry hadn’t seen him since the last battle. Harry had no idea what the kiss would do. Confronted with the results, Harry felt his stomach plummet. Malfoy was slumped in his case, so still that it could have been a Muggle photograph. Harry knew it wasn’t. Shadows on the glass case moved. Only Malfoy was still.

Despite the long white shift that covered him, Lucius Malfoy was obviously painfully thin. His flesh was the color of chalk and he was cowering in the case. Cowering was the only word for it, as though he was aware of the world and was frightened by it. His face belied an utter helplessness; he was at the mercy of his captors. This was where their world had always wanted him to be and now that he was there, Harry recognized the full horror of it.

“That’s-“ Hermione could barely speak. “That’s ghoulish.”

“It’s fucking hilarious, that’s what it is!” Ron was sounding jubilant, as though he had won the war all over again.

“Ron!” Hermione glared at him, “It’s awful. It’s totally barbaric.”

“Oh come on, he fucking deserves everything that is coming to him. I can barely wait to find Ferret, I’m gonna hold the little fuck down and rub his face in it.”

“DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE!” Harry stood up so suddenly that his coffee cup fell to the floor and smashed there. “Don’t you go anywhere near him! What the fuck is wrong with you Ron? When did you turn into this vindictive piece of shit?”

“Vindictive piece of shit?” Ron was standing too now, his fist balled around the handle of his wand. He was reluctant to draw it out. This was his friend – it was also Harry Potter, and who in their right mind was going to draw a wand on Harry Potter? “This is Malfoy we’re talking about!” Ron was almost pleading with him now, “It’s not as though it is someone who matters. When did you join the Draco Fucking Malfoy fan club?”

Harry didn’t respond, he just glared at his so-called friend and suddenly hated him with every fiber of his being.

“Draco isn’t his father,” Hermione said. “Why are you so determined to hurt him with this?”

“Because it’s fucking Malfoy!” Ron cried exasperated, “It’s a perfect opportunity, he’s an arsehole who would do the same to you in a second and besides, it’s fucking funny.”

“Yeah,” Harry spat, “think of how you would roar with laughter if it happened to you.”

“Well it’s hardly going to happen to me now is it?” Ron replied venomously, “my father isn’t a fucking psychopath.”

“No, your father isn’t.”

“What’s that supposed to mean.”

“Oh go to hell.” Harry turned on his heel and walked away. He didn’t have time for this. He didn’t have time to deal with Ron and his twisted sense of justice. He just had to get out of the Great Hall and back to the southwest tower and Draco, all the while hoping against hope that Draco hadn’t received his copy of the Daily Prophet.

~ ~ ~

“So, what were you doing in the forest last night?”

Snape coughed his morning coffee into his hand and stared wide eyed at Minerva. “Just what you said,” he replied in a voice that belayed more calm than he felt, “’pissing in the woods’.”

“Really? For 20 minutes?” Minerva smiled, “you have no idea how hard it was to stall Mr. Krum at that restaurant, you should be thanking me.”

Snape felt a strange nervous laugh rise in his throat and escape all high pitched and strangled, “Why…why would you have to stall Krum?”

Minerva looked pointedly at Hermione who was spreading jam onto a muffin and looking a little flushed. “She is very young Severus,” Minerva said slowly.

“Too young,” Snape replied absently, then shook his head, coming to his senses. “I don’t know what you mean.” He didn’t sound convincing. In fact, he could hear a tone of desperation creeping into his voice and that couldn’t be good. He fixed his face and returned to his usual scowl. It was the best way to face his morning, particularly when Minerva was so obviously on to something.

“I don’t know why you are in such a dreadful mood,” Minerva poured herself some tea. “You didn’t get caught and you know she didn’t go home with Mr. Krum, you should be happy.”

Snape pointedly did not answer. He was not going to justify Minerva with a response and in truth he was mortified that she had managed to hit the nail so precisely on the head. Minerva would love nothing more right now than to go and sequester them both in her chambers all day while he gave her a blow by blow account of the whole sordid affair. Snape, of course, would rather amputate a limb than do any such thing.

So he let Minerva have her fun while he managed to glance at Hermione. She caught his eye and smiled and he almost smiled back. But he caught himself in time. Nothing like grinning like an idiot to show the whole world who he wanted more than life.

How had this happened?

Snape was maliciously amused to see that Krum looked both hung-over and miserable. His surly gaze surveyed the room, settling on Hermione and his scowl deepened.

Yeah, keep looking you Bulgarian fucker, you’re not having her.

She’s mine.

He had to stop thinking that way.

He had gone back to the forest to find her last night, been there in the shadows to witness her rejection of Krum (he had been about to hex the bastard for touching her, but she had removed him from her person adequately) and followed them home to make sure she was safe. He had wanted nothing more than to drag her down to the dungeons, and he had no doubt she would have gone willingly.

But he really had to stop thinking that way.

He had even contemplated that Minerva could be right. Give in to the attraction and the compatibility will come later. After a few hours of allowing himself to believe it, he gave up such a premise as ridiculous. Hermione was a student and she was so very young. She would hardly attach herself to an old man (not that he was particularly old, in Wizarding years he was only just starting out) for the rest of her life. Snape wasn’t interested in being the first in a long line of lovers. If he was going to subject himself to a relationship and all of the feelings and emotions that went along with it, he wanted to be certain that it was for a reason. Not being the kind of man who allowed anyone to gain an insight into his psyche, he was hardly going to open himself to an eighteen year old girl simply because his brain had suddenly taken up residence in his cock.

Now it was clear that Minerva knew and if Minerva knew, then it wouldn’t stay secret from Albus for very long. Once Albus knew…

Snape really didn’t want to think about that. Albus Dumbledore could forgive many things, but one of his teachers taking advantage of one of his students was probably not one of them. How many times had Snape had to sit through Dumbledore’s. “Guide them, mould then, protect them,” speech? He highly doubted that “Shag them” would ever be tagged on the end of it.

It was going to have to stop. He was going to have to learn how to control himself  - and fast.

His thoughts were distracted for a moment as the owls started descending from the rafters and a copy of the Daily Prophet dropped into Minerva’s lap.

“Why do you read that trash?” Snape growled, grateful for the distraction.

“Because it’s the only newspaper we have.”

He snorted into his coffee as he drained the cup. He always figured that where the Daily Prophet was concerned, the word ‘news’ should be used lightly.

“Severus!” Minerva gasped his name, alarmed.

He frowned, “what?”

She shoved the newspaper in front of him and all thoughts of Hermione deserted him. “Shit,” he muttered, “I have to find Draco.”

Minerva nodded dumbly and Snape hurried from the table, vaguely aware that somewhere in the Great Hall, Potter had started yelling.

~ ~ ~

Draco was yelling at someone when Harry reached his door. He could hear him, screeching in a voice that Harry could barely recognize as that of his lover’s.

”It’s your fault, you did this, you gave him to them!”

The other voice, older, calmer, but still obviously distraught replied; “I was doing what I had to. The aim of everything was to stay alive, he knew that.”

“But you gave him to them! You could have hidden him, but you gave him to them!”

“Draco, try and calm down, this isn’t helping anything. You’ll make yourself sick.”

“I WANT TO BE SICK! I CAN BE FUCKING SICK IF I WANT TO BE. YOU DID THIS, WHY DIDN’T YOU JUST KILL HIM, WHY DID YOU DO THIS TO HIM?”

“It was war Draco, I did what I had to do.”

Draco was silent then. If he had spoken, Harry couldn’t hear what Draco had said. It seemed fairly obvious that Draco had indeed seen the Daily Prophet’s front page. Harry turned and went back to the common room, to wait out whoever was in the room with him.

After half an hour or so, Snape emerged from the corridor looking pale and distressed. He glared at Harry and swept out the door.

Harry stared at the corridor. What if Draco didn’t want to see him? What if he was the last person Draco wanted to see?  He pushed himself forward into the corridor, dismissing his fear. The worst that could happen would be that Draco told him to piss off and he would be in the same place he was now. He knocked on the door and waited.

It opened a crack and a red-rimmed gray eye stared out at him.

“Hi,” Harry said, and wished he didn’t sound so nervous.

“What do you want?” Draco sounded hoarse, as though he had been yelling and crying at once, which he possibly had.

“Are you alright?”

“No.”

“Can I come in?”

The door opened a little wider and Draco stepped aside to let him in. Harry edged past him and when Draco wandered into the centre of the room as though lost, Harry closed the door and warded it for him.

“You look like shit.” Draco sniffled.

Harry smiled gently, “I know. I couldn’t sleep last night.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

Draco looked at the floor. “Did you see the paper?”

“Yeah, yeah I did.”

Draco’s lip started to tremble. He couldn’t speak, tears seemed to suddenly burst from his eyes and his breath came in great shuddering gulps of air. Harry pulled him to the bed and crushed him to him tightly, rocking his body gently, burying his face in Draco’s pale hair.

Draco pressed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. “I can’t do this,” he whispered through shuddering breaths “I – I can’t. I – I want to go home.”

“I’ll take you home,” Harry breathed into Draco’s hair, “I’ll take you away from here.”

Harry pulled Draco’s head into the hollow of his shoulder and brushed his lips through the silken texture of Draco’s hair. He felt the reflective plains of Draco’s body lock into his own and it was as though their very souls met and fused, as real and as tangible as some physical force.

Is this what falling in love was like? This incredible melding of selves, this sharing of pain, this connection?

Draco gave in to crying, his body heaved and shook against Harry and he cried as a child cries, with abandon and without hope. Harry held him and rocked gently back and forth, listening to the harsh cries that seemed to originate somewhere in Draco’s belly and finished in harsh coughing gasps.

“I – I miss him.”

“I know.” Harry pressed his lips against the top of Draco’s forehead.

“I hate him.”

“No you don’t,” Harry murmured, not moving his lips from Draco’s head. “You love him.”

“I…” Draco looked up at Harry, his face was wet, as though he had dunked his face in water, but Harry knew that the water on Draco’s face would have the salty taste of tears. “I do – I do love him, he…” Draco drew a shuddered breath.

“I know, Draco, I know you do baby.”

“He…” Draco squeezed his eyes shut. Harry would never understand, Harry would never want to understand. Draco made himself content to curl into Harry’s arms and take comfort from the body wrapped around him. He needed Harry, he needed the warmth, and he wanted to taste him, to feel him there. Draco needed to feel loved.

“Kiss me,” Draco said quietly and looked into Harry’s green eyes.

Without speaking Harry cupped Draco’s face in his hands and began kissing his brow with soft silent kisses, His tongue darted into the salty corners of Draco’s eyes, licking away tears. He ran his tongue over Draco’s pale cheek and slipped it between Draco’s lips and into the wet heat of his mouth. Draco pressed gratefully against Harry’s body and Harry felt himself wanting him, growing aroused against Draco’s hip.

