Objects of Desire

Chapter 11 - The Party

By Azrael Geffen

Madam Minerva McGonagall

Invites

Miss Hermione Granger, Master Harry Potter and Master Draco Malfoy

To herald the coming of the New Year

At

The Fenn

Salisbury, Wiltshire

10pm.

Dress, Strictly Decadent.

~ ~ ~

In sleep, Draco could feel his father’s eye turned on him. Watching him sleep, invading his dreams and taking up residence there. Lucius walked through the swirling haze of thoughts and dreams, sure-footed and strong, but as silent as the grave. In his minds eye, Draco could see his Father’s face, turned to him from behind the glass of his prison, and that single eye, staring, glazed like a pale grey marble, beginning to cloud over, but still touched with some last spark of awareness.

Which left Draco begging one question; just where was Lucius now? Where was his father? Was he trapped there, in that body, condemned to sit in a glass box and watch the world pass judgment? Did he think and feel? Was he aware? Or had the very fabric of time stopped there for him?

“Dr-a-co – run.”

Draco’s eyes snapped open, suddenly jolted awake and with his heart pounding painfully in his chest. He clutched Harry tighter to him and inhaled Harry’s clean, warm scent. Harry had not been at the museum, Harry had not seen or heard Lucius, Harry had not been there to witness Draco’s shame at being unable to stop the Curator who had reached into his brain and ended all of his resistance. Harry knew nothing of these things – and if Draco had his way, Harry never would. Draco clutched Harry to his chest, the only thing that was precious to him, his talisman against the dark, and the only thing that could possibly bring him hope or give him a chance at a life beyond Hogwarts and his cursed family name.

And it has to end. He pressed his face to the back of Harry’s neck and tasted warm flesh against his lips, felt the silky brush of hair against his eyelids. I don’t want this to end; I don’t want to let you go. You taste so good, you feel so warm.

Sunlight was streaming through the windows. It was the last day of the year. The last day of the worst year of his life.

And the best.

He felt Harry stir and stretch and roll on to his back. Draco released him and shifted to accommodate the movement, then propped himself up on his elbow to watch Harry sleep. He absently registered that his head ached slightly and felt too heavy on his neck somehow. He felt a little warm and wondered if he could possibly be getting sick.

He reached out and ran tentative fingers over Harry’s boney shoulder, down Harry’s chest, lingering on a pink nipple, and then over the corrugated rise of Harry’s ribcage. Harry’s skin was slightly damp with sweat and Draco pondered on the thought that they might both be sick. It made sense, they were awash with each other’s fluids, and they would surely share whatever illness passed through the other.

“Are you sick baby?” he whispered to the sleeping form and pressed a kiss to the raw silk flesh of Harry’s scar. Harry’s brow was hot. “I think you might be.”

Perhaps they wouldn’t go to the party tonight. Perhaps they would stay home and stay in bed and eat chicken soup and complain of chills and aches and pains. For some reason he couldn’t fathom, the idea was incredibly attractive.

Draco gently inched his hand along Harry’s chest and found his solid heartbeat. What was he going to do without this? How was he going to leave this behind? How was he going to live when Harry looked at him with hate instead of love? He smiled as Harry stirred under his touch.

Harry awoke with Draco’s hot mouth wrapped around a nipple and Draco’s hand sliding along his thigh and gently teasing his already half erect cock. He felt hot and a little fevered, but that didn’t seem to matter because Draco slid down and took his cock into his mouth and began sucking him. Harry sighed as the workings of Draco’s tongue brought gooseflesh to his legs and arms, his small nipples were painfully hard and he sleepily reached down to stroke Draco’s silky hair, letting him know he was awake – and that he should keep going. Draco’s hands were pulling at his hips; his tongue probed him in a way that Harry could only consider relentless. As lovers they were near invasive of each other, determined to put fingers and tongues into every fold and hollow of each other’s bodies, to taste and savor every available inch of each other’s flesh.

It was exquisite and painful and, when Harry’s hips bucked up, and he came hard into the back of Draco’s throat, it was earth shattering. Harry swallowed back the words he was aching to say, knowing he would not hear them whispered in reply. Instead they clung to each other, unspeaking, bathed in a fevered sweat and holding on to their secrets for just a while longer.

 ~ ~ ~

Ron really didn’t know what to wear to a costume party with Decadence as its theme. He really didn’t want to go. His name hadn’t been on the invitation, something he did not take offence to, although Ginny – and his Mother – had. Their reasoning was simple, the entire family had played their part in the war, the entire family should be invited to the party – the entire family was going. He lit a cigarette and lamented his inability to get out of it. A party at Snape’s place. Now that would be a great occasion for joy and celebrating. He sneered and inhaled the opium tinged smoke.

So he was being forced to go. Forced to go and play happy families. Forced to go and be the dutiful brother when he was nothing more than a cretin. He had nothing to wear and no money of his own to buy anything. While he knew that his brothers would look resplendent and his sisters in law exotic and beautiful, he was reluctant to ask for anything from them – although it had never been a problem in the past. He had settled on plain black dress robes that had belonged to Percy. He was certain that Percy had only worn them once before he died. Probably purchased for some Ministry gathering, they were sombre and practical.

Ron didn’t look good in the robes, and he knew it. It didn’t matter. He had become pale of late and had started to look gaunt, no doubt the result of his sudden inability to eat. No one had noticed, and his family was far too busy pretending that all was well and that Charlie and Percy were merely away working, not dead and moldering in the ground. Shadows from lack of sleep, played beneath Ron’s eyes. He had spent his nights awake, staring at the ceiling, thinking of Charlie and waiting for Angelina to come – as she did like clockwork – to his room.

But she hadn’t come last night and he had watched the dawn come with a growing sense of relief that momentarily calmed the gnawing guilt in his belly. He leaned back against the headboard of his bed and drew another lung full of smoke, closing his eyes and listening to the rain outside.

“Hey Ronnie.”

He jumped, he hadn’t even heard her come in, but now that she was, he wasn’t surprised. Her gall would never surprise him again. She had her own kind of discretion. She chose her moments well. It didn’t matter what time of day or night, Angelina would still come. He should have known that.

“What do you want Angelina?” he asked dully. The conversation always started this way.

“Now, now Ronnie, there’s no need to be like that.” She locked and warded the door, “I brought your medicine.”

He eyed the needle she waved in his direction and felt his body tense. What he had once mistaken for some kind of opiate he now recognized as something of her own making, and over the past week she had decreased the opiate for her own special blend. “I don’t want it,” he muttered.

“Of course you do, you love it. I know you do.” She sat beside him on the bed and pried the cigarette from between his fingers. “Why are you so defensive today?”

“I’m not,” he lied. Every nerve end in his body suddenly jumped as her fingers trailed across his belly. She pushed the syringe into the meat of his thigh and he hissed.

Then he was hers. With little resistance he let her stroke his cheek with the back of her hand. “How do you feel?”

He couldn’t answer, he shook his head wearily and exhaled, and then her mouth stopped his breath. Her lips smothered his, he tongue penetrated deep, too deep, tangling with his own tongue and then almost choking him. She pulled her top over her head and discarded it and he felt his hands slide up her body to her breasts, his thumb circling one crimping nipple. He felt his insides quicken and he forced back a groan.

Reality seemed so far away, like a dull lead weight that he was trying to lift into place. For now there was only the pleasure she was giving him and he accepted that as her hand slid into his pajama pants and wrapped around his cock. She moved down his body like a serpent and pulled his pajama pants down in a way that was now familiar to him. He looked down the length of himself and flushed with shame at the sight of his protruding cock, thick stemmed and hard, the foreskin rolled back over the purpling glans. She stared at it for a moment and then smiled up at him as her hand closed around it, then slid up and down, letting the jism act as a lubricant.

“You really do have a wonderful cock Ron,” she breathed. “It’s nice and thick, not like George’s; his is longer, but it’s narrow.”

“Don’t,” he murmured, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted her to stop what she was doing or stop talking about his brother.

Angelina lapped at the length of him, pressed her tongue into the slitted opening of his cock to taste the pre-cum that had gathered there and then, opening her lips further, she took the whole of him into her mouth. He whimpered, wanting to close his eyes. He knew he wouldn’t. The sight of him pushing his cock up into her mouth was too enticing. He burned with guilt and pleasure.

She lavished pleasure on him, taking control of his body with as much ease as the drug had. She relaxed her hold and pulled away for a moment, taking in a gulping breath, she looked up at him. Ron’s head was thrown back, his face poised between ecstasy and torture. He was whispering his mantra, she knew it well.

“No, please Angelina, please stop, please! Don’t do this.”

She chuckled and closed her mouth around his cock again, sucking him in deep, milking his orgasm from his body. She let him come into her throat, pulling back and laughing as a final burst covered her lips, cheek and chin.

Angelina stood quickly, her interest in him fading fast. She wiped her face with the back of her hand. There was no need for pleasantries, not now when she essentially owned him, it didn’t matter how he felt. He would be a good boy and serve his purpose. Ron was pulling his pajama pants up over his narrow hips; he looked as though he would cry. It was a shame really. She liked him in a strange sort of way. If only he wasn’t George’s brother, they could have had something special.

“Just fuck off will you,” he snapped viciously, hiding his shame at the tears that threatened.

“I’m better at this than you Ronnie,” she hissed, “just watch your mouth.” She pulled her top on and turned to go. “Oh, and Ronnie, your Mother says to come down to breakfast.”