Guilt rushed through him. Draco needed comfort; he didn’t need Harry to start aching to be touched. But Draco was pushing him back onto the bed, taking his comfort in Harry’s arousal, pulling the sweatshirt over Harry’s head, unbuttoning Harry’s jeans and pulling them down, leaving Harry naked on the bed.

“Take your robe off,” Harry whispered, “I want to see you.”

Draco averted his gaze. His face was red from crying and he looked so incredibly unsure that Harry felt his heart swell with what he knew could only be love. Gently Harry reached up and began slipping the robes from Draco’s slender form, running his fingers lightly over the uneven flesh of his scarred back, staring into eyes that burned with such intensity that Harry was sure they could see into his soul.

“You are so beautiful –“ Harry stopped, suddenly unsure of what else he could say. If he continued he would tell Draco he loved him, and he wasn’t ready for that yet, he doubted that Draco was either.

Draco pushed him back into the pillows and sat back to stare at him. “I want to own you,” he whispered.

“You already do.”

Draco turned away and reached to the bedside table. Rifling through the draws he found a small bottle of oil and he rubbed a little over his hands. He then began to work Harry expertly, stroking a squeezing and building up a rhythm so exquisite that Harry was certain he would spend his seed right there in Draco’s slick palms.

He would have been happy with that. He would have been grateful for it. But Draco lowered his face and began kissing and licking the length of Harry’s body, tracing a wet glistening trail of spit over Harry’s belly and then taking Harry’s cock deep into his throat.

Harry moaned and gasped. Draco’s fingers began gently tickling his balls and then stroked lower, probing gently.

Oh – Oh dear Gods what’s he doing?

Harry felt fingers at his entrance, lightly circling his anus and then gently pressing, pushing into him.

Harry gasped harshly, squeezing his eyes shut, he could hear his own labored breathing, gasping, whimpering. Draco’s mouth continued working over Harry’s cock and his finger pushed a little deeper into Harry’s body, waiting patiently for the ring of muscle to relax and allow him a deeper entry.

Harry panted. It hurt. It was good. It was too good. Someone sticking their finger into your arse shouldn’t feel this good. Draco pushed his finger a little deeper into Harry and gently, with a movement Harry couldn’t quiet discern, he began to stroke.

Harry’s eyes shot open and his hips bucked up into Draco’s mouth.  “Oh fuck, Draco, What – what is that?”

Draco laughed, his mouth still wrapped around Harry’s cock. He pulled away for a moment. Without breaking the stroking momentum he asked; “Do you like it?”

“Y-y-yes.”

“It’s your prostate.”

Harry cried out again and Draco smiled, relishing the reactions of his lover’s body. He loved the way that Harry gave in with such abandon to lovemaking. How when he was naked and being pleasured he felt no shame at all, he would moan and cry out and writhe and come with such joy that Draco could not help but grin like a fool when he watched him. For Harry it was as though every stroke and caress, every kiss was a new experience. In passion, he held nothing back. Harry was grabbing fistfuls of the sheet beneath him, his body so close to orgasm that it felt as though his balls would explode.

Draco gently returned to sucking Harry deep into his throat, moving his mouth over the hard shaft, his fingers probing deeper still, stroking over Harry’s prostate and delving deeper again. Harry had told him of the contract. He knew what would have to come eventually. It would not be tonight, but it would have to be done eventually. It was best to get Harry’s body used to such attentions and the heat inside Harry’s body was so incredible, he was so incredibly tight.

Draco was sprawled between Harry’s legs and Harry could feel Draco’s aroused penis pressing insistently into his thigh. He moved his leg against it, desperately reaching for it with his hands but unable to do little more than stroke Draco’s back and hair.

“I…I want to suck you too…” Harry panted and swallowed, “How can…”

Draco didn’t break his rhythm, not for so much as a moment. He shifted his body, moving legs and limbs and the graceful length of his body so that His hips were in front of Harry’s face, his cock brushing against Harry’s soft mouth.

Harry understood the advantages immediately, he tilted his head back, taking Draco into his mouth, pulling Draco’s weight down onto him so that the flat plains of their bodies were interlocked. His throat felt stretched wide open and he felt satisfied as Draco’s cock slipped deeper into his gullet.

It seemed as though they could do this forever, basking in the glory of each other’s bodies until they were bound together in a moist web of spit and sweat and semen.

When finally they were spent they nestled together, kissing with lips swollen from giving each other pleasure. Draco curled into Harry’s body, drawing the warmth to him and inhaling the smell of sweat and lavender soap.

“Are you ok?” Harry asked after a time.

“Yeah, I just want you to hold me.” Draco stroked Harry’s chest, pressing a kiss into his collarbone.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“We can sleep the afternoon away.”

“I’d like that.” Harry yawned. “I didn’t sleep last night. I can’t sleep without you.”

“Why?”

Harry smiled a sad smile at the ceiling. “The dark. The silence. Sometimes at night the darkness and silence weighs on me.”

“Scared of the dark Harry?” Draco chided gently.

“No.” Harry said quietly, “Peace frightens me. Perhaps I fear that most of all. I feel it is only a facade hiding the face of hell.  I think, 'What is in store for my children tomorrow?'  'The world will be wonderful', they say. But from whose viewpoint? To experience true peace we need to live in a state of suspended animation like a work of art, in a state of enchantment, detached....detached.”

“Perhaps we have to succeed in loving so greatly that we live outside of time,” Draco smiled and crawling up kissed Harry gently on the mouth.

Harry smiled in return, reached a hand up and stroked Draco’s face. “Do you think we will ever get past all of our…differences?”

“I don’t know,” Draco sighed and then smiled a small, sad smile. “We’re ok now aren’t we?”

“Yes.”

“Then perhaps we should just take it as it comes.”

“Perhaps.”

They slept, wrapped in each other’s slender limbs, while life in the castle moved on. Their dreams were set to the slow rhythm of each other’s breathing, as light and as heavy as the rain that  fell against the windows and the castle walls.

~ ~ ~

Snape had half expected Hermione to find her way to him at some point during the day. He had spent most of his morning preparing himself mentally for the confrontation, knowing that his own foolish behavior had pushed this further than it ever needed to go and now he needed to sever the bind entirely. When she knocked on his door late in the afternoon, he was not surprised, and he fixed his face in a look of smug superiority before opening the door.

Only to be confronted with one angry would-be lover who pushed past him on her way through the door with a growled; “We need to talk.”

He had been dreading the inevitable ‘talk’. She was going to ask the obligatory “where is this going” question. He could see it sitting in her mind with such crystal clarity that he was almost tempted to answer it without her voicing the words at all. He would then be forced to tell her that it was going no where and that it had to stop, right now, no more fun to be had.

She would hate him, and then that would be that.

Although judging from the look on her face she was already two-thirds of the way to hating him already. He closed the door, warded it and as an after thought, threw out a silencing charm. He then turned to the ball of fury that had walked into the centre of his chambers and raised a questioning eyebrow.

”Problems, Miss Granger?”

“Yes, Professor, I have a problem. He’s about six foot three and a great greasy fucking bastard and, surprise surprise, he’s standing right where you are!”

He spread his hands in mock surprise. “You couldn’t be talking about me?” he asked silkily.

“You left me there! You prick. You left me in the Forbidden Forest alone, and I had to fend Krum off when he fucking groped me!”

Snape grimaced. “That is regrettable” he said, forcing himself to remain calm.

“Regrettable? How very nice of you to say!” She scowled, doing a very good imitation of him in the process. She looked about the room, noticing all the books and forgot her wrath for a moment. “What are you reading?” she asked grumpily.

“Nothing that concerns you.”

She walked over to a pile on the floor and picked up a book from the top. She frowned, ‘A guide to the Celestial Wars.’ The book under it was titled simply, ‘Ravenhorns Angelology’. Looking around she began to notice a bit of a trend. Seems the Potions Master was really in to Angels.

Snape shuffled self-consciously on the spot. His chambers, normally so sparse, were positively cluttered with books. He had brought every book on Angels that he’d owned from the Fenn. Adding to the clutter was almost half of Hogwarts Restricted Section, all of which left little room for people. So far he had managed to learn a great deal about Angels, but very little about what he needed. There were several incantations to draw down Angels, although none he could find to call the Metatron and the potion Lucius had written down had not appeared in anything he had read so far.

He had begun to suspect something more sinister at work. While Snape knew that Lucius Malfoy was not entirely the child-killing, corpse mutilating demon that most of the Wizarding World thought him to be, he was also not blinded by prejudice. Lucius Malfoy had leagues to go before he would even hit the boundaries of being a good man. Whilst he was generous to a fault with those he called his friends, he could turn on them in the blink of an eye. Snape could hazard a guess and say that the only person Lucius ever loved blindly and completely was his son. To Lucius, Draco was the reason the earth turned, everything else was incidental to that point. While loving ones son was an admirable trait, it did not make him a better person. Lucius had spent his entire life playing some power game or other. From the moment he hexed his first House Elf to the moment he was kissed by the Dementor, Lucius was playing the game, craving more power, obtaining it at any cost. He bribed, cheated, cajoled, lied, threatened, hexed and stole. Snape had seen Lucius kill people without breaking stride and if he’d had his way; Muggles would have been eradicated in much the same way as one would rid a house of rats.

So why, Snape could only ask himself again, would an Angel willingly hand over his feathers to save the soul of such a man? He had resolved to start looking into books of Demons.

”Are you researching something?” Hermione asked, her mood lightening but not lifting altogether.

“No, it is just a passing interest.” It didn’t sound convincing to his ears, but he hoped she would accept it.

Hermione moved a pile of books from a chair and sat herself down, folding her arms across her chest, she glared at him expectantly. When he said nothing she sighed; “Well aren’t you going to offer me some refreshments?”

Snape rolled his eyes, offering tea and cake was, in his opinion, a complete waste of time. He usually bid his visitors say their piece and leave. “So we are going to be civilized then?”

“Yes,” she replied, “I see no reason not to be.”

“Oh, I am sorry, I read the ‘six foot three, great greasy fucking bastard’ comment all wrong then.”

Hermione scowled again, it didn’t look as though he was about to offer her anything to drink. “Are you going to offer me a beverage or not?”

“Tea or wine?”

“Which is the least work for the House Elves?”

Oh yes, she was a crusader for House Elf rights, or some ridiculous thing like that. “Wine,” he said absently and then regretted it. He really shouldn’t drink anything with even the slightest hint of alcohol in it when she was involved.

”I’ll have wine then.”

Tell her you have no wine. Tell her she has to have tea. Tell her you have no…”Red or white?”

“Red.”