~ ~ ~

Harry had never felt more uncomfortable in the entire of his life. Well, that was not strictly true, there was the time he’d had to dance with Parvarti Patil at the Yule Ball, and then there was that fateful Valentines Day date with Cho – but this was definitely up there in those realms.

Non was standing back, hand on his hips, appraising him with a critical eye. He could only wonder how in hell Draco had talked him into this. He had no issue with going to McGonagall’s New Years party. Hermione had begged them to go because she wanted to go and despite the fact that he really didn’t feel well, he’d said yes. Then the issue of costumes had arisen. The theme was Decadence. They had no time to go out and buy anything, so they would have to make do with what they had on hand. Draco had a fairly extensive wardrobe, Harry had a trunk full of jeans and sweat shirts which he and Hermione had been living in. As nothing of Draco’s would fit Harry or Hermione, it seemed they would be arriving looking like a couple of Muggle castaways. That was until Draco had struck on this idea. His parent’s clothes.

Harry had drunk a potion to ease the symptoms of whatever sickness was causing his head to pound and his body to feel as though it were made of lead. It was breakfast time and Hermione was lamenting their sick state, demanding that they make themselves better in time for tonight. Then she had lamented the costume situation, obviously she was nervous, she wanted to make a good impression – Harry seriously believed she just wanted to get laid and she must’ve thought Snape would be picky or something because she wanted to look perfect – in an old sweat shirt and cut offs.

Then Draco had said; “Why don’t you just wear something from my parents wardrobe, they have heaps of stuff.”

Harry and Hermione had looked duly shocked.

“What?” Draco rolled his eyes, “They aren’t exactly here to wear them now are they?”

When Harry had protested that nothing of Lucius Malfoy’s would fit him, Draco put paid to the idea by informing him that he was about the same height as Malfoy Senior. Harry couldn’t help himself, he had been mortified to discover that he shared his height with the Death Eater. It seemed absurd. Lucius Malfoy had always seemed so bloody tall, that he was only 5’10” – Harry’s own height – seemed a travesty. Draco was a good three inches taller than both of them. It also meant that Harry would fit into Lucius’ clothes, and that is where this uncomfortable situation began. Harry was standing in the centre of Lucius Malfoy’s dressing room, dressed in the Death Eaters extremely tight leather pants.

There should be a law against men of a certain age owning leather pants.

What was even more distressing was that the pants fitted him remarkably well. Harry was certain that Lucius Malfoy had been built on a larger scale than him, stockier perhaps. So he could only wonder how the man had actually squeezed his arse into the damned things. They were inky black and laced up the side. Harry had no doubt they were probably cleaned using some kind of polish – and he hoped they had been cleaned since Lucius last wore them because the idea of his balls sharing the same space as Lucius Malfoy’s balls was a little hard to take. Draco had teamed them up with a pair of heavy boots that buckled half way up Harry’s calf. He looked as though he was about to kick some poor soul to death.

“Please tell me there is a shirt that goes with this,” Harry said, trying to hide the quiver in his voice. He had never been one to stand out, he preferred people to either not notice him at all, (not a realistic possibility) or to just think he was very average. That was not going to happen in these pants. He needed a really long shirt.

Draco pouted. “It looks good without a shirt,” he wheedled.

Harry looked down at himself. His hip bones jutted forward like two pale pyramids and the dark hair that trailed from his navel to his groin was stark against the milky white skin of his flat belly. The pants rode so low he could see the top of his pubis. “Not on your fucking life.”

Draco sighed dramatically and pushed himself off the carved chaise. “Alright,” he said, glaring witheringly at Harry, “I will find you a shirt.”

Non was shaking his head again. “Your Father would not approve of this Master Draco,” he said uncertainly. “He loved those pants.”

“I know, I know. But he’s not here to wear them and Harry needs an outfit for the party.”

“Can’t I try something a little less…revealing?” Harry asked, “how about one of those velvet frock coat things with the snakes for buttons?”

Draco ignored Harry’s hopeful look and began searching through the cupboards. After a while he called to the elf to help him. “Non? What shirt did my Dad wear with those pants?”

Non looked blank. Shirt? What shirt? “He didn’t wear a shirt with them Master Draco.”

“See,” Draco pointed out to Harry, “they’re supposed to be worn just like that.”

Harry couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the whole idea. “Are you telling me that your Father, Lucius Malfoy, went out dressed just like this?”

Draco and Non nodded in unison.

Good Gods. The man must’ve been an exhibitionist from way back. Harry had never seen Lucius Malfoy in anything other than full Wizard regalia. Getting an image of him dressed like this was just way too much.

The old bastard would have looked really hot too.

Whoa! Get that thought out of your head Potter old boy.

“Here, try this.”

Harry flushed and took at the scrap of material that Draco was holding in his hand. It appeared to be made of fishnet, or mesh, or something like that. It was impossibly small. Harry cautiously pulled it over his head – it stretched to fit.

Holy Shit!

“Wow,” Draco breathed, “that looks so fucking sexy I could eat you.”

“Sexy?” Harry looked at himself, “you think this is sexy?”

“Oh yeah.”

“You’re kidding?”

“Nope.”

Harry looked at his reflection helplessly. “You do realize that I am wearing your Father’s clothes here?”

Draco nodded, smiling, chewing on the pendant that Harry had given him for Christmas, obviously becoming aroused.

“Don’t you think it’s a little sick?”

Draco shook his head, still smiling, still chewing on the pendant that Harry had given him for Christmas, even more aroused.

“Tell me you are not thinking about your Father right now.”

”Oh, I’m not thinking about my Dad right now.” Draco chuckled and sidled over to Harry, marveling at the way the fishnet accentuated the contours of Harry’s body, the way it revealed everything whilst giving the illusion of hiding it. By the Gods, Harry should get dressed up more often. He bent his head down and bit Harry’s chest through the skin tight fishnet.

Harry gasped – and instantly discovered another reason why he really shouldn’t wear these pants.

Non shook his head again and discreetly left the room.

~ ~ ~

“You are not wearing that.” Minerva waved a hand in Snape’s general direction and looked disgusted at his ensemble.

Snape looked down at himself irritably. “Why not?” He looked as he always did. Robes, black, end of story.

“You look as though you are about to teach a class, not see in the New Year,” she pursed her lips and glared at him, “and you could have washed your hair!”

He flush pink and looked indignant. “I did wash my hair.”

“Oh,” Minerva flushed and then quickly returned to a disapproving state, “Well perhaps it is time to rethink your hair care products.”

He scowled menacingly at her, she was beginning to sound like that awful Muggins woman from the Pharmacist in Hogsmeade who had chased him through the village with a bottle of Gilderoy Lockhart’s Hair Dream.

“I’m sure Hermione would appreciate the extra effort.” She smiled deviously at him.

Snape felt his stomach knot. He quickly ran down his mental checklist. Champagne, check. Clean sheets, check. Candles, check. Clean underwear…check.

“You have to own something a little more – fancy – than that.”

He shook his head, unconcerned.

“At least let me do something with your hair.”

“Not going to happen.”

“Severus!” she whined.

“Minerva!” he mimicked.

Minerva had out done herself. He was so used to seeing her at school functions in black or green and with rather ugly hats. Tonight she had abandoned it all and had opted for a medieval brocaded gown in gold. She looked positively radiant, and Snape only hoped that Dumbledore would notice. This was her party, and she wanted to look stunning. The problem was that she wanted him to look stunning as well – and he was letting the side down miserably. In cases such as this, there was only one tried and true method to get his compliance. Nag him until he said yes.

“I have a costume you could wear.”

“No.”

“Please, it’s very dignified.”

“No.”

“Then let me brush your hair.”

“No.”

“I’ll tell Dumbledore you’re sleeping with a student.”

He glared at her and Minerva smirked. Nagging, blackmail, it was all good.

“Dumbledore already knows,” he said uncertainly.

“No, he suspects, but there is a world of difference between him knowing and suspecting. And, if tonight is, as I suspect it is, the night, you’re going to need me to keep him distracted for all those hours.”

“Hours?” Snape snorted, “Minerva, I haven’t had sex for ten years, I’ll be lucky to last three minutes.”

“Regardless,” Minerva laughed, “If I tell him what’s going to happen, you won’t even get that much.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

Minerva smiled sweetly, “Try me.”

~ ~ ~

Hermione could not breathe. The reaction was a combination of her awe at her own reflection in the mirror and the fact that the corset she was being laced into was incredibly tight. She had never had a cleavage of which to speak, now she had tits she could rest a dinner plate on. It was quite unbelievable – and all it cost was the ability to breathe and surely a couple of broken ribs.

The gown was awe inspiring. Hermione couldn’t really believe she was wearing it. She could now see that her own modest selection of evening robes were a pitiful blemish in comparison to the offerings Narcissa Malfoy had in her dressing room. Hermione was beginning to understand exactly what being a Witch could allow her to get away with when it came to her daily wear. She had always tried to stay simple and discreet. She was, after all, a Muggleborn and her parent’s world was that of jeans and sweat shirts and trainers – and unruly hair tied in a pony tail. Hermione was a remarkable Witch, but she never looked the part. Searching through Narcissa Malfoy’s closets had been an experience unto itself, and she had no doubt that Lavender would have given her right arm for the privilege.

The dressing room was separated into categories. Category one: Home clothes. Category two: Day clothes. Category three: Entertaining clothes. Category four: Evening wear. Category five: Party clothes. Category six: Ball gowns. Category seven: Shoes. Category eight: Hats. Category nine: Jewellery. It quickly became obvious to Hermione that Narcissa choice of ‘home clothes’, things she would just lounge around in, were akin to Hermione’s dress robes and everything else was well out of Hermione’s league. She was about to settle with something from the ‘entertaining’ category, something elegant, modest and green, when she had seen the red gown in with all of the other ball gowns. At first she considered the idea ridiculous, then it grew on her. Strapless and corseted, its full skirt brought images of seventeenth century France to her mind. It was a fairy tale gown in blood red velvet and she was in love with it.

And now, thanks to the heavily boned corset, she could barely breathe in it.

Posie had carefully applied her makeup and was now twisting her hair into an intricate design, as beautiful and as fairytale like as the gown itself. She wore her fairy pendant around her neck and a glamour was cast across her shoulder to hide the dark purple wound that Krum had caused and no amount of charms would heal. The perfume, so delicately made for her and her alone, scented her skin. She felt more beautiful than she could ever remember. She was entirely unlike herself, as though the glamour had been cast over her entire body and not just her shoulder.

She only hoped Severus liked the effect. She could feel a well of fear inside her. He had written every day since Christmas, always signing ‘I love you” at the end, which made her smile and blush and her heart swell in her chest. Sometimes she found herself standing on her balcony wrapped in Draco’s dressing gown and staring down at the Fenn, straining her eyes to see through the windows for any sign of movement. One morning a black clad figure came out and stared back – she had waved – he had waved in return – and she had gone into the house with a smile and a soul that had been warmed.

Now that she was going to see him, she felt her nerves rise. For the first time the very fact that he was her Potions Master and so very much older than she came to her with a cold fist of reality. She had been so busy convincing him that these very things didn’t matter, that she hadn’t really considered them herself. This was Snape by God! Snape! Nasty Snape who had been habitually mean and taken her intelligence and her bloodline as an insult to all Wizard kind. And now he was her boyfriend. Professor Snape was her boyfriend – although the very term seemed an affront to him. She would have laughed – had she been able to breathe.

With the corset properly laced, Hermione took in her reflection one last time and felt satisfied. Krum had tried to destroy her, instead he had given her something that made her a thousand times more powerful. She was strong and sensual and beautiful. She was loved. She stared at herself and realized she had been transformed in many ways.

It was getting late and she really needed to go downstairs. No doubt Harry and Draco were ready. It had been strange living in this house for the last week. Strange living with them. She had never met two people who could bicker with such incredible vindictiveness and then make up so passionately – and they fought about the smallest things. Harry loved him though, of that Hermione was certain. She could see it in his face, his eyes, the way he seemed to glow whenever Draco was in the room. It was almost sickening.

How Draco felt she couldn’t tell. Since Boxing Day he had seemed in turns distracted, irritable and then suddenly affectionate. Harry had questioned him about his trip to the Museum, and he had answered abruptly that it was awful and to drop it. Harry and Hermione both assumed that seeing his father had traumatized him and they wished he hadn’t gone to do such a thing alone.

She thanked Posie kindly for her help, a gesture that still flabbergasted the small elf, and headed for the stairs. She had no idea how she was supposed to get down them without stepping on the gown. It was too voluminous to lift daintily. She wondered if such gowns came with instructions and then checked herself. Narcissa Malfoy no doubt spent years perfecting her techniques for walking around in such gowns, Hermione had a matter of minutes. She bunched up the gown inelegantly and hoped there would be no stairs at the party.

~ ~ ~

Harry was already pacing the parlor when Hermione made her rather awkward entrance. She dropped the gown and her jaw in unison.

Oh – my – Gods.

What on earth was he wearing? Only the single most revealing pair of pants she had ever seen. She could see the two little dimples where the base of his spine disappeared and his flesh began the curve of his butt! Then he turned around and she did a double take. Now she could see the dark hair that led from his navel into the incredibly low slung band of the pants. Harry had grown up! Harry had – Harry had – Harry had pubic hair! Of course, she knew he would, she just never thought she’d get to see any of it.

Dear Gods, Harry looked sexy. Harry wasn’t supposed to look sexy. Harry was supposed to be sweet and bespectacled and dressed in baggy cast offs from his cousin. He was not supposed to be standing there in figure hugging black leather and fishnet. Draco had obviously hacked into his hair because it was shorter on the sides and stuck up like some kind of modern day Mohawk on the top. The back was bunched into a story pony tail. The glasses were gone, and in their place was eyeliner. Lots and lots of black eyeliner. He looked like a glorious green eyes raccoon. Only slutty. And very sexy.

She felt her mouth overload with saliva, and she was forced to swallow. Please, oh please Merlin, please let someone take a photo of that.

“I know,” he smiled, “I look like a fucking freak.”

“You look…you look…” she swallowed again, gulping hard on the drool swamping her throat. “You look absolutely incredible.”

He frowned, not entirely sure it was a good thing. “I can’t see a fucking thing. Draco says I can’t put my glasses on until we get inside. I’ll probably fall arse over trying to find the door.” He fumbled his way to the table and found his glasses, quickly placing them on his nose and blinking. “Wow! Holy shit Hermione, you’re beautiful.” He laughed in wonder, “You look really beautiful.”

“Thanks,” she blushed, “it’s the dress.”

“No,” he was quiet for a moment, “It’s you. It’s all you. The dress is nothing but an embellishment on what is already there.”

“Thank you.” She hugged him, drawing him close. Merlin, he felt as good as he looked!

“’Mione?”

“Mmm?” she replied, unwilling to let him go just for a moment, he smelled good, he felt good, he…

He pulled away, “Can I put my glasses in your purse?”

“Of course you can.” She let him keep them on for the time being, deciding it would be best if he didn’t have an accident with a table before even leaving the house. Let him get drunk and fall off the table later. He had been known to do that in the past. “Where’s Draco?”

“Getting ready,” Harry rolled his eyes. “He took ages with me, so by the time he finishes himself we will probably have missed midnight.”

She laughed and felt her stomach flip. She really wanted to be there before midnight, but Harry was right, Draco’s vanity knew no bounds.

Draco arrived moments later but he wasn’t dressed for party going. He looked stressed and upset. His lower half resembled Harry, boots and leather pants. On top he wore a long baggy shirt that looked as though it had been grabbed from the laundry hamper. “You two go, I’m not feeling very well…” he looked around, his eyes were glassy and he hugged himself defensively. “I’m going to stay here.”

“What’s wrong?” Harry was at his side in a second, all humor gone from his face.

“Nothing.”

“What is it.”

“Nothing!”

“Well you wanted to go three hours ago, you’ve done your hair and you have your pants on, why have you suddenly changed your mind.”

Draco looked uncomfortable. “I don’t like my outfit.”

“You just need to change your shirt.”

“I wasn’t planning on wearing this shirt.”

”Then what shirt did you want to wear?” Harry was exasperated, this was like pulling teeth!

Draco bowed his head, “I wanted to wear a shirt the same as yours, but I can’t get the glamour to work.”

“Why do you need glamour?”

Draco glared at him incredulously. “So I don’t go looking like a fucking mutant you fucking imbecile!”

Harry opened his mouth to yell something in reply – and then he remembered and frowned. He turned to Hermione who was wondering exactly how Draco Malfoy could ever look like a “fucking mutant,” and tried to smile. “You’re pretty good with glamour’s aren’t you?”

“Yes,” she nodded uncertainly, “reasonably.”

“Could you disguise, say, a big area of skin?”

“I guess so.”

Draco pulled away from Harry. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll find something else and I’ll come later.”

Harry knew full well if he didn’t come now, he wouldn’t come at all. “Sit down.” He forced Draco onto the lounge and moved him so that his back was to Hermione. He watched as Draco’s features passed from being upset to being suddenly fearful and he sat in front of him. “It’s ok,” he whispered, “we’re your friends, you have to learn to trust your friends.”

Hermione frowned a little and moved closer to them. “What’s going on?” she asked. Draco looked as though he wanted to throw up.

Harry gently unbuttoned Draco’s shirt and pulled it from him, revealing the purple mess of his back. “Do you think you can disguise that?”

Hermione felt her insides melt in horror, tears stung her eyes and she could not stop the sharp intake of breath that caused Draco to flinch and Harry to pull him tightly into his arms.

“Can you?”

“It depends,” she swallowed hard, “what caused it?”

Harry lifted Draco’s head. He had never asked, although he had always wanted to know. He had doubted that Draco would tell him. “What caused it?” he repeated softly and Draco sat back from him, head bowed. For a moment they feared he would say nothing and then quietly he finally answered.

“Madragora Acid.”

Oh dear Gods, who had done that to him? Who could be so vicious? “I…” Hermione faltered, “I can’t Draco, no one can.”

She watched as he pulled his shirt from Harry and wrapped himself in it. So that was why he always kept himself fully clothed, why he bathed at a different time to everyone else, why he had slept in a t-shirt and dressing gown that night she had first stayed here.

“What is Madragora Acid?” Harry asked, not particularly wanting to show his ignorance, but wanting to know what it was more.

“It’s more of a bacterium than an acid. It was made in the 40’s by Norton Madragora for the Wizard Grindelwald, to torture his enemies. A little can do a lot of damage; it eats flesh. A lot of it could actually eat an entire body.” She looked at Draco. “It’s illegal to make it now, who did this to you?”

“No one of consequence.” He was heading for the door, Harry in pursuit.