He pulled a bottle out of the sideboard and poured two glasses. One each. That was all. One glass of wine can do nothing at all. Nothing...at all. He settled into the chair opposite her and stared at her questioningly.

Hermione returned the stare, but soon decided she would never win that battle. She drew her wand and set a fire in the cold grate. Snape rolled his eyes.

”I saw that,” she said sharply, “just because you can’t feel the cold doesn’t mean other people can’t either. It is freezing in here.”

He suppressed the smirk that was forming on his lips. Very few women would ever dare to speak to him with such familiarity and on a certain level he enjoyed the fact that she honestly assumed she could take such liberties with the way she addressed him. As though they had known each other for an eternity.

“So,” she prompted, taking a sip of her wine, “how have you been?”

“Why don’t you get to the point of your visit Miss Granger, and put us both out of our misery?”

Hermione drew a deep breath. “Alright then.” She frowned, chewing her lip for a moment, “what is happening…with us I mean?”

And there it was, hanging in the air between them and he was going to have to answer her. It was not as though he could simply put her off and tell her she was imagining things. It was a legitimate question and she deserved an answer. He figured he had two tact’s that he could take. He could be a cold hearted prick about it and tell her she meant nothing to him; that he was just out to have sex, or he could be honest, or at least reasonably honest with her. Seeing that in the last conversation they’d had about ‘them’ he had elected to use option one and they’d ended up with their mouths stuck together, he decided to perhaps use honesty instead.

“I will not sport with your intelligence by rehashing our last conversation on this topic,” he said, “therefore I must confess that I really do not know what is going on between the two of us. It would appear that we have both come to the conclusion that we find each other attractive. Beyond that I cannot tell.”

“Alright,” she nodded, “so we find each other attractive. Now what?”

“Now nothing,” he said crisply, “we have to stop this, pure and simple. It is inappropriate behavior for a student and a teacher.”

“I thought you weren’t going to sport with my intelligence by re-hashing our last conversation?”

“I…” he scowled, admiring her ability to turn his words back on him with such remarkable ease. The little bitch.

Hermione smiled and pushed herself up from her chair and went to him. Gingerly she sat on his lap, and he felt his hands automatically caress her hips, pulling her down hard onto him.

“Would you call this appropriate behavior, Professor?” She asked innocently.

“N-no, it’s not.” Merlin, was that his voice sounding so high and strangled?

She dipped her finger into her wine and traced the line of his lips with it before allowing it to seek passage into his mouth for him to lick the wine away.

Ohhhh, dear Gods she had to stop doing that.

“What about this? Is this appropriate Sir?”

He shook his head, her finger still in his mouth.

She laughed softly, then took his hand and dipped his finger into her wine and slowly, lusciously, she sucked the wine from his finger.

Snapes mouth ran dry and his cock jumped to attention. She had to stop doing that. She had to because…because the bed was right there and it would take about five steps for him to carry her to it.

Hermione finished sucking every trace of wine from his finger and raised an eyebrow, grinding her groin against his erection. “I think you must have thought that appropriate, Sir.”

“N-no,” he squeaked.

She covered his mouth with hers, relishing this sudden power over him and he responded immediately, as though an electric current had passed between them. His lips parted and his tongue slid into her mouth, running along her perfect white teeth before seeking out her own tongue. He was still at a loss as to how someone could possibly taste as good as she did. His arms snaked around her, grasping her and pulling her tight against him. He felt her hands plunge into his hair, he body electric beneath his wandering palms and he moved her body, helping her pull her leg around him so that she straddled him. His fingers gently squeezed her buttocks and he strained up against her, rubbing his cock against her groin. They were wearing far too many clothes for this. She was so hot, he couldn’t escape, even if he wanted to. Which he didn’t. He just wanted to pick her up and walk those five steps to the bed. Yes, that was a great idea.

But he had to stop it. He had to right now because something was about to happen, he could feel it, like a premonition, something was about to…

“Severus?”

He stood up so fast that she fell to the ground with a yelp and he turned to the fireplace by the bed, not the one in front of them (thankthegodsthankthegodsthankthegods) where Dumbledore’s head was currently floating. He stepped over her and swept to obscure Dumbledore’s view of the room.

“We’re you working?”

“No, Albus. Catching up on some reading.”

Hermione sat up, rubbing her butt and pushed herself behind a chair and further out of sight.

“Then I will get to the point. When you were in London, did Lucius Malfoy look…” Dumbledore frown, searching for a word, “did he look well?”

 “He looked fine. A little shell shocked perhaps.”

“And you met Archibald Semeuse?”

“The Curator? Yes, why?”

“How did the Curator seem?”

Snape frowned, “Perhaps you should tell me what is on your mind Albus?”

Dumbledore chuckled, “I am sure it is nothing. Minerva met him yesterday and she said he un-nerved her. I was speaking to Remus today and he said something similar. Minerva says he hovers over Mr. Malfoy’s case. I am trying to remember exactly where I have heard his name mentioned before and I cannot place it. I thought you could shed some light on his actions while you were there.”

“He,” Snape stared at Dumbledore, conscious of the fact that Hermione was somewhere in the room, although a discussion about Archibald Semeuse had certainly doused his lust. “He offered to purchase Lucius, he asked me to speak to Draco regarding a possible sale.”

“And have you?”

“Of course not. The boy is traumatized enough as it is.”

“I will try and find out what I can about the man. In the meantime, the Ministry has contacted me, to let me know that they’ve finished at Malfoy Manor.”

“Did they find anything?”

“No, Severus, they did not.” Upon seeing Snape smirk Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, “You believe they missed things.”

“Anything is possible Albus,” Snape replied lightly, smirk still in place. Dumbledore knew as well as he did that the Ministry wouldn’t find anything Lucius Malfoy didn’t want them to find.

“If you could pass on to Draco that his home is available to him again, I would be grateful.”

“Of course, I…”

“And Severus, about your little guest who is currently behind the chair in front of the fire. I will only warn you once, tread carefully.”

Snape paled and felt his head swim, “yes Albus.” His words were barely above a whisper. The fire died down and Dumbledore was gone. He turned to face Hermione who was standing by the fire looking as shaken as he did.

“It’s over,” he said simply, “you need to go.”

“But Severus…”

“No buts, go.”

“He didn’t say don’t do it!”

”He may as well have.” He strode towards her, “you need to go.”

“Look, he won’t come back now, not so soon anyway,” She tried to smile, perhaps if she was more direct, more like Ron maybe, “Look, why don’t we just get into bed and get this over with right now?”

“WHAT?!?”

Well so much for that tact, no wonder Ron was doing so badly with this. “I…I mean…I”

“Have you ever been with a man before?”

Hermione blushed, “Well no…”

“I really don’t believe that it is something you just get into bed and get over with.” He grimaced, “in fact I would say that it points out the fundamental differences between us.”

“And that is?” She folded her arms defensively.

”I would never suggest we just we climb into bed and get it over and done with. Especially not your first encounter.”

Hermione’s mouth fell open, “What? So now you’re more romantic than me? Mr. Roll around in the forest and then piss off into the night?”

”I WENT BACK TO MAKE SURE YOU WERE ALRIGHT!”

“SO YOU SAW WHAT KRUM DID? WHY DIDN’T YOU DO SOMETHING?”

“YOU SEEMED TO BE ABLE TO HANDLE IT YOURSELF!!”

“I love you,” she said suddenly and bit her lip.

He stared at her for what seemed an eternity before turning away. “You don’t know what love is. You’re just a child, feeling. You’re feeling all of these sensations that will leave you soon enough”

“You dare to presume that you know more about what I do and don’t know about myself? I know my head and I know my heart. I know what I want and what I need. I know myself. Love isn’t just a sensation, I know that sometimes it gets rough, but that doesn’t mean we can’t even try it.”

He folded his arms and paced the floor, “You may know yourself, Hermione, but you don’t know me, and I don’t know you. Having such feelings for each other is impossible given such a lack of knowledge.”

“Deny that you feel something,” she challenged and when he stayed silent she grinned triumphantly. “I will tell Dumbledore that it was me, that I seduced you.”

“Don’t,” he said quietly.

“So that’s it then? I tried to reach you but you closed you mind and decided no? This can’t be it. This can’t be the end. You haven’t even given it a chance to begin!”

He glared at her. The girl was obviously disturbed. That could be the only reason why she would be prepared to argue with him over this. She’d heard Dumbledore and she was still arguing. He smiled thinly. “Regardless, it has to end, we can have no more contact with each other aside from that of a student and a teacher.”

“How are we to get to know each other if we are not to talk?”

“What makes you think I want to get to know you, Miss Granger?”

Hermione swallowed, she forced herself to breath calmly, “Because of that night in detention when we talked. Because of the way it feels when you touch me. I think you want to be loved, I think somewhere inside you want to love and be loved in return.”

”Someone should have told you, Miss Granger, to never attribute emotions that are your own to other people.”

Hermione’s mind reeled, there had to be a way she could salvage this. An idea sparked and curled and grew. She had to make it a challenge, she always worked better if she had a goal to reach for, and it was the way she functioned best. Treat him like a particularly difficult assignment. Her deadline should be…Christmas Eve.

”Letters,” she said at last.

“What?”

“I will keep my distance, but let me write you letters.”

He closed his eyes, he didn’t want to fight with her; he wanted to fuck her. What harm could come of letters? If he said no she would only argue further. “Very well then, you may write me letters.”

“And you must reply to them.”

“I don’t...” He stopped, why couldn’t he give in, just a little? “If you so desire it.”

“I do.” She smiled, turning away from him and heading for the door. “Good bye Professor.”

“Miss Granger?”

She turned.

Not really knowing what possessed him to say it, Snape glared at her, “no more dates with Viktor Krum.”

Hermione smiled, “Of course not Severus, why would I do that?”

~ ~ ~

The first letter arrived the next morning. Snape found a neatly folded note, sealed with the standard Hogwarts crest and scented with Honeysuckle and Jasmine, sitting on his breakfast plate. He turned it over in long fingers, inspecting it suspiciously and when he was certain no one was watching he sniffed it.

“Love letter Severus?”

He jumped and looked at Minerva alarmed.

“Dumbledore said he caught you in what looked like a rather compromising position, but he was certain he was mistaken.”

“He was?”

“Oh yes, he said that there was no way what he thought he saw could be right because when it came to the student populace the general opinion is that you are a complete turd.”

Dumbledore said he was a complete turd? Snape flushed.

“Well, open the bloody letter!”

He turned his back on Minerva, hunched over his note and opened it.

“Dear Severus,

Why do you think that people write love letters? Do you think it a more personal way of writing? I cannot understand it, but perhaps inhibitions are removed and true feelings can be better expressed. I am no wordsmith, so I have decided that I will let others convey what I feel to you. I will start, a poem that I feel tells you some of my mind and my fears, by return, I want one about you.