~ ~ ~

Considering the rather dubious start to the evening, the carriage ride to the Fenn was far more cheerful than Hermione could have expected. Draco had decided on a black body top with “It Don’t Help To Be One Of The Chosen” emblazoned on the front, and he spent most of the carriage ride stuck to Harry’s face, something that Hermione found uncomfortably arousing to watch. At one point she was convinced that they were going to abandon all pretense of going to the party, and shag right there in front of her. She tried to avert her eyes discreetly, but when a foot jabbed hard into her knee she was forced to plead with them to stop, for the sake of her gown, and the fact that the rocking of the carriage was making her feel sick. She didn’t know why they had to get the carriage anyway, the Fenn was not far away, and they could have Apparated. Draco had insisted on a carriage however, and as they neared the house she could see why. A dozen or so similar carriages were lined up outside the door; it appeared to be de-rigueurto arrive in such style.

Harry had become so used to the House Elves doing anything and everything the Master desired that he was surprised when the door to the fairytale house of Snape was opened by a girl barely dressed as a water sprite. Both he and Hermione gaped, taken aback by the scantily clad maiden in the entirely transparent scrap of fabric. Draco, on the other hand, grinned wolfishly, all thoughts of the man he had recently been molesting seemingly lost in a flash of curvy flesh and jiggling breasts.

“Well hello!” Draco drawled, looking very much as though he would devour the girl whole. He turned back to Harry with a look on his face like a child in a candy store – only to be met with a stony stare from his lover. The smile faded instantly and he pulled himself into check. The girl giggled – and jiggled – and ushered them through the door, where two more similarly clad girls were waiting to check their invitation and take their cloaks. Draco’s eyes were beginning to glaze over, he looked as though he was in booby heaven. Harry cast a look down at his remarkably jiggle free chest and shuffled uncomfortably on the spot.

While their cloaks were being removed, the door girl and one of her companions perused the invitation. They looked at each of them in turn, quickly deciding who Miss Granger was, and then looking with some interest for Mr. Potter. The scar on his forehead was a dead give away, and as they raked their eyes appreciatively over his body and giggled, Harry felt his nerves increase. Draco was then subjected to the same treatment, but took it rather more admirably than Harry. Draco, of course, knew full well exactly how damn good looking he was whereas it didn’t matter how many times Harry was told he was handsome, he never quite believed it.

“So” the door girl stared at Harry’s scar, impressed, “you’re Harry Potter?”

“Um,” Harry shuffled, “yeah, that’s me.”

She turned to Draco, “And you must be the delectable Mr. Malfoy?”

The wolfish grin returned to Draco’s face. The girl traced a slender finger up his arm. “If you get bored later,” she ran her tongue along her inner lip, “I give really fabulous head.”

“I’m sure you do,” Draco grinned sleazily. Hermione was certain that Harry was about to wrench the girls tongue out of her head, right after he tore Draco’s arms off. A vein seemed to be throbbing in his temple and she was certain his blood pressure had just risen a couple of notches.

“So later then?” The girl shifted her hand from Draco’s arm to his hip, stroking his hip bone.

“Sorry babe,” Draco slid his hand down her arm, “I’m practically married.”

The girl looked at Hermione dubiously and scoffed rudely. She giggled and mouthed “Her?” silently to Draco.

Draco’s eyes shifted to Harry, who currently resembled a ball of fury and back to the girl. “Him,” Draco said cattily, “and I can guarantee he gives better head than you.”

The girl took a step back, looked shocked, giggled and looked shocked again.  It took only a moment for her sexy demeanor to return. “Well, if you want to compare styles, just let me know.”

While Draco looked as though he would be all too willing to become the human lollypop, he took Hermione’s arm and turned back to Harry. “Come on scar head,” he drawled affectionately, “are we going to this party or what? There is only so long I can flirt with the servants you know.”

Harry glared at the door girl with a look that was pure unadulterated hatred and propelled himself forward to take Hermione’s other arm.

To find the ballroom, they had to follow the dancing fairies who were lighting the way and Hermione found herself feeling nervous and flustered and stuck between two men who were about to have an incredible spat.

“I don’t fucking believe you,” Harry was hissing, “you’re a fucking slut.”

“I wasn’t going to do anything with her, it was harmless flirting.”

Harry really didn’t look convinced.

“Harry?”

“What?”

“Take your glasses off, you look like a git.”

He snatched the glasses off his face and handed them to Hermione who put them into her purse. He then veered off the wrong way and fell over a side table. “Well, I think I look like more of a git now,” he growled. Draco and Hermione began to laugh uncontrollably, which only incensed him further as he groped around, trying to get up but not actually able to see anything in the dimly lit corridor. “Can I have my glasses back please?” he said angrily.

Draco took the glasses from Hermione and knelt down in front of Harry. For a moment Hermione feared Harry was about to punch him in the mouth as Draco, still laughing, put the glasses on Harry’s face.

“You know something Potty?” Draco laughed.

“What?” Harry snapped.

“I really fucking love you.”

~ ~ ~

“Have you been to the Death Eater Exhibition yet?” Tonks was drinking champagne and had directed her question to Ginny Weasley, who was surreptitiously drinking champagne, and casting nervous glances around for her mother who would no doubt slap her if she was caught. She had managed to grow into a beautiful young woman and the masses of long red hair served only as a crowning glory, as a result she was constantly surrounded by three older brothers who occasionally took on a threatening look, much like security guards in one of Diagon Alley’s night clubs.

“No,” Ginny sipped her champagne cautiously, “I really don’t want to see it.”

“I didn’t either,” Tonks sounded a little philosophical, “but I ended up there. It’s pretty spooky. Malfoy is the worst of course, but everyone knows that.”

Ginny remained oddly silent and stared into the top of her glass, which brought a sniggering from Fred and George.

“Don’t worry Ginny,” George sniggered a little harder, “I’m sure widdle Lucy is awright in la la land.”

Ginny flushed and Tonks frowned questioningly, “What are you on about?”

“Ginny had a bit of a crush on Lucius Malfoy,” Fred chortled.

“She even cried when he was sentenced,” George threw in for good measure.

Tonks nearly choked on her drink. Crushes she could understand, she cast a glance at Remus Lupin and suppressed a sigh, yes, she could understand the mysteries of infatuation, but with Lucius Malfoy? “You have got to be kidding me,” she said bluntly, “you had a crush on Lucius Malfoy?”

“Disgusting, isn’t it?” Ron smirked maliciously.

Ginny flushed harder and stared at the bubbles rising to the surface of her drink. They were right of course, after the war she had dreamed about him, still dreamed about him in fact. He would come to her in the night and take her by force. She always surrendered, always became his willing victim. She couldn’t go to the exhibition, she couldn’t have the illusion shattered. “It wasn’t a crush,” she muttered, “I don’t know what it was.”

“They had a ‘moment’ during the war. Dad nearly freaked when she mentioned it.”

“Nothing happened!” Ginny cried indignantly, “You just love to bring it up because it’s embarrassing.”

Tonks was well and truly confused now. What kind of a moment could Ginny have possibly had with Lucius Malfoy? She would have been sixteen when the last battle actually happened, hardly the time to be having a ‘moment’ with a man in his forties. “So what happened then?”

“It was nothing,” Ginny said defensively.

“Yeah, you still mooned around the house for months after though.” George was really enjoying this; it didn’t occur to him that his sister was really becoming upset. “Do you want to tell it Gin, or should I?”

Ginny sighed, knowing full well that Tonks could get her version, or the highly inaccurate Fred and George Monster tale. “Well,” she said slowly, not raising her eyes from her glass, “It was during the last battle…”

“Just after he’d killed our brother,” Ron interjected and Ginny glared at him.

“If you say so Ron.” She sipped her drink but it no longer tasted so good. “Anyway, Harry had gone after Voldemort and they were running up the stairs of this tower and Luci…Malfoy had gone after them, so a bunch of us went after him. Dumbledore had given everyone instructions that Harry had to finish it and we had to protect him at all costs. So we’re after Malfoy, and he was just unstoppable. It didn’t seem to matter what hexes people were throwing at him, he was just deflecting them and doing a heap of damage while he was at it. I don’t know how I did it, but I managed to get to the top of the stairs before him, I think he was fighting with Ron at the time. Then he was there, just coming towards me and I just lost it, I knew I couldn’t stop him magically, so I just hurled myself at him. He wasn’t expecting it because we fell down the stairs, the whole way to the bottom of the tower. I remember thinking; ‘shit, this is it, I’m going to die with a broken neck.’ Then I realized that he’d slowed us down somehow. It was like he couldn’t stop us falling, but he’d slowed the momentum enough to minimize the damage. It was the strangest thing, we were kind of curled into this ball and he was holding my head, sort of protecting it. I guess it must’ve been instinct or something, who knows?” Ginny laughed a small sad laugh, it was almost affectionate. “Anyway, when we finally stopped he was lying on top of me and he pushed himself up and says, “Are you alright?” and I look at him and say “yes,” and he grins at me, that same grin that Draco gets when he has been a real cheeky git and he says “that’s good.” Then he stuns me and takes off up the stairs.”

Tonks was silent for a while and then she nodded impressed, “Well, yeah, that’s a moment, I’d be willing to pay that.”

Ginny smiled as Fred, George and Ron protested the legitimacy of it being a ‘moment’ and Tonks argued back with great energy and humor.

“So how’d it feel?” Tonks asked, laughing as she finished putting Fred well and truly in his place.

Ginny smiled mischievously, “Pretty bloody good actually.”

“Yeah,” Ron sneered, “then you couldn’t have him so you went and screwed the Ferret.”

“WHAT?” It was a word said in unison and all eyes turned to Ginny who blushed furiously but glared defiantly at Ron.

“Actually Ron,” she said, clutching her glass tightly, “I fucked Draco a good while before all the fighting began, so get off my case you shit.”

Ron opened his mouth to respond, but he never got the chance. Whatever he was going to say was forgotten and what came out of his mouth was a strangled “Oh my Gods!” He felt blood rush to his face and was aware of a number of people doing double takes around him. Hermione had arrived, looking more than a little incredible, with Harry on one arm, and Draco Malfoy on the other.

And what in the name of all that was good and holy was Harry wearing?

~ ~ ~

From the moment he stepped into the ballroom, Harry was inundated with people wanting to hug him, kiss him, speak to him, get him a drink, demand dances and, uncomfortably, grope his arse – damn these pants to hell. For a moment he was taken aback, not sure how to handle the sudden return to the spotlight. At Hogwarts everyone was pretty much used to him, and Draco, who cared little for his celebrity, paid attention to him for an entirely different reason.

He loves me, he loves me, he loves me, he loves me, he loves me, he loves me….

He was well aware he was hugging people he barely knew, and many he hadn’t seen since the end of the war, and he was grinning like an idiot.

He loves me, he loves me, he loves me, he loves me, he loves me, he loves me….

Draco had no interest in standing off to one side and waiting for Harry, and amongst all of the adoration directed at Harry, he heard the inevitable remarks and looks cast at his form. The room seemed to whisper at him from all directions; “What’s he doing here?” he felt the first traces of nervousness seep into him and he scanned the room in search of the one thing that was going to put him at ease. The bar. Once he found it he began to move in that direction – and was supremely grateful when Hermione, the subject of considerably less adoration than Harry, grabbed his hand and came with him.

Hermione wasn’t deaf nor blind, nor hugging fifty or so people and so she grabbed Draco by the hand and squeezed tightly. She had to admire his courage. This was a party full of people who had fought to destroy everything Draco had held sacred, and this was certainly not Malfoy friendly territory. 

They were making their way through the massive ballroom, and she looked about the place in wonder. She had never been to a Wizards party before and she had to admit, the Yule Ball had nothing on this.  Her dress was completely appropriate and not, as she had feared, over the top. The room played host to more people than she could imagine Snape would have known. What she had thought would be around two hundred, was in fact more like five hundred, each dressed in outfits more plush and decadent than the next.

A muscular young Wizard descended the stairs clad in tight leather pants and very little else, leading buxom witch in a slip of a dress, by a chain affixed to a collar around her throat. Two Witches dressed in black latex so tight it could have been sprayed on to their bodies, burst into laughter as the bondage couple passed, then turned to kiss one and other passionately. Hermione noticed with some shock that one of the Witches was Professor Delancet, the Defense against the Dark Arts Professor. Two stunning Witches in vintage ball gowns pushed past them, giggling over some obscene joke. It was only when they were close to them that Hermione noticed the angular shoulders and Adams apples and she felt a twinge of jealousy that two Wizards could get a better cleavage than she could.

Not that her cleavage looked all that bad tonight.

The Weird Sisters were performing in the ballroom, their music being interspersed with Muggle songs, a specific request from Albus Dumbledore. The band were louder than she had ever heard them, but despite the decibel level being well past painful, the room was crowded with people dancing, or standing around drinking, smoking and posing. Pockets of silence were dotted about the room, and groups were crowded into them, talking and laughing and generally catching up on life in general. Dozens of the scantily clad nymphs were milling about with drinks. Hermione could smell cigarette smoke, and mixed in was the unmistakable scent of Marijuana and something else, something sweeter.

“What’s that smell, the sweet one?” Hermione yelled in Draco’s ear.

“Opium.” He yelled in return.

She scanned the room for Severus, knowing he had to be here somewhere. She figured that she should just look for black robes, but when she did this she only found Ron, who looked sour enough to be Snape, and Dumbledore, who had confounded all by coming dressed as a Death Eater.

“Can you see Severus?” She yelled and Draco scanned the room himself.

“There’s McGonagall, she’ll know where he is.” He gripped her hand tighter and ploughed across the dance floor.

Professor McGonagall was dressed in an elaborate medieval gown, heavily brocaded and trailing along the ground. Her dark hair was piled high on her head, woven through a glittering gold wire head piece. She was fortunately standing in one of the quiet pockets and chatting to Aberforth Dumbledore, who had come as a goat herd. Hermione wondered if he’d brought a goat. When Minerva saw them heading her way she smiled and waved them over.

“Are you just getting here?” McGonagall was obviously already rather tipsy, “There’s champagne on the bar…hold on, I’ll get a nymph.”

As if by magic (and no doubt it was) a girl appeared holding a tray of drinks. Draco grabbed a glass and handed it to Hermione, then he grabbed two more for himself, downing one in three quick gulps and then the other, placing the empty glasses back on the tray and getting himself two more before waving the girl away.

“Trying to catch up Draco?” McGonagall asked and laughed, she patted his shoulder and turned to Aberforth, “he was such a good little boy, who would have thought he’d end up drinking like a fish?”

Draco grinned and felt himself relax a little. Someone drunk and taking the piss in a good natured way he could handle.

“I like your shirt.” Minerva slurred and then looking over the swarm of people that was Harry she added, “and I see you’ve dressed Potter as a slut.”

“I like my men a little sleazy,” Draco quipped, and Minerva laughed heartily.

“To be honest darling, so do I.”

Hermione listened to the easy back and forth with a note of envy, she was still trying to get used to the fact that Professor McGonagall was drunk and acting like – well – like one of them. Not a teacher at all tonight. She smiled and felt a little warm inside, if she was going to be with Severus, she might actually get to see this more often. They might actually end up friends.

“And you!” Minerva turned to Hermione and gabbed her by her waist, “you look ravishing. All in red too, Severus will be so pleased.”

Hermione blushed. “Thank you Professor.”

“No! Not Professor tonight. That’s why I didn’t want students here tonight.” She cast a disdainful glare at the Weasley tribe. “Of course, some people ignore their invitations.” She turned back to Hermione. “Call me Minerva, you’ll have to get used to it anyway if you plan on shagging my best friend.”

Hermione couldn’t stop the laugh that came out of her and Minerva looked well pleased. “Thank you, um, Minerva. Um, where is Prof…Severus?”

“Merlin’s balls, you haven’t found him yet?” Minerva looked about, “Stay here, I’ll go and find him. He was getting stoned the last time I checked. I think he’d given up on you coming.”

Hermione glared at Draco; she’d told him they were more than fashionably late.

~ ~ ~

Harry honestly believed that nothing was going to dampen his mood. Everything seemed, finally, to be going along just as it should. He’d been waiting for years for this moment, to feel like the world was right and he was on top of it. Then again, he hadn’t counted on Ron being at the party, but once he realized he was, Harry didn’t see a problem with it. There was music, there was fun, there was alcohol in abundance and any number of really beautiful women milling about, Ron would be in paradise and no doubt in as good a mood as Harry himself.

He really wasn’t prepared to the reception he received from his supposed friend.

“HI!” Harry grinned, he had just started on the magical tasting champagne and wondered if Snape had come up with the blend. If he had, Harry had underestimated his usefulness.

“Hello,” Ron said sourly.

“I didn’t think you’d be here.”

Ron looked Harry up and down and his scowl deepened. “Obviously not, other wise you might have re-considered bringing your new buddy.”

Harry felt his smile begin to fade. He cast eye around the dance floor until he found Hermione and Draco and took in the familiar angles of Draco’s shoulders and the curve of his shoulder blade under the tight top. “He’s not that bad Ron,” Harry knew this was a useless tact to take, but he said it anyway, “if you’d give him a chance, you might actually like him.”

“If liking him means I end up looking like a fucking rent boy,” he raked his eyes up Harry disdainfully, “I don’t want to fucking like him.”

“It’s a costume party Ron.”

“I don’t care what it is.”

Harry shuffled on the spot and looked about the room, trying to think of something to say that would perhaps lead Ron into conversation and reconciliation.

“So, since when has he been your new best friend?” Ron demanded suddenly.

“What?” Harry frowned, “He’s not my best friend, he’s…” Well, what was he? Harry’s lover, Harry’s boyfriend, the person Harry was started to love above all others…Harry’s best friend. Harry shuffled awkwardly.

“Look,” Ron hissed, “Hermione can fuck him to her hearts content, and you can be his new best friend, but I am not going to forget that he is a fucking evil git, from a long line of fucking evil gits – and if you are going to be his friend, you might have to reconsider your friendship with me.”

It was a challenge that Ron really didn’t expect Harry to call him on and he was satisfied when Harry looked stricken. But then Harry stared at him with defiance on his face and pursed his lips. Ron could suddenly see the unthinkable on Harry’s face. He was going to disregard years of friendship. Harry was going to choose Malfoy over him.

“I was hoping I could have both friendships,” Harry said tightly, “don’t make me choose Ron, you might not like the result.”

“If you’d choose Draco Malfoy’s friendship over mine, then you’re not worth having as a friend.”

Harry sighed heavily and nodded, “Ok, fair enough”

Ron grinned triumphant.

“See you ‘round.” Harry turned on his heel and plunged into the surging crowd on the dance floor, leaving Ron in stunned silence.

~ ~ ~

Draco had discovered something wonderful, every time he wanted a drink, a nymph appeared to give him one. By the time Minerva returned with Snape he was tipsy, merry and chatting away to Aberforth about the merits of pub ownership. When Snape did appear, Draco dropped his glass and gaped with shock.