“Let us not to the marriage of true minds

admit impediments. Love is not love

which alters when it alteration finds,

or bends with the remover to remove;

Oh, no! it is an ever fixe’d mark,

That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wandering bark,

Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.

Love’s not time’s fool, though rosey lips and cheeks

within his bending sickles compass come ,

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

If this be error and upon me proved,

I never writ, nor no man ever loved.”

All my love

Hermione.”

Snape chuckled softly, folded the letter and placed it in his breast pocket.

~ ~ ~

Hermione was disappointed when she received no letter that day and was further distressed when there was no note on her breakfast plate the following day. She really had thought that Shakespeare would do the trick and she was about to despair when an owl bringing the post dropped a letter into her hands.

The parchment was slate gray, tied with a grey ribbon and sealed with silver wax, an ornate and serpentine ‘S’.

She opened it quickly, not wanting to break the perfect package, but breaking it anyway.

“Hermione

Within the furthest reaches of the heart lie those desires whose name no one dares speak. So seductive, so intoxicating, so indulgent, our most private passions burn at the molten core of our being, luring us to the very heights of ecstasy and depths of despair. Through the ages, the words of impassioned lovers have transformed a sheet of paper into a sanctuary for a restless heart. That is why people write love letters.

You wanted a poem about myself and I will give you one, although it will give you little pleasure.

Severus”

Hermione folded the letter, caught between desire and being thoroughly shell shocked. She decided against haste in her reply. She would keep to his schedule of a letter each day, and she worked long into the night on a suitable reply, giving the note to the owl some time after midnight for the morning post. If this kept up, it was going to be an interesting race to Christmas.

~ ~ ~

It had become the nightly habit of Curator Semeuse to leave his bed after basking in the glory of his captive lover and going to his desk to work on the plans for the up-coming removal of the Exhibition to its first stop in the three month long tour of the country. He had begun to worry about the safety of his specimens. The Museum he knew well, and he knew how to keep everything within its walls safe. Outside was a different matter. Leaving his bedroom and his Angel who lay disheveled in the bed, he made his way to his office. The logistics involved in taking the Exhibition on tour were simply overwhelming and when he thought of his Angel, felt a rising panic. If anything should happen to him, Semeuse would run mad.

When the idea of the traveling exhibition was first proposed, Semeuse had contacted Messer’s Shackleford and Fowles, makers of the finest Wizard Tents and Marquees in the world. The employed the same Mobius principle of expanding cubic capacity as the Museum itself, and as such could recreate the Museums environs. But it would still be a tent, and a tent had not the strength of a stone building and Semeuse had taken to pacing his chambers in terror lest any hazard befall his treasures.

He had been remarkably specific when outlining exactly what he required of the Marquee. The interior showcase room had to be exactly 639 squares and separated by a partition a third of the way into the room. Two separate rooms of five squares and fifteen squares respectively were required. The first was to act as a preparation room for the Death Eaters to be bathed, clothed and fed. The second room would be for the use of Semeuse and his Angel. There would also need to be accommodation for the House Elves, bathrooms and kitchens incorporated into the design. The most important factor, however, was that the marquee had be impenetrable.

While the other exhibits remained enclosed in their cases at night, the Angel was taken and carefully laid out in Semeuse’s own bed. This practice would continue throughout the tour. Lucius had to be accessible at all times. Semeuse had contemplated removing him from display entirely; after the tour was over he decided that he probably would. Lucius could live in Semeuse’s own chambers.

It was no longer a matter of hoping that the Son would sell his Father. Semeuse would soon have them both. He was making arrangements in this regard. His first order of business was to find out as much as he could about the boy to ascertain whether or not he was a suitable specimen. It would be pointless if the child was only a half blood or bore no resemblance at all to the sire. He had seen perfectly good collections spoiled in the past by artifacts that were supposedly linked but too dissimilar so as to cast doubts regarding their authenticity. If the boy was suitable, Semeuse then had to find out how best to ensnare him. Once he had managed that little feat, it was a simple matter of having the Kiss performed by one of the Dementor’s. This was a relatively easy task. Semeuse had official status within the Ministry, he would simply authorize the order and have the Dementor come to him. Dementor’s never questioned the authorization. They craved souls and Semeuse would have one to offer. That was all that would be required.

The dossier he had been waiting for arrived that morning, just over a week after the exhibition had opened and Semeuse had found out about the boy. The photograph was an old one, some five years old. The boy was truly a boy in the picture, only 13. His pale blonde hair slicked back and a broom stick in his hand. Even as a boy the resemblance was evident. The face was beginning to mature, the nose was gaining the strength, his jaw more solid. The boy in the picture was in the process of leaving the prettiness of childhood and was becoming the man his Father’s genes dictated he would be. Oh yes, in looks he was certainly everything he was supposed to be.

The notes that came with the photograph were little more than statistics and were perfect to prove his authenticity. There was a copy of his birth certificate and a brief list of attributes, both physical and mental, which would be of interest to any collector.

Name: Draconis Antoine Malfoy, born in London, 8 April 1980. Father: Lucius Armand Malfoy, Mother: Narcissa Magdalena Malfoy – nee Black. Hair: White Blonde. Eyes: Gray. Distinguishing Features: Pale complexion, pointed features. House: Slytherin. Interests: Quidditch (was Slytherin Seeker 1992 – 1998), Flying, Dark Magic, Himself. Pets: Unknown. Partner: Unknown – though thought to have a partner, no information can be gathered. Friends: Unknown. The subject spends time with various people at school although how close he is to any of them in unknown. Broomstick: Nimbus 2001 + Firebolt. Skills: Duelist, Potions, and Transfiguration.

The report was superficial, but it was enough. Semeuse was certain that despite the existence of an unknown partner, that the boy’s girlfriend would prove no threat to his plans. His friends were the unknown quantity. It depended greatly on what kind of a person the boy was. If he had been able to wipe off the taint of having his parents as Death Eaters, he could prove to be popular and thus have friends who would fight to save him. Thus snatching him in the open would be impossible. No, Semeuse would have to be far more cunning than that.

He put the dossier aside. He had to return to the problem of the marquee and the transportation issues. He couldn’t afford to have any more deaths due to improper packing. He pinched the bridge of his nose, he could feel a headache coming on and the strong desire for sleep. He had never taken a collection outside of the Museum before and he was beginning to wonder if the stress involved was truly worth it. Returning to his papers he decided that moving from place to place by Muggle truck would probably be safest for all concerned.

Four weeks later, the exhibition was ready to travel.

~ ~ ~

Harry decided that is was a desire for self torture that found him watching the last Quidditch match before the school broke for the Christmas holidays. It was pouring with rain, and the charm used to keep the rain off the spectators was not performing its office with any real success. The wind whipped through the stands, chilling him to the bone and he wrapped his robes a little tighter around himself. Harry’s warming charms were mediocre at best, and when he couldn’t concentrate, they were plainly appalling

“So, I see Slytherin are kicking some Gryffindor arse, again.”

Harry grinned as Draco dropped down onto the bench beside him. “I thought you said you weren’t coming out in ‘all this fucking rain’?”

“Well, I never could resist watching Gryffindor get an arse whipping.”

Harry laughed and shivered and clutched his robes. Draco rolled his eyes. “You really are hopeless, you know that?” he cast a warming charm and watched as Harry’s body uncoiled from the tight hunched position it had previously held.

“Thanks,” Harry whispered.

“Not a problem.”  Draco traced the bone of Harry’s wrist with sensitive fingers, feeling the warmth of the charm infuse the skin. “Are you still pissed off?” he asked jovially.

“I wasn’t ever pissed off,” Harry replied, but his body tensed anyway.

“Yes you were.”

Harry, deciding to practice his ability to do Legilimency without a wand, had caught a flash of memory from Draco that morning. It served himself right, he shouldn’t have been looking without asking. What he had seen had disturbed him. It wasn’t any heinous crime, it was nothing that could ever be held against Draco at all, and it shouldn’t have even upset Harry – except that it had.

It was an old memory, Draco making love to a girl. No, not making love. They were fucking, it was not love. Draco couldn’t have been more than sixteen. He still slicked his hair back, although some of it had fallen over his face as he drove into the girl. She was a Slytherin, but Harry couldn’t remember her name. She could be dead by now for all he knew. That it was the past and she was gone did nothing to alleviate the pain Harry felt at seeing it. Draco had been unscarred in the memory and it had sickened Harry that he, who loved Draco beyond measure, should get what was left in the aftermath of war while this girl, who had meant nothing, should have Draco whole and perfect. And Draco had been pounding into the girl’s body. Hard and fast and with so much passion that he had yelled as he came, rammed to the hilt inside her.

Harry had seen it, too mortified to stop himself from watching it and he could only wonder how it was that Draco could ever be satisfied with him. Draco could never do that to Harry. He could never drive into him with that much force, Harry was certain of that. Even when they did finally have sex, and they agreed that they had to, Draco would never be able to do that, not without tearing Harry apart in the process.

“It won’t do to dwell on it,” Draco said, pulling a bag of sweets from his pocket and offering Harry one. “Actually, I should be the one pissed off at you for fucking around in my head in the first place.”

Harry shrugged, he had to admit he was thoroughly ashamed of himself. “So why aren’t you.”

“Well,” Draco grinned, “you pretty much learned your lesson, you’re not very happy with what you found are you?”

Harry shrugged and looked through the bag for something he might actually like. Draco had a terrible habit of going to Honeydukes and buying all of the sweets any normal person would turn their nose up at. He actually liked getting tripe flavored Bertie Botts. In the end Harry found a liquorice whip that he was certain had only been put in there for him.

The announcer echoed across the field. Slytherin lead 210 to 90. Neither Seeker appeared to have any idea where the Snitch was, and the rain was not helping. Both teams looked exhausted and the game might well continue for hours. Even McGonagall looked as though she was about to call it a day and leave them to it. Snape looked as though he would strangle someone if the game didn’t end soon.

“What are you doing for Christmas?” Draco asked, picking out a cockroach cluster and smiling at it.

“Nothing,” Harry replied, “and if you want me to kiss you at any point tonight, you will not put that in your mouth.”

Draco looked at the cluster with some regret and dropped it back into the bag. “I thought I might go to the Manor.”

Harry looked at him, startled, “You’re going away?”

“I thought you might want to come with me.”

“To – To Malfoy Manor?”

“Yes,” Draco laughed, “last time I checked it was the only manor I own.”

Harry had seen the manor before, from the outside at least. There had been a battle of sorts there. There had been a Death Eater meeting there, the Order had gone in an attempt to catch some of the senior members of Voldemorts army. They had been hopelessly ill prepared. The only thing they had accomplished was getting twenty people killed and catching a scant few Death Eaters – one of whom happened to be Draco’s mother. At the time he hadn’t thought of it as Draco’s home, just a place to fight in, a place where something terrible had happened and one of the many places that haunted his dreams. The idea of going back there was terrifying.

Then again, it would be two weeks with Draco. Two weeks alone with Draco. No one to disturb them, they wouldn’t have to sneak around, he wouldn’t have to hide under his Invisibility Cloak to go to the bathroom. He wouldn’t have to go back to his own bed!

“Um, sure, if you want me to come,” Harry said quietly.

“Great,” Draco enthused, “I thought I’d ask Hermione as well.”

“Hermione?” Well, so much for being alone.

Draco saw the look on his face and laughed, “Now don’t stress. I happen to know that she is planning this big seduction for Christmas Eve.”

At this they both looked at Snape who was trying to telepathically tell either Seeker just where the Snitch was. He figured he could see it, so why the hell couldn’t the Seekers see the damn thing?

“So she’ll turn you down in favor of greasy big nosed git over there.” Harry smiled.

“Yes, and please bear in mind that greasy big nose git over there is my Godfather and I am quite attached to him.”

Harry shuddered, how any one could be attached to Snape was beyond him. “So she’ll turn you down,” he repeated.

“That’s right, so all obligation is over with and we get to walk around naked for two weeks.”

Harry grinned. That sounded pretty damn good to him.

~ ~ ~

Christmas Eve dawned and most of the student populace was ready to leave right after breakfast. Hermione sat on her bed and watched as Lavender put a few extra objects on the dressing table. Lavender was packed and ready to catch the Hogwarts Express to London, while Hermione was dressed in old jeans and a pink sweat shirt.

“Ok,” Lavender pointed at the dressing table, “this is my new Gilderoy Lockhart’s super curl revival hair serum, remember, don’t use to much of it, he said in that letter last week that he likes your wild untamable hair, so just put a little bit through your hair when it is still wet will give it a nice shiny curl. I have made you up some perfume, here, and this one is a bath oil that will make you feel and smell super sexy.”

Hermione nodded, picking up the oil and sniffing. It was pretty good, an excellent blend.

“This oil is in case you want to give him a massage, it’s edible so you can put it in all sorts of places.”

Hermione blushed bright red, “I have no idea how to massage someone.”

“Then just keep your touch nice and gentle.” Lavender picked up a book and waved it in Hermione’s face, “this is How to be a Great Lover by Lou Paget. Now, it’s a Muggle book, but it does give step by step instructions on how to give great head. Read it before you go to his room.”

Hermione blushed again.

”Trust me,” Lavender smirked, “he’ll love you for it.”

“Alright,” Hermione took a deep breath, “what do I do if I can’t get him to go to bed?”

Lavender shook her head, “I really can’t see that being a problem.”

“He can be pretty stubborn when he wants to be.”

Lavender rolled her eyes again. “Look, you have been writing letters to each other for about five weeks yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“And if you would please re-read me the one he sent you this morning.”

Hermione pulled it out of the bundle in her top draw and smiled at it, “’Longing chains me. When you raise your eyelids it is as effective as if you had taken off your clothes and while I know that to have you is a sin, sometimes a sin is a pleasure.’”

“So, you’re not going to have any problems.” Lavender smiled, who would have thought the Potions Master would have written that? “You have the negligee I got for you?”

“Yep.”

“And the black gown to wear to dinner?”

“Yep.”

”Good, you’re ready.” Lavender wrapped her scarf around her neck and opened her arms. “Hug me before I go.”

Hermione hugged her awkwardly and Lavender whispered “Good Luck” in her ear before maneuvering her trunk out the door.

It was going to be strange spending Christmas alone. She had never done that before. But she wouldn’t be alone. She would be with Severus. Regardless, she was the only one to be staying behind in the South West Tower, even Harry, Hogwarts stalwart Christmas resident, was leaving this year. Of course, few people knew where Harry was going. He’d told Ron he was going to Grimmald place. Considering Ron had not yet adapted to the fact that Harry was actually being civil to Draco, he really didn’t need to know the truth, not yet any way.

In truth, Hermione was growing worried about Ron. She’d expressed her concern to Harry but he had dismissed her fears. She couldn’t dismiss them though. Ron’s anger, Ron’s growing detachment from everyone who loved him, it didn’t sit right with her. Ron had always been loyal, almost to a fault. Even when she knew jealousy was eating at him, even when he played second fiddle to the most famous boy in the Wizarding World, Ron had remain steadfast by Harry’s side. Suddenly, he was lashing out and was seemingly unconcerned for anyone’s feelings other than his own.

He’d laughed about the Death Eater Exhibition. That photograph in the Daily Prophet that had haunted so many, Ron had purchased every copy he could find and had pasted it all over the common room, all over Draco’s door. While he had never liked Draco and the animosity between the Malfoy’s and the Weasley’s was legendary, Hermione had never thought he could be so blatantly cruel. His actions had gone far beyond mere dislike or rivalry. He seemed full of a malicious hatred that knew no bounds…and it was all directed at one person. He wanted to hurt Draco, and he would do so even if it cost him the respect of all of his friends.

She smiled and waved goodbye to Lavender. Harry came out of his room with his trunk. He and Ron were not really speaking and Ron almost knocked him over getting his trunks past him. Hermione noticed the Contract tucked under Ron’s arm. Harry had told her that Ron had become quite obsessed by it, checking thrice daily and giving Harry hell for his apparent lack of success. Despite Ron’s own short comings on the Contract and Harry’s abundance of rose buds, Ron had targeted Harry’s seeming inability to get a full rose as a mark of failure. All of this coupled with Ron’s constant verbal – and occasional physical – attacks on Draco had left Harry cold and with little sympathy for any problems Ron may have.

Not that Ron was looking for sympathy. In his current state of mind, both Harry and Hermione could go to hell and he wouldn’t care less. He saw any friendship with or defense of Draco Malfoy as an act of betrayal. He had effectively cut them both off.

“Hey!”

Hermione jumped and then laughed at her fright. Draco stood beside her looking rather delicious in a black jumper and blue jeans, she had to admit, Harry had a real cute boyfriend.

“I can see you’re all ready to go,” She said quietly.

“Absolutely, I can barely wait to get home.” He grinned.

Hermione waved at Ron who sneered at her.

“Happy Holiday’s Weasel,” Draco drawled, “if you’re lucky you might get one of your brother’s old boots for a gift.”

“Draco, don’t be a fucking shit!” Hermione hissed. Harry was scowling at them, he was trying to coax Hedwig into her cage and she really didn’t want to go.

“Never fear Ferret, you never know, you might get lucky and they’ll forget to send you a bill for wiping your father’s arse this month.”

“Get fucked you shit eat…”

“WOULD YOU TWO JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP PLEASE?”

All eyes turned to Harry. Ron gave Draco one final sneer and turned, walking out of the tower without saying goodbye to anyone. Draco folded his arms across his chest and scowled. Harry managed to push Hedwig into her cage and locked the door.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” Draco asked Hermione angrily.

Well not in this mood, no. “Ah, no, I don’t really want to spend the next two weeks being a third wheel.”

He held out a small crystal bottle to her, still in a foul mood, but forcing a smile to her. “This is a Portkey. It has been charmed to take you to the Manor. If you get bored or you change your mind, you just have to hold the base still and twist the top and you’ll get to us.”

“Thank you.” She smiled, even when he was sulking he was kind of cute. Looking around she noticed that the Common Room was empty with the exception of the three of them. Harry was sitting on his trunks looking a little pissed off,and Draco was sulking. It didn’t look like the most auspicious of beginnings for a holiday together. But Harry hadn’t taken his trunks back into his room, so they were definitely still going.

Hermione kissed them both, wished them a Merry Christmas and watched as they headed out the door. They weren’t going by train, the plan was to go to Hogsmeade and Apparate themselves away. Which left her there alone with the ultimate seduction plan.

~ ~ ~

Harry arrived at Malfoy Manor scant seconds after Draco. He had expected to Apparate inside, but found himself standing in the front courtyard with an impressive view of the House itself. He would later find out that it was impossible to Apparate directly into the house, one needed a Portkey to do that and Draco had given the only Portkey to Hermione lest she change her mind and choose to join them.

He knew a little about the house. It stood on the site of a medieval priory. At the time of the dissolution of the religious houses it had been bought by the Viscount d’Malfoi who had traveled to England in 1486 in an effort to escape the Continental Witch Hunts. The original Viscount and his descendants then lived in the original priory until it was razed by Muggles in 1597. It went a long way to explaining the Malfoy family’s hatred of Muggles. The Malfoy family had almost been wiped out in the Witch Hunts, as had a lot of Pureblood families. Of course, in the end the greatest number of victims of the hunts were the hapless Muggles who had no powers at all. Construction of the existing house took around twelve years to complete and it had been home to the family ever since. It was built using the then newly-popular Italian style, and Italian craftsmen were employed to make the internal decorations and the furniture to match. The gardens were not completed until the eighteenth century when the formal gardens, orangery, and terraces were laid out. The warding on the house was now so strong that it seemed to shimmer like a mirage.

The whole lot had almost been lost in the war the previous year.

Harry owed every ounce of knowledge on the place to Hermione who had researched it after Harry had announced he was going there for the holidays.

Looking at it, Harry didn’t rightly care less that the place was built in an Italian style, or that the gardens were extensive, he could only think one thing. The place was fucking huge. He realized he was standing in the courtyard where a year before a battle had taken place and Harry had accidentally blasted the Malfoy’s bore hound Mordeccarne into a thousand chunks of blood, bone and flesh. Harry shuffled nervously on the spot and wondered if Draco knew it was Harry that had killed his pet. He was beginning to think it had been a bad idea coming here.

“Well?”

Harry looked at Draco and tried to smile. It came out as a grimace. Not the reaction Draco had expected.

“It isn’t that bad,” he said raising his eyebrow in irritated wonder.

“It’s very…big.”

Draco shrugged, “You get used to it.” He walked towards the doors and as he approached they swung open in welcome. The Master was home, the house recognized it’s own. Harry hesitated for a moment and followed Draco inside out of the cold winter chill.

The room they walked into was a small entrance room whose stand out feature was a large marble fireplace; big enough for a fully grown man to stand in. This was the entrance room, anyone arriving through the Floo system or via Portkey would end up here to be welcomed by the House Elf who was now opening a second door and staring at Draco as though seeing a ghost.