Hermione was doing very much the same thing. Severus was dressed up - really dressed up. As it turned out, Minerva had given him Dumbledore’s costume, so Dumbledore had borrowed Snape’s old Death Eater robes for the night. Severus Snape was as gaudily bedecked as a court jester and as bejeweled as a sultan. A long scarlet velvet coat fell floor length and beyond. He was Mephistopheles, Prince of the underworld and folly of Faustus. His hair was clean and shiny and the top had been pulled back from his face and tied into a pony tail. His skin seemed clear and dry. Minerva was incredibly proud of her creation, even if he had whined for five hours about it. Now he was incredibly relaxed, because he was incredibly stoned and Minerva feared he would not make a very good impression on the young Witch who had only just arrived.

She needn’t have worried. Hermione was staring transfixed at the dark minion in front of her, but was utterly speechless.

“Mephisto himself?” Draco grinned.

Snape bowed gallantly, “The very same.”

“Ready to give me my every desire?”

“Well now, you’d have to sell your soul for that.”

Draco bowed his head and smiled, “I don’t think my soul is mine to sell.” He looked around to find Harry and nearly jumped out of his skin when he discovered that Harry had just bounded up behind him looking flushed, excited and glassy eyed.

“Great party!” he yelled, not realizing he’d reached a quiet spot.

”There’s no need to yell Potter.”

He looked incredulously at Snape, “Fuck me, you actually look alright!”

Snape sneered, but it was strangely lopsided. “So, I see you got bored of all your devoted fans and have come to plague us with your presence.”

“Now, now Severus,” Minerva was laughing, “don’t be such a prick.” She placed a hand either side of his narrow hips and swiveled him around to face Hermione and watched as all sneering fell from his face.

“Hi,” Hermione whispered quietly.

“Wow.” He shuffled nervously on the spot.

Draco and McGonagall exchanged looks. A nervous Mephisto was not particularly convincing.

~ ~ ~

“You don’t look like your having much fun Ronnie.”

Ron winced and wished she wouldn’t call him that. He wasn’t entirely sure how he was supposed to have fun. He had just been dumped by the best friend he’d ever had in favor of a spiteful, nasty, and possibly murderous, arsehole – and now Angelina was sidling on up to him to take advantage of whatever plagued his mind. It had occurred to him that perhaps he should have made an effort with Malfoy, but it simply wasn’t in him. He had spent years with Malfoy tormenting him, insulting his family, plotting against him, hexing him whenever he got the chance and finally, the bastard’s father had destroyed so much of his happiness, leaving a hole in his soul that would never be filled. Now he was expected to forgive and forget? He just couldn’t.

“Not speaking to me Ronnie?” Angelina chuckled. “How very unsociable of you.”

“What’s up?”

Ron tensed at the sound of George’s voice, and he swallowed dryly.

“Ronnie won’t speak to me,” Angelina pouted and picked at a fleck on George’s Mad Hatter costume, “I must’ve done something wrong.” She licked George’s neck affectionately, “what do you think Boo, do you think I’ve done something wrong to Ronnie?”

George laughed as she pouted prettily. “How could you do anything wrong Pooh Bear?” He grinned at Ron, who really thought he was going to be sick. “Why don’t you  two go and dance? Just because Ron came as a Ministry official doesn’t mean he has to stand there looking like one.”

Angelina grinned, kissed George on the cheek and hauled Ron off to the dance floor.

~ ~ ~

Tonks and Ginny had made their way over to Harry and Hermione, both were eyeing Draco with some interest, having been subjected to Ron’s rant about Hermione’s supposed love interest, they wanted to suss out the happy couple. Both had to admit, Hermione and Draco seemed quite comfortable in each others company, but did not seem couple like. They weren’t even standing close to each other.

Harry had started in earnest on the champagne, and nudged Tonks towards Draco. “Do you know that you two are cousins?”

Tonks did and she flushed a little as Draco frowned, confused.

“On what side?” Draco asked, looking the girl with hair the color of Ginny’s rather garish pink lipstick.

“Mother’s,” Tonks said, she smiled nervously, she really never countered on meeting her pure blood, bigoted as all hell cousin. “My mother was your mother’s sister.”

“Oh,” Draco thought furiously, “So you’d be Nymphadora then?”

“Tonks!” said Tonks quickly, “Please, just call me Tonks.”

 “Your mother married a Muggle didn’t she?”

“Yes,” Tonks replied defensively, “So?”

“Nothing, I was just trying to remember why you weren’t on our Family Tree.” He saw her look grow threatening, “I didn’t mean to offend you,” he said quickly, “I’m sorry.”

“So,” Ginny jumped in, “you guys have been staying at Malfoy Manor? What’s it like?”

Harry laughed heartily, “It’s fucking huge!”

“Oh yeah,” Hermione agreed, beginning to giggle herself, “I got lost the other day looking for a toilet, one of the House Elves had to come a rescue me.”

“There isn’t any where near as many House Elves as I thought there’d be though,” Harry downed his champagne, “I’ve only seen four – I think. They’re all starting to look the same to me.”

“There is only four,” Draco cut in, “There used to be five but scar head here set one free.”

“There used to be fifty but someone decided to have a tea party with them.” Snape began to laugh, then swayed. Minerva turned to him awkwardly, tripped over the hem of her gown and grabbed Snape’s arm for support. He was obviously the wrong person to cling to, having had far too much to drink and smoke, they both fell to the floor, then sat there and both burst into hysterical laughter.

Aberforth shrugged and sat down beside them, which left their students and Tonks to stare openly at the two people they never thought would ever actually make complete idiots out of themselves in public. It occurred to Hermione that they weren’t actually making idiots out of themselves at all, they were laughing about it, enjoying themselves. She dropped to the floor beside Severus and Minerva shoved him hard at her.

“Oh act your age you old bag!” Snape laughed, falling onto Hermione and lingering for a moment in her cleavage.

“My age?” Minerva snorted, “what a dreadful prospect, I’ll be 79 next September.”

“You shall shortly be losing your bloom!”

They both erupted into laughter again, rolling on the floor like a couple of juveniles.

Harry shook his head. “Honestly,” he muttered, "you can’t take them anywhere.” He sat himself down, cross legged on the floor and leaned forward (which drew the attention of Tonks, Ginny and Draco, all of whom could now see straight down the back of his pants and noticed with some interest that he was wearing a black thong). “Um, now, what did you say about a tea party?”

Draco began to blush, “Oh Gods, please don’t.”

“Well now you have to,” Harry grinned, and dragged Draco to the floor, “cause it really sounds like you’re about to embarrass the Ferret.”

Snape got control of some part of his senses, raked his eyes over Hermione as though he might just eat her up and then smiled wryly. As Ginny and Tonks joined the party on the floor, he gave Draco an apologetic look. “I won’t bore you with a detailed analysis of Lucius Malfoy’s character because you probably have no interest in it and it’s not really conducive to the story, but what you do need to know is that he had the biggest soft spot imaginable for his son and when Draco was little, it was worse. Draco was the single most spoilt brat of a child I have ever witnessed, and I’ve been teaching for almost twenty years. I have seen some spoilt kids before, but Draco won in that department hands down. Lucius used to carry pictures of the little shit everywhere he went and every second thing out of his mouth was about Draco. Draco burped, Draco spoke, Draco shat, Draco can say this, Draco can say that. And of course Draco was the most intelligent baby that ever was born. It was so incredibly irritating that you just wanted to slap his head the moment he opened his mouth.

"Anyway, Lucius started losing his House Elves and he couldn’t work out what the fuck was going on. I think in the space of a week, twenty disappeared. He was really getting frantic about it because the ancestry of these Elves serving his family was as ancient as the family itself, and he really didn’t want to be the one who lost them all. So he’s looking into all of the old laws regarding the House Elves, checking to see if anything could have inadvertently set the little buggers free, and he couldn’t find anything. So, one night, after the numbers are really starting to dwindle, he’s having a dinner party and there were about fifteen or so people there. After dinner everyone is sitting in the lounge, when this Elf walks through the room, dressed from head to toe in a blue romper suit, and goes straight out the front door without a backward glance. Now, we’re all amazed at this, but Lucius recognizes the clothes and piss bolts upstairs, with the entire party in tow!

"Now, you have to get the picture of Draco’s bedroom, there were so many toys in that room that I’m amazed they could fit the bed in there, and that was just his bedroom, not his playroom. But toys weren’t enough now, were they? Draco has this table set up, all laid out for tea and he’s discovered that the House Elves are the same height as him. I think he was three at the time. So he’s having a tea party – and his guests have to dress for tea. So he’s pulling out these ridiculous little outfits that Narcissa used to get him on a daily basis, and he’s dressing the Elves in them…and of course the Elves are promptly thanking him very much and walking out the door. The kid was all red in the face because he couldn’t work out why his guests were leaving!”

Harry thought he was going to piss himself from laughing so hard. Hermione looked as though she was in serious trouble as the corset was so tight, and she was laughing hard enough that her breasts almost popped out of the gown.

“Oh, Oh Merlin, Draco,” Harry clapped Draco on the back, “you little House Elf liberationist you. Hermione will have you joining S.P.E.W. next.”

“Oh get fucked, I was a little kid.”

“Forty five House Elves he dressed,” Snape smirked, “I have never seen someone go white and then red with the speed Lucius did. I think it was the only time he paddled your arse raw.”

“Oh that is so cruel!” Minerva was laughing too though, “he was just having a dinner party like his Daddy!”