Harry looked around him. It was not the grand entrance hall he was expecting. He really didn’t know what he was expecting, but not this. Perhaps he thought they would show off their wealth and power upon any piddling little Wizards arrival. Instead this little room served as the first impression. It was pleasantly warm and Harry suspected that it had been charmed to be so. Across one wall, opposite the fireplace, were pegs for coats and cloaks and Harry noticed uncomfortably that a number of cloaks were hung on pegs already. A couple he recognized. He had seen Lucius Malfoy wear the heavy woolen travel cloak before, the detailing of serpents twinned around each other was almost burned into his brain. He shuddered. That their cloaks should be here, hung up as though they were at home and the war never happened, seemed eerie. There were even Wellington boots lined up across the boot rack and umbrellas in the umbrella stand. A narrow pew like bench sat against the wall beside the door. A pair of black leather gloves had been casually thrown there and forgotten. Draco picked them up and turned them over in his hand, then casting a look at Harry he quickly put them down.

The room was unmistakably like someone’s home. A family home at that, and it made Harry all the more uneasy. He had no place here.

Draco turned to the Elf who still stood in the doorway, the look of surprise frozen on his face.

“Well, I take it Non never told you I was coming,” Draco said to it, his voice held a certain disdain, and Harry almost laughed. The Malfoy’s treatment of their House Elves was legend, he had no doubt Draco was holding back for his benefit.

“No, Sir, Master Draco,” The Elf stuttered, “But, but an honor it is to have you home, Sir.”

“Have the trunks taken up.” Draco walked imperiously past the Elf, Harry turned as he shuffled past, smiled and mumbled an “excuse me” to which the Elf almost passed out in shock.

“You don’t have to speak to them you know,” Draco said, “they don’t expect it.”

”Yes, but it is polite.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “OK, whatever. Now, do you want to do the 2 sickle tour or do you want to see our room?”

“Whatever comes first.” Harry looked around him and he couldn’t help but gasp. This was what he had expected of an entrance. A huge airy foyer seemed to explode from the small entrance room. Marble statues seemed to leer out of the corners and whisper amongst themselves. Dozens of paintings adorned the walls. The Malfoy ancestors stared out at Harry, all with a set of distinguishing features. Gray eyes, blonde hair and a beauty that he couldn’t rightly fathom. Harry could hear them whispering, shaking their heads and staring at him. More than once he heard the words “halfblood” uttered and he was about to turn around and walk out when Draco piped up rather loudly.

“Don’t worry about the paintings, they’ll get it out of their system soon enough.”

The paintings fell to silence.

“Um, Draco,” Harry said, trying to smile, but failing miserably, “I don’t think this was the best idea. Maybe I should go back to the school.”

Draco spun on his heel. “Why?”

“I…I don’t really feel very comfortable here. I mean, it’s your family's…I mean…”

Draco frowned. “Look, it’s just a house. I know what happened here, I was here when it happened. I know you killed my dog, I know you helped to bring my Mother down and I know it’s a little intimidating, but It’s just a house. Can’t you just give it a chance? I mean, aside from two days when I have some things I have to do, I’ll be here with you the whole time. Nothing is going to happen to you, you might even…”

“Hang on,” Harry interrupted, “What two days? I thought we were coming here to take some time out…together.”

“We are,” Draco smiled, “but I have a couple of things I need to do.”

“Like what?”

“Gods Harry, you sound like a fishwife.” Draco grinned as Harry flushed red with fury, “Well, firstly the Death Eater Exhibition is on the Salisbury Plain, so I am going to that and…”

“YOU’RE WHAT?” Harry’s voice echoed through the hall and the paintings began to mumble again, “why the hell are you going to see that? You don’t need to go and see that. What kind of a sadist are you?”

Draco drew a deep breath, “I just want to see that he is alright, maybe talk to the Curator, make sure no one has tried to do anything. If it was your father you’d do the same.”

Harry probably would, but he wasn’t going to let Draco know that. This was supposed to be their holiday, now Draco was suddenly making day trips and leaving in this miserable house. He turned as he mounted the stairs, following Draco to Merlin knew where. The last Lord of the Manor stared out of a picture frame and sneered at him.

“I don’t think your house likes me,” he muttered, edging past the painting, half expecting Lucius to reach out and grab him.

“It probably doesn’t, it knows you tried to kill it.”

“I thought you said it was only a house.”

Draco grinned, “It is.”

Harry sighed, “So what’s the second thing you’re leaving me to do?” he asked sulkily.

“I have to go and see Pansy.”

“Pansy?” Harry felt jealousy flare in his belly.

“Pansy Parkinson, you remember her from school?”

Harry remembered her alright. “Pug Faced Parkinson?” He laughed.

Draco, half way up the stairs, turned, his face deadly serious. “Don’t call her that,” he said quietly.

Harry felt the spark of jealousy turn into a full blown inferno, “Why not?” he sneered, and “she looks like a pug. What is she to you, some ex-lover?”

“You’re letting your insecurities show, Potter,” Draco drawled, but there was no humor in his voice.

“Then tell me why you have to go and see some ex-girlfriend,” Harry said bitterly, “fancy a fuck for old times sake or something like that?”

“Now you’re sounding like the Weasel,” Draco said quietly, “and for your information, she was never my lover. She is, however, my friend. Her parents were killed during the war, and she was forced to watch them being killed, then she was raped by three men twice her age. She tried to commit suicide by swimming out into a lake and stupefying herself. Her uncle found her, and she has been in St Mungo’s ever since. She arrived home three days ago, and I think I have the right to go and see her.”

Harry flushed with shame, “I...I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Then don’t presume to judge my relationships with everyone that I know. Do you think I would bother bringing you here if I was going to run out for a quick fuck? If you ever speak ill of one of my friends, living or dead, ever again, you can consider this over.”

Harry’s face was burning, he felt tears well in his eyes and he forced them back. He really should just go, this was a mistake. Instead of turning and fleeing down the stairs, he nodded dumbly. Draco stepped back down two stairs and tilted Harry’s face up to his. He kissed him gently and Harry responded with sudden intensity.

“Master?”

They pulled apart quickly and Harry looked down to see another House Elf standing beside Draco. This one was particularly small, far smaller than Dobby, and with a look of superiority on its face that Harry couldn’t believe.

Draco’s face split into a wide smile, “Non!”

“Master Draco,” said the House Elf with no reverence what so ever, “You’re late. I was expecting you last night.”

“We got delayed.”

At the inference of ‘we’, the Elf turned and stared at Harry, looking him up and down. “And who is this?”

“Non, this is Harry, Harry, this is Non.”

Harry smiled at the Elf, he couldn’t quite believe that Draco was actually introducing him to a House Elf. “Hello Non,” he said and offered his hand.

Non didn’t take the hand, instead he looked Harry up and down again and positively glared at him. “Harry?” the elf said sharply to Draco, “Harry Potter?”

“Yes Non, Harry Potter.”

Non looked at Draco and shook his head, “I don’t think your father would approve.”

“Well Father isn’t here is he?”

Non looked back at Harry, “I will show you to the guest quarters.

“Non,” Draco interrupted and the Elf looked at him questioningly. “Harry is staying with me.”

The Elf shook his head again. The boy’s father definitely would not approve.

~ ~ ~

Krum was conscious of the cold rain that pelted his face, washing from his nostrils the too-sweet scent of decaying flowers. This was his dumping ground for all the bouquets she had refused to accept. Slowly he opened his eyes, in the distance he could see carriages taking students to the train, but she was staying. He knew she was staying. The rain fell steadily, gluing his black robes to his drenched flesh. In his country the winter brought the clean fresh snow, here it seemed that incessant rain made snow an impossibility.

But he was sure the last time he had come here it was snowing. Many things had been different then.

He felt as though he had been living in a dream and had only now managed to wake. He became aware of himself, of his surroundings. What was he doing here, at Hogwarts. Had his life at his home been so very bad that he would seek to live in this miserable raining place? In his heart he knew that it could not be so. He claimed even to himself that he had no idea that she would be here – but deep inside he always knew she would come back to Hogwarts. She had always told him about it, in every letter, and he still had them all. He felt as if he were a chess piece arranged on a board and played by fate. He may as well be a stone monument, his face weathered by time and streaming with moisture. It was his fate to watch her win. He was nothing more than a pawn in this game.

He pressed his arms around his chest and looked up at the castle walls. Although his flesh felt as cold and wet as that stone, he did not feel chilled. His hair clung to his head and face and he walked back to the stairs, looking further through the archways and the apparent haven within.

This place was no haven for him. The castle with its stone gargoyles that seemed to stare him down had been little more than a place of torment. Her continued rejection of him played heavy on his soul. He had been his countries champion, and he could have been again. He was the hero of his school and he could be teaching there. Instead he was here, being brought to his knees by the pretensions of a girl of no blood or breeding. Did she not realize that he’d had the world at his feet. Did she not realize what he had given up for her?

That fateful choice, and it seemed so many years ago now, to partner to the Yule ball at this very school, it had cost him dear. His classmates had glared at him with little respect. The *Durmstrang Champion choosing a Mudblood. Disgracing his name. And for what? It had all come to nothing. Champion indeed. She had ruined him as surely as the war had destroyed his kin.

It was time now to take back what he had lost. It was time to reclaim himself. It was time to make her understand just who he was.

~ ~ ~

It was a strange sensation to be completely alone at Hogwarts. Hermione found it so peaceful she almost wished it was like this year round. Very few students had stayed. Since the war, families had held their children close. Hermione was almost estranged from her own parents because she had insisted on returning to the school in the first place. Staying for Christmas had just about tipped them over the edge.

Hermione spent two hours luxuriating in the bath, enjoying the fact that she didn’t have to speak or share or feel self conscious. The bath oil that Lavender had made was an incredible experience, she felt as though she was floating when she climbed out of the water. She took her time preparing herself, knowing that everyone would be eating together tonight, she had to look seductive, she had to whet his appetite.

As Lavender promised, the hair serum created luxurious shining curls. Again she followed Lavenders advice and applied minimal make up. Just a simple base, mascara and a slick of lip gloss. Instead of robes she wore a simple black gown, floor length with a deep scooped neck and long fitted sleeves. She was her own worst enemy, but she had to admit, she looked pretty good.

She made her way to dinner, still floating on clouds and feeling like the greatest seductress to ever walk on the earth. She smiled gracefully and sat down.

“You look lovely my Dear.”

”Thank you Professor Dumbledore.”

“Yes, you are looking very Beautiful tonight, Herm-own-ninny.”

She blushed and mumbled, “Thank you Viktor.”

She looked around. Something was missing. Something crucial to the whole plan.  “Um, Professor Dumbledore, Sir, where are Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall?”

Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkled and he looked over his half moon glasses at her, “Ah, yes. Well, you see the Professors decided to take some time off, they have gone away for the holidays.”

Oh.

~ ~ ~

Hermione was going to kill Severus Snape. She had already fired off a letter abusing his very existence and sent it out with an owl. It would do no good, without an address it could take days to find him – and she wanted to abuse him now! How could the over grown bat have left and not deem it fit and right to tell her he was going? The only reason she’d stayed was because he was going to be at Hogwarts! She had alienated her family so that she could stay behind! She had told him that, in a letter, she was sure of it.

Then it dawned on her as clear as a sun rising, the reason he had gone was because he knew she would be there. Knowing nothing at all about Professor McGonagall’s party or about their previous arrangement, Hermione was not able to conceive any other reason for his going. The certainty of it made her ache. He was running away from her, he didn’t want to be with her at all.

She looked at the negligee that Lavender had left for her. It was something that Hermione secretly thought a waste. Long and elegant, it was made of the finest dove gray silk with a low cut back and fine straps over the shoulders. It fell to the floor and beyond, too long for Hermione but Lavender insisted it made it more romantic. What Hermione loved was the way the soft fabric felt against her skin. It was almost erotic, like a fluid pleasure as it slipped over her. It was a shame to waste it on a night alone, but she had wanted to wear it so desperately that she pulled it on and marveled at the sensations that shot through her as it slid down over her breasts, belly and hips.

She had, of course, considered going to Malfoy Manor. She had been invited after all, and her plans had fallen through. She decided against it simply because she decided that Harry and Draco needed time alone to get to know each other beyond stolen nights in bed and seven years of trying to hex each other.

Besides, being at Hogwarts alone could well be a blessing. She could study, she could read and she would have no one to stop her and tell her she was being boring or no fun. She could also plot Severus Snape’s painful demise.

Deciding it was too early for sleep, she headed back out to the Common Room. The fire had been going all day and she knew that the room would be wonderfully warm, so she didn’t bother with wrapping robes around herself. There was no one there, she could feel very decadent sitting by the fire, drinking a glass of wine in this beautiful gown. She noticed a book on the floor and sighed as she bent to pick it up. Hermione had certain reverence for books, she would never leave one open, face down on the floor where its spine would split and break. She inspected the cover. The Malleus Maleficarum.

Hermione frowned, who was reading the infamous Witch Hammer?

Hermione had begun to straighten when she heard a door slamming behind her. She made to turn and only just heard the sound of footsteps pounding across the floor behind her. She never managed the turn. Before she could a hard shove sent her sprawling across the floor. She managed to get her hands under her and her chin up before she hit the ground. She didn’t break any teeth, but she bit her lip and she saw fresh blood splatter across the cover of the book that she had dropped back to the floor. She felt the skin from the heels of her palms grate across the rug, tearing off skin and imbedding fibers into the raw subcutaneous meat of her hands.

She couldn’t speak, the wind had been knocked out of her, and she worked her mouth open and closed, trying to verbalize something, trying to work out who had pushed her with so much force.

She didn’t have to wait long.

“Good evening Herm-own-ninny.”

~ ~ ~

Draco’s bed was almost as big as the bedroom Harry had occupied at the Dursley’s. He could get lost in this bed. This bed needed its own guide. Fortunately, Harry had one. He was lying half on top of Draco with his head on Draco’s chest. They had been talking in the darkened room for a number of hours now. The House Elves had served them dinner there. Harry got the distinct impression that the Elf, Non, did not approve of the arrangement. He wondered if the Elf carried some kind of a grudge against him personally, in much the same way that Kreacher had against the Order. He was, after all, Lucius Malfoy’s servant and Harry had learned the hard way that not all House Elves were like Dobby. Many of them harbored the sentiments of their Masters deep in their chests. Non, however, seemed particularly protective of Draco and Draco treated the Elf with unexpected and almost affectionate kindness.

They had avoided certain rooms in the house. His parents apartments were left alone, although Harry knew that Draco would go in there the next day. Harry doubted that he would be invited to tour that place and he certainly didn’t desire it. Non had watched Harry suspiciously when they went into the library and he suddenly felt unwelcome. It wasn’t that Non was nasty; he wasn’t like Kreacher. He simply seemed overly protective of his Master. In the end Harry asked Draco about the Elf and Draco laughed about it.

“When I was little, Non was like a toy for me. I don’t know how it happened, Father would be able to tell you. Anyway, since I took him everywhere with me, Father tasked him with protecting me. Looks like he still thinks he should.”

Harry smiled, “Why should he protect you from me?”

“Because you are big mean Harry Potter who did away with the Dark Lord. Father used to tell me you’d come and get me if I didn’t eat my greens.”

“I was your bogey man?”

“Well, Dad was hardly going to use Voldemort as a threat now was he?”

Harry laughed, incredulous and Draco pulled him to up to kiss him.

“Of course, I never did eat my greens with much gusto.”

“And it looks like your dad was right, I did come to get you.”

Draco drew Harry’s face to his and kissed Harry’s closed eyelids. Harry was tired, there were shadows beneath his eyes. Draco brushed his lips across them and felt Harry shiver. He was tense. Being in the Malfoy Manor was obviously still a bit of a thing for him. Draco kissed Harry’s forehead, the bridge of his nose, his willing mouth. The interplay of their tongues was like a seductive slow dance and they were both drawn in to the curious rhythm of it. Harry’s skin seemed to undulate at every point of contact and Draco could imagine that they would melt together, like toffee, with their bones merging into a complex and beautiful cradle. Some modern art piece.

Draco rolled Harry over onto his back and ran his tongue along the arc of Harry’s collarbone, leaving a warm trail of spit in his wake, which then quickly cooled on Harry’s skin. He brushed his lips over Harry’s chest, pressing them into the hollow just below Harry’s ribs. In the entire of his life, Draco had never had a lover who had possessed him in quite the way Harry did. Draco had always taken his pleasure where he could get it; he had been selfish in his desires and often cruel. With Harry, his only desire was to please. He wanted to taste and touch every part of Harry’s body, he wanted to crawl inside and sleep amongst the heat of Harry’s innards, he wanted to deconstruct the puzzle of flesh and know every nerve and fiber intimately. He licked Harry’s belly and kissed it gently, hearing Harry moan softly beneath him.

“That feels good,” Harry whispered, “I love it when you do that.”

Draco smiled against Harry’s flesh. “Your skin tastes salty. It’s like sea water.”

“I’ve never tasted sea water.”

“I will take you to the ocean in the summer. We’ll go swimming. Maybe we’ll go to Spain, or Greece or live on a yacht just off the coast in Barbados.”

Harry smiled, the world suddenly opened up before him. He hadn’t considered it before. Draco came up to stroke his hair, his arms and his shoulders and Harry felt his muscles unbunch and relax. He had been tense since he arrived at the Manor, now his hands relaxed into loosely curled fists. Draco coaxed them open further and traced the lines of his palm with his tongue, mapping out Harry’s life line, which was mercifully long, his heart line with its one lover and his head line with its thirst to know why. Draco stroked his tongue over each finger tip, finally taking a finger into his mouth and sucking softly, causing Harry’s breath to catch in his throat.

Draco kissed the fold of Harry’s arm and ran his tongue along the milky skin of his inner forearm, up to the soft hollow of his elbow. Harry sighed and relaxed into the sensation of being stroked and tasted. He made a soft contented moan deep in his throat. Draco was rubbing oil into his hands now and Harry smiled, knowing what was to come, knowing he was about to get a whole lot more vocal. Silky oiled hands stroked down his body and pressed gently at his entrance, stroking, probing and penetrating and Harry’s sucked air noisily through his teeth and felt his back arc up of it’s own accord.

Gods how did Draco know just the right spot to hit every time?

Draco chuckled softly to himself and kissed the top of Harry’s knee, lifting his leg to run his tongue along the underside of Harry’s thigh.

“I want you inside me,” Harry’s whispered, his voice catching as Draco stroked his fingers along Harry’s sensitive prostate.

“I am inside you,” Draco replied, his lips never leaving Harry’s flesh.

“No…” Harry moved his leg from Draco’s hands and wrapped both of them around Draco’s skinny hips, “I want you to fuck me.”

Draco froze. “Fuck you? Now?”

“Yes…” Harry whimpered, willing the stroking to resume, “If – If you want to.”

Emotions warred in Draco’s face. Yes he wanted to. Hell yes. But he had never done this, he was worried about how to do it. He didn’t want to hurt Harry. His own cock was pressed hard into the back of Harry’s thigh, begging him to accept the offer. He gently cupped Harry’s balls and ran his hand up the silky shaft of Harry’s cock and Harry mewed like a kitten. Draco drew a shuddered breath. “Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t hurt me, I know you won’t.”

Oh Gods, but what if he did?

Draco moved slightly, rubbing some oil over his cock and then adding some more for good measure. His fear about just how to do it now resurfaced. He didn’t want to take Harry from behind. Not for this first time. He wanted to be able to see Harry’s face, he wanted to be able to kiss Harry’s soft mouth and this position, a familiar one, seemed suddenly right. He just had to push Harry’s legs back a little further than he would a woman. He lifted Harry’s knees, spread his legs a little further and gently eased into Harry’s body.

~ ~ ~

Oh Gods, oh shit, no, please. Hermione’s thoughts flew desperately through her brain as a boot ground into the small of her back. She twisted frantically away from the boot and a large hand suddenly closed around her wrist, grinding the fine bones inside together painfully, and hauled her to her feet. She found herself staring into the hopelessly deranged face of Viktor Krum.

Krum would have to be a foot taller than she was, skinny but muscular and with black eyes that blazed with a mad fury that scared her more than the fact that he could break her wrist at any moment. There was no reason in those eyes. There was nothing she could work with there. The relentless stare bored holes into her face, as though he were looking through her, into her brain, dissecting her like he would an insect or a rodent. She could see her own horrified features reflected back in the fathomless eyes.

Hermione couldn’t even pull away, her body was paralyzed with terror. Her mind reeled though, as it always did. She had left her wand in her room. And getting to it seemed nigh on impossible. Krum had to be at the very least, fifty pounds heavier than she was. There was no way she could win a fight against him. She had to try and talk to him, try and find some spark of reason in him.

“Viktor,” she yelped. Her voice was thin and frightened, she tried to control it. “W-what are you doing here? Do – Do you w-want to t-talk?”

“Talk?” Viktor spat, and Hermione felt hot spittle splash against her face, “Now you vant to talk?” Hermione shivered and he ground the bones in her wrist a little harder, “Vot is there to talk about?”

I – We can t-talk about anything you want,” she laughed a little hysterically, “like why you’re here?”

“Vhy I am here?” Viktor laughed and cocked his right arm, “you are vhy I am here, and you are vhy I am in this hell.”

Hermione saw a flash of white knuckle an instant before the fist smashed in her face.

The pain exploded through her head. She inhaled a freshet of blood and behind her eyes she saw a flash of electric blue as her brain hit the inside of her skull.