Draco was looking distinctly un-amused, this had definitely gone on quite long enough. He stood up and offered his hand to Minerva. “Professor McGonagall,” he flashed his most dazzling smile, “would you like to dance?”

”Why Mr. Malfoy, I thought you’d never ask.”

Draco grinned devilishly and dragged his Transfigurations Professor to the dance floor.

~ ~ ~

“What I don’t understand,” Ron was saying drunkenly, downing a shot of vodka in one gulp, “is why you hate him so much.”

“Well,” Angelina reclined against the bar, “you know the old adage about a woman scorned.”

“Yeah, but…” Ron frowned as she got him another shot and poured a little something of her own into it, “do you really think he’s cheating on you?” He took the proffered drink and sniffed it suspiciously.

“I know he is,” she replied and sipped her own drink. “Are you going to drink that?”

“What did you put in it?”

“Nothing you haven’t had before.”

Ron, already drunk, decided that something else wasn’t going to hurt him and downed the drink. She got him another.

“Besides,” she said lightly, “there are other things, he’s not so innocent.”

“Neither are you,” Ron pointed out.

“Well, that’s true.” She smiled and watched him drink the next shot, “but at least I have an excuse – he drove me to it.”

Ron raised an eyebrow. He couldn’t imagine this woman being driven to anything, as far as he was concerned, she did all the driving. The pleasant tendrils of a high had begun to invade his brain, lessening the drunken sensation. His body felt incredibly alive, he could feel the very air on his face, the feel of the soft wool of the dress robes against his flesh.

“Do you want to go outside?” she asked, “I don’t think your Mother would be too impressed if I started smoking in here. She’ll probably use it against me as a reason I’m not pregnant yet.”

Ron considered the option. He really wouldn’t mind a cigarette. He looked across the dance floor at his ex-best friend dancing with his sister. “Sure, why not?”

~ ~ ~

Tonks and Ginny had dragged Harry and Aberforth off to dance, leaving Hermione and Snape alone at last. They sat in silence for a while, watching as Harry was once again swamped with people and getting drunker by the second. Finally Hermione felt the feather light touch of fingers caress the back of her neck and she smiled and sighed into the touch.

“You look so beautiful tonight.”

“Thank you.” She pushed herself along the floor to move a little closer to him, “you look pretty amazing yourself.”

“I look like bloody idiot.”

“No you don’t,” she breathed. His fingers traced the curve of her shoulder blade. “Do you want to dance?” she asked, turning to look at him and wishing they were a thousand miles away, alone, wrapped in each other.

“No.” He shook his head and looked down at her upturned face, unable to believe  that this beautiful little thing was his. All his. His girlfriend. Oh dear Gods, he had a girlfriend!

“Oh,” she flushed and chewed her lip. He didn’t want to dance, so were they to sit here all night?

“Do you want to go somewhere a little less…crowded?”

She laughed suddenly with relief, “Yes,” she emphatically, “I would love to go somewhere less crowded.”

He stood and pulled her to her feet, then he out his elbow and raised an eyebrow. She took his arm and they navigated their way out of the room, stopping only to collect a bottle of champagne and two glasses.

~ ~ ~

Draco leaned back against the bar and downed another drink. He had lost count of just how many he had consumed and although he was fairly sure he’d be incredibly drunk, he didn’t feel it. In fact, he wasn’t feeling good at all and the summer spent drinking his way through Diagon Alley was starting to come back to him with uneasy force. He wasn’t feeling good. His easy banter from the beginning of the party seemed little more than a distant memory as he sat, alone and drunk, by the bar watching Harry dancing. In fact, Harry hadn’t stopped dancing since he had stepped foot on to the dance floor with Ginny Weasley. Draco seemed to recall that Harry hadn’t been that great on the dance floor the last time he’d seen him dance. Then again, that was at the Yule Ball at Hogwarts and that may as well have been an eon ago. Tonight he seemed to have boundless energy, a never ending line up of partners, and, Draco couldn’t quite believe it, rhythm.

So Draco had settled in at the bar – and everyone had steered a wide circle around him. He didn’t really blame them. He’d heard snippets of conversation, stories about the war being told sometimes as humorous anecdotes and other times as emotional sagas. These people had survived what Draco, through luck and an over protective Father, had been sheltered from. And while his Father had sought to protect him in any way he could, he obviously had no qualms about killing other people’s children. Draco had come to the conclusion that if he could, he would steer a wide berth around himself.

He felt his entire body tense as yet another person glared at him as though he was Lucius. He guessed he did look like his Father, younger, taller. But the face was the same, the same nose, the same chin, the same grey eyes. He felt an uneasy certainty that came with knowing that someone really wanted to kick the shit out him. Only now it was most of the room. Nearby he heard his name mentioned. Malfoy. Said with venomous hatred. He flushed, wanting nothing more than to get off the bar stool and head for the door. He’d have to tell Harry of course. And that would mean navigating the dance floor and cutting in on what ever partner Harry was with and trying to explain himself over music so loud it could make a Muggles ears bleed. He stayed put on the bar stool, nursing his drink and hoping that Harry would fall and sprain his ankle.

A man passed him, turned his face and glared. He was older than Draco, in his forties perhaps, Draco couldn’t tell, and scarred from battle. He bared his teeth and hissed and while Draco saw it coming, he didn’t turn his face in time. The man spat, covering Draco’s face in a mixture of saliva and bile. As he closed his eyes he heard the sound of laughter echoing around the bar and he picked up a napkin and wiped his face silently. It would not do to comment, this was a fight he could not win.

It was time to leave.

~ ~ ~

The view from the balcony of the North turret was spectacular. As Hermione sipped her champagne and gazed out over the view, she could see clear across the Salisbury plain. Stonehenge had been lit with colored lights by the Muggle Authorities so that it looked festive for the New Yearfestivities. Hermione felt her head lighten. The champagne was good quality, French and definitely magical in origin as it seemed to tingle on her tongue and she was feeling very happy from the first mouthful.

From behind, Snape pulled her to him and began to nuzzle her throat. She tilted her head to the side and smiled as his warm lips and hot tongue worked on the pulse point below her ear, his hands caressing her body through the velvet corset.

“That feels nice,” she whispered, her voice catching as it became more difficult to breathe.

“It tastes nice,” he murmured into her skin.

She smiled and chuckled softly and turned her head to capture his lips with hers. They kissed passionately, their tongues seeking each other and their bodies pressed hard together. She felt crushed against him, her chest was heaving and Hermione supposed for a moment that it was one of the purposes of such a corset, the heaving bosom in passion. She needed him, a week had been too long to wait for him and she was hungry for the taste of his mouth. She wondered if they could simply disrobe here, in this place and make love on the floor. It was not the romantic mating she envisioned, but she wanted him so desperately, she would make do. He was moaning softly, breathing the milky white air from deep in her throat.

“I want to fuck you,” he whispered crudely and regretted his lack of control. His cock was hard and straining against his pants. Severus wanted to lay her back and spread her legs wide and see her vagina, glistening with the wet heat he had caused, and he wanted to finger her, lick her clit to a hardened point and drink her juices. He wanted to bury his cock inside her. He was so horny it hurt.

“I want you to fuck me,” she gasped in reply, “I want to feel your cock moving inside me.”

Snape made an animal growl in his throat and nearly threw her down on the flagstones. “Do you have any idea what you do to me woman?”

“If it is anything like what you do to me, I’m in trouble.” Her eyes were smoldering, her lips swollen from kissing. They were aching for each other with such a fierce intensity that both of them felt as though their very flesh was on fire. He pulled her against him, crushing her body to his once more and almost smothered her with his mouth. Without breaking the kiss he swept her up into his arms and carried her away.

~ ~ ~

“So, Harry dumped you for Malfoy?” Angelina had no idea how long they’d been outside, and it didn’t really matter. No one had come looking for them and Ron evidently didn’t want to go back inside. They had cast a warming spell and she’d conjured up a blanket to sit on. She inhaled on the joint she had in her hand and passed it to Ron.

“Yeah, he dumped me,” Ron inhaled and held the smoke in his lungs as long as he could. “He didn’t even have to think about it.”

“People grow apart,” she said philosophically.

“I know that, but we grew apart suddenly overnight.”

Angelina nodded and smoked quietly for a while. She really had no interest in Ron’s problems with Harry. She liked Harry, she like Harry a lot and if Harry wanted to be friends with Draco Malfoy, then that was Harry’s choice. Angelina didn’t have Ron’s history with Draco, she also didn’t quite believe that it was Lucius Malfoy that had killed Charlie. All they knew was that it was a blond haired Wizard – and there were other blonds out there other than the Malfoy’s. At his trial, Lucius Malfoy had admitted to killing a lot of people, but he hadn’t admitted to Charlie’s death. At best he said he couldn’t be sure.

She enjoyed the feeling of being high for a bit, the numb awareness that everything was different. The stars were beginning to glow in the sky and she rested back against the stone wall of the alcove, enjoying the coolness against her flesh. “Maybe he’s gay,” she said suddenly.

“George?” Ron said, confused.

“No you twit, Harry.”

“Harry?” Ron looked at her incredulously, “what the fuck makes you think Harry is gay?”

“Well, according to Tonks. He’s been staying with Malfoy since before Christmas, so he went there, not London.”

Ron scowled, just another fact to add to Harry’s betrayal.

“And he was dancing to that Muggle ‘Man after Midnight’ song with a lot of enthusiasm.”

“It’s called ‘Gimme Gimme Gimme’ – and he’s been dancing to everything.”