Krum hit her again and her lips smeared wetly against her teeth, the soft skin of her mouth splitting and shredding. This made the time Harry had slapped her feel like a gentle caress and absurdly she worried that he would break her teeth, the logic that he was about to destroy her not yet registering. Krum let go of her arm and she crumpled to the floor. She couldn’t open her eyes, though hot tears seared them, she didn’t want to see him doing this to her. A stray thought about the safety of her organs flashed across her mind and she curled herself into a fetal position and wrapped her arms around her head. Krum’s boot stomped hard into her boney hip, and then again and he was screaming at her, although fear didn’t register all that she was saying.

“YOU FUCKING BITCH. YOU ALWAYS THOUGHT YOU WERE SMARTER THAN ME. YOU THINK YOU ARE SO PRETTY, FLAUNTING YOURSELF AROUND THE SCHOOL, BUT YOU ARE UGLY, YOU ARE AN UGLY MUDBLOOD CUNT AND YOU THINK YOU ARE TOO GOOD FOR ME? LOOK AT WHAT YOU HAVE DONE TO ME! LOOK AT WHAT YOU MAKE ME DO!”

Krum’s boot connected with the base of Hermione’s spine and sent a hot, jarring, wave of pain up her body.

He’s going to kill me, Hermione thought. He’s going to kick me to death right here in the Common Room.

She rolled over and saw the boot drawing back to kick her again and she frantically grabbed at his legs, trying desperately to throw him off balance. He stumbled but recovered and with a great roar of rage he drove the toe of his boot into Hermione’s shoulder. The muscle and bones tore and broke and Hermione shrieked in agony, the scream tearing through her and echoing through the empty corridors. Krum reached down and pulled her back up by her wrist, it was obvious that he would simply pull the arm out of its socket, damaging it further if Hermione resisted. She stumbled to her feet.

“P-please…” she looked at him, tears streaming down her face, “p-please V-Viktor…”

“Do you want me, Herm-own-ninny?”

She frowned, confused, “W-what?”

He shook his head sadly, this was obviously not the answer he was looking for. He turned away from her for a moment and grabbed the heavy iron poker from beside the fire place. Hermione watched in terror as he approached her with the poker waving erratically in his hand. She tried to force her legs to work and took a step backwards, a white-hot pain shot through her body and she cried out the agony. A drop of blood dripped from her chin to her breast, trickling over her pale flesh and staining the silk of her night gown.

Krum reached out and laid the heavy iron handle of the poker against Hermione’s cheek and traced the delicate line of her jaw with it, curving it under and tracing the underside of Hermione’s chin with it. The metal felt cold and slightly rough and she shivered. Krum smiled, his face ecstatic.

“V-Viktor?” Hermione sobbed, “w-why a-are you d-doing this?”

Krum’s eyes drilled into her, and he smiled nastily.

“Please V-Viktor, p-please put down the p-poker and we can t-talk about this.”

“Look at vot you make me do,” he said, still smiling, his voice was almost serene, “vhy do you make me do this?”

“I – I don’t, I didn’t…” she trembled, “P-please, p-put the p-poker d-down.”

Very slowly Krum shook his head. “I can’t,” he said. “You need to be taught your lesson.” He raised the poker high.

Hermione stared into the black eyes boring into her head, they were full of lust, deranged lust, demented anger. The poker was going to smash into her head, tear into her brain, destroy everything she held dear about herself. She tore sideways, screaming with agony as the bones in her wrist twisted and snapped. She ran for the door, but Krum followed, taller and faster and he blocked her escape. The poker sailed past her head and crashed into the wall, biting into the tapestry and tearing a great gaping hole in it.

“I LOVE YOU,” Krum yelled, “WHY DO YOU RUN WHEN I LOVE YOU?”

Hermione twisted and ran across the room, ignoring her screaming muscles. She had to get away, she had to. She heard a rush of air behind her and the poker glanced off her broken shoulder, as her body sang in pain. He pulled the poker back and she turned, throwing her good arm up and grabbing his forearm in her small hand. Her elbow locked and she held his arm up with all of the strength she would ever possess.

“Viktor, please, you, you must stop this.”

Krum laughed and pushed himself against her, rubbing himself along the length of her body. With his free hand he tore at the silk gown, tearing it from her breasts and pulling away rivulets of flesh under his finger nails. Hermione let out a wordless howl and drove her knee straight up into Krum’s crotch, at the same time she shoved his arm backwards with all her might. The knee missed its mark but it was enough to throw him off balance. She twisted his wrist as hard as she could and as he lost his grip on the poker, it cluttered to the floor.

~ ~ ~

Harry cried out, not sure if what he felt was pain or pleasure. It was something completely alien. Harry felt his arsehole trying to contract, his body desperately trying to tense up. Oh Gods it hurt. His breaths were coming in short sharp bursts and he clenched his teeth against the pain.

“I’m hurting you,” Draco panted and Harry nodded, his eyes tearing. Draco moved to pull out of him, “I’ll stop.”

“No!” Harry sobbed from deep in his throat, “No, don’t stop.” He sought out Draco’s mouth and sucked at his tongue, aching to have Draco inside him every way he could. It was time for this. He wanted it. He craved it. He ran his hands down Draco’s back until his fingers splayed over the top of Draco’s buttocks. He felt his muscles loosening and warming, melting around Draco, drawing him deep into his body.

“Ahhhh, fuck.” Draco’s teeth closed on Harry’s shoulder eliciting a tiny exquisite pain. “You’re so tight, Gods you’re so tight it almost hurts.”

“You can fuck me hard. You can open me up.”

Draco kissed him deeply, exploring his mouth with his tongue, seeking passage into his throat. He scrambled to his knees, lifting Harry up a little from the bed and sliding his knees under him. He stroked Harry’s thighs gently for a moment before pushing Harry’s knees right back against his chest, hooking Harry’s legs over his arms and driving still deeper into Harry’s body. Harry screamed, lost in passion as Draco withdrew and drove into him again Draco’s face was streaked with sweat, his expression poised between pain and ecstasy. “Do you like that? Does that feel good?”

Harry’s mouth opened and closed, he couldn’t speak. The only sounds he could make were the strange mewing noises deep in his throat. His wide eyes shone with tears, he nodded his silent ascent.

Draco drove into him a little harder and Harry cried out again. The pain had almost passed, his body felt full somehow, he could feel every inch of Draco’s cock plunging into his body. The image of Draco fucking the girl came to him unbidden, he wanted to make Draco make those noises, cry out like she had made him.

“You can,” Harry sucked in air through his teeth, “You can…harder.”

Draco gave in to the need to fuck him hard. He rode him, grunting harshly with each thrust into Harry’s yielding body, urging Harry’s hips with his hands until they kept a rhythm between them. Without breaking this rhythm Draco reached down between their bodies and began stroking Harry’s hard cock and watched as Harry’s body arched into Draco’s own and his eyes began to roll back in his head as his body edged closer to orgasm.

The pleasure began to overload Harry’s brain and his mind began to swim and swirl and he was lost in the waves of sensation passing through him . He drove his hips up hard against Draco’s, forcing Draco all the way into him. Draco yelped and moaned and fucked him harder still. Harry felt his balls ready to explode, the tip of his cock felt raw, Draco’s heart seemed to be beating inside him.

Harry came, thrusting up again, screaming into the pillows, into Draco’s shoulder, into the very air. “I love you, oh Gods I love you so much.”

Draco didn’t speak, he couldn’t. He kept riding Harry, lasting through the convulsing of Harry’s body until he came to his own orgasm, grunting and yelling and sobbing as he filled Harry’s body with his own useless seed.

In the dark, Harry closed his eyes, holding Draco tight against him as Draco collapsed, spent into Harry’s arms. He did love him, he loved him beyond words, but now he had told him…and Draco had said nothing. Harry could only hope that Draco would dismiss it as something uttered in the heat of passion.

He hoped Draco wouldn’t hate him for it.

~ ~ ~

Krum’s eyes were very wide, as though he couldn’t quite believe that she had managed to disarm him. Then his face split in to a mad grin.

He lunged.

Hermione dodged aside and ran, managing to get through the one door she knew would be her savior or her destruction. If she could get her wand she could stop him, if she didn’t, she would be trapped in her bedroom with him and there would be no place left to run. Krum was right behind her, catching a fistful of her hair he yanked her back hard. She felt her neck snap back and she was pulled off her feet, falling heavily against Krum. He pinned her arms to her body, laughing softly in her ear.

“You’re so smart,” he whispered in her ear, “I was just going to suggest we take it to the bedroom.”

She felt Krum’s sharp hip bones pressing into her buttocks. He tore the gown from her body, digging harsh fingers into the soft flesh of her buttocks and breasts. For a moment the contact was sickeningly erotic. Krum’s penis was hard, pressed against the back of her leg.

Then Krum lowered his head and sank his teeth into the slight ridge of muscle between Hermione’s neck and shoulder.

The pain was immediate and hot and huge. Hermione felt muscle fibers twist and rip and fresh blood trickled over her collar bone and breast. She heard herself screaming, then sobbing and she desperately tried to drive her elbow up into Krum’s chest and kick at his legs. He pinned her arms a little tighter and kicked her legs apart and when she wouldn’t stop struggling, he ran her forward at the dresser, slamming her face into the mirror and stunning her. She almost blacked out completely.

The pain in her shoulder ebbed a little and she felt the struggle was done. Her head swam, all sensations dizzy and remote. Krum’s tight hold drove his fist up under her ribs, crushing her. She could hardly breathe. She was going to die. He was going to rape her and kill her and she was going to die in a naked bloody mess in her room. These sensations of pain and disconnection were the last she would ever feel, these fleeting, panicky thoughts the last she would ever have.

Think you silly little girl, think. He hasn’t done away with that marvelous brain of yours yet.

Fingers, unwanted and unwelcome pushed roughly into her body. She didn’t cry out, she had no sound left in her. She was half lying on the dresser, her feet hanging slackly on the floor, her head lying in a bed of glass on the dressers top. She turned her face to the side and forced her eyes to open, blood was in one of them, through the other she could see objects on the dresser, fallen over, but still there. Perfume bottles, a hair brush, Lavenders collection of ribbons and hair pins, the little bottle Draco had given her that day, a potions text book. She stopped. The bottle Draco had given her. It was a Portkey.

Krum had released her when her body had fallen limp, he was now using his fingers of one hand to explore the inside of her vagina, the other he was using to stroke himself. She lifted one hand weakly and pulled the bottle to her face. Krum ignored her, knowing there was no fight left. She felt his cock against her entrance, ready to push into her, and she put the base of the bottle in her mouth. Her hand was weak, she fumbled, trying to twist the top of the bottle. He made to push inside her and she closed her eyes against it. Then something hot and sticky burned against her buttocks and thighs, he had orgasmed before he could enter her.

She twisted the top of the bottle and thought she heard Dumbledore’s voice call her name before a familiar tug came from behind her navel, and she was away.

Chapter 10 >>