Angelina shrugged. “And Malfoy really is hot.”

Ron coughed and choked on the sweet smoke. “Malfoy is a Ferret faced git…and none of those things means that Harry is gay. It just means his judgment is lacking at the moment. Besides, Malfoy is with Hermione – and Harry has a girlfriend.”

“So where is she?”

Ron shrugged, “Probably a student, McGonagall didn’t invite many students.”

Angelina smiled, “Now Malfoy with Hermione Granger, that is completely unbelievable. She’s so fucking dowdy.”

“She looks pretty bloody fine tonight.”

“That’s true – must’ve been using the Malfoy millions to make improvements.”

Ron snorted with derogatory laughter and Angelina caught his chin, turned his head and kissed him gently, sucking on his bottom lip. In truth, she hadn’t planned this. She had decided to make him a little horny, but had thought the party a little too public to actually do anything. But Ron was very cute, and she knew she could have him, and the power over him turned her on no end. Ron had sighed and leaned into the kiss and she nudged his lips open with her tongue and slid into his mouth. He was responding to the kiss, she could hazard a guess that he was responding to the gentleness of it. So Ronnie wanted a gentle lover. She almost wished she could give it to him.

He pulled away, “Ange,” he whispered huskily, “we can’t keep doing this.”

“Yes we can,” she murmured and slid her hand into his robes, finding his bare chest and placed her hand flat against his heartbeat. She kissed him again, harder this time, more insistent, probing his mouth with her tongue, exploring teeth and gums. She moved her hand down his body, unbuttoning his robes as she went and finally she cupped his balls through his underpants, gently squeezing the sensitive sac. He moaned low in his throat.

“That drug you make?” he whispered, trying to ignore the fact that his cock was now hard and straining against his cotton underpants, “what’s in it?”

She laughed softly and licked the side of his throat in much the same way she had doe to George earlier, “Lots of good things, things to make you feel pleasure.”

“Does it…does it drain your will?”

“It makes you mine,” she teased and Ron heard a grain of truth in her voice. Just why she would want to make him hers he did not know. She didn’t love him, she treated him with little more than contempt, something she had power over. As she lifted his robes and pulled his pants down, freeing his cock from its prison, he wondered where it all would end. It wasn’t a thought he liked to speculate on.

~ ~ ~

Hermione slipped an arm around Snape’s neck and nestled her face into his throat. It felt good to be in her arms. Safe and secure somehow. For the first time in her life she was glad she was so small, he carried her easily, all traces of his drunken high banished from him. She gently stroked his cheek, tracing his lips with her fingertips before pulling his face to hers and sliding her tongue between his lips. He didn’t break stride, and she pulled away from the kiss, afraid he might accidentally dump them both over a balcony.

“So, you’ve decided to sweep me off my feet then Severus?”

He smiled and squeezed her lightly, relishing the feel of her body in his arms and the velvet under his hands.

“Where are we going?”

“To bed.” He kissed her forehead.

“Going to have your wicked way with me?”

“And then some.”

He was carrying her down a darkened corridor, narrow and cold. The sound of the party was fading as the descended deeper into the house. He pushed a door open with his foot and Hermione found herself being carried through a large warm kitchen. Three House Elves bustled about, and she felt her stomach knot uncomfortably. So he had House Elves. She wondered if he treated them well. For Snape’s part, he was amazed he had finally got to see Melville Junior. And just how similar Melville Junior looked to Melville Senior – he could well have been served by the son and never noticed the difference.

From the kitchen he carried her the back way to the family quarters. Un-noticed by anyone, they slipped down the hallway to his bedroom door, which sprang open as he approached and Severus carried her inside. Hermione felt her breath catch in her throat and suddenly she felt that she was ten years old again and walking into the Great Hall of Hogwarts for the very first time.

He had enchanted the room. It was night and the bed seemed a solitary object, on the edge of a precipice and surrounded by the night sky. The white curtains seemed to glow almost blue in the light of the stars and the moon. If she looked closely she would have seen the borders of the illusion. A fireplace, the faint outline of a window. But these things were barely noticeable as clouds swirled around them. The stars were impossibly bright, the greatest things she had ever seen and the breeze that blew gently was warm and fragrant. It was summer in this room.

It…” she felt herself close to tears, “It’s so beautiful. Did you…did you do this for me?”

“Oh no, I always like to sleep in the great outdoors,” he replied cynically – and the silently berated himself. This was not the time to be his usual cynically bastard self. It had taken him four days to get the sky right and it had been an arduous task. The Great Hall at Hogwarts had been perfected over centuries, he’d had less than a week. The damned stars kept him awake and he had been forced to remove the sounds of birdsong as the constant squawking had almost driven him insane. It had only been at four that morning when he had finally worked out a charm to turn the stars on and off at will.

Still, Minerva had assured him that Hermione was enamored with the Great Hall ceiling and he was determined to make this perfect for her. Even if that meant having to put up with clouds wisping past him every five minutes.

Her rested her gently on the bed and she sank into its softness. He stepped away from her, wanting to see her there, lying on his bed. She looked so beautiful, so perfect. He was having difficulty believing she was really there, in his bed, in this house. It seemed and impossibility.

He bent to kiss her, to taste her lips again, when a male voice stopped him, made him freeze and chilled him.

“Severus? What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

~ ~ ~

Navigating the dance floor was, as Draco had feared, was a near impossible task. He had debated simply going and not bothering to tell Harry. It was not as though Harry would notice he was gone. Potter was having too much of a good time to notice much at all and Draco certainly didn’t expect him to leave on his account. Still, just leaving him there seemed wrong, and he had to admit that Harry had a jealous streak as green as his eyes. He would probably think Draco had disappeared with the girl from the door. Regardless of whether Harry chose to come home tonight or not, he could at least be put at ease to know that Draco had gone home alone.

Now the only problem was actually getting to Harry. Unfortunately Harry was bobbing up and down in the middle of a huge group of people and Draco could see his messy black hair appear and disappear then appear again over the heads of the crowd. He aimed himself in Harry’s direction and started walking, ignoring the snide remarks as he squeezed through the masses, never letting Harry’s head out of his sight. Occasionally he ran into someone and while he apologized, he usually found himself given a good elbow in the ribs for his efforts and eventually he discovered that he had veered well off course and had ended up in a pocket of silence and nowhere near Harry at all. He spun on his heel and tried to head back into the crowd, only to run heavily into a solid mass of a man.

“Excuse m…” the words died on his lips and he felt himself swaying. He was suddenly sober and his legs felt like nothing beneath him. Alastor Moody’s Magical eye swiveled and took in Draco’s form and suddenly he was face to face with the grizzled old Auror.

“What are you doing here, Malfoy?” Moody spat his name out as though it were some foul poison, which it no doubt was to these people. Draco breathed, trying to keep it even, trying to remain calm.

“I was invited,” he drawled. He was trying to sound confident, even though he didn’t feel it. He knew he was failing miserably.

“Now why would a piece of shit like you be invited to this little shindig.

Because I’m fucking your hero up the arse, you wanker. Draco took a step back and realized that he had managed to back himself up against a pillar. “I was invited,” he repeated, then added; “with friends,” hoping perhaps Moody would leave him alone if he thought Draco had friends nearby. It was a vain hope.

“Not very discerning friends I see.” Moody had his wand out and Draco stared at the end of it, transfixed. Draco had his own wand in his pocket, shrunk down to be carried easily. It probably wouldn’t be a good thing to pull it out on Moody, not here anyway. He would probably be little more than a puddle of mush before he’d even get the first shield spell out.

“I…I’m leaving now.” Draco straightened himself up, but he was shaking and he was fairly certain Moody could see that.

“I would if I were you,” Moody growled and then suddenly he chuckled. “Wouldn’t like any nasty accidents to happen now, would we?”

Draco swallowed hard, “N-n-no.”

“I mean, there are a lot of people here, a lot of people who don’t like you. Be a shame for one of them to say, accidentally spill a drink down that nice back of yours eh?” Moody and leered in with his magical eye, ”But it ain’t such a nice little back anymore, now is it?”

Draco felt as though he had shrunk into himself and his insides quickened. “I’m going now,” he said quietly, in a voice that was hoarse. He made to walk away, to move past Moody and head for the door, but he felt the man’s wand trace down his spine, and he froze and whimpered and hated himself for it.

“Alastor!”

Draco felt relief swamp him as Minerva was rushing towards them. She snatched Draco away from Moody with more strength than Draco knew she possessed. Her face was stern, and her mouth was nothing more than a thin slash across her face.

“Alastor,” she said again, but this time it was calmer and with no small amount of disdain, “you came, how interesting.”

Moody bowed stiffly and pressed a kiss to Minerva’s hand. “You look ravishing tonight Minerva,” he said gruffly, “I hope Dumbledore knows how lucky he is.”

“Yes, I’m sure he does,” she said dismissively, “what are you doing here?”

“Well, my invitation must have been lost in the post, and I knew you’d be upset if I didn’t show.” He smiled horribly, “Now I can see it was a good thing I came. Looks like I can evict some unwanted,” his eye swiveled to Draco, “rubbish, for you.”

Minerva pulled Draco closer to him and he felt her stroking his hip. There was nothing sexual in the touch, it was calming, trying to stop his trembling. “Actually Alastor, I would prefer you left the invited guests alone. Especially this one.”

“Perhaps you should re-think your invitation list Minerva. You’re letting scum through the door.”

“No, I’m afraid the terrible excuse for a door girl did that.”

“You need to be careful Minerva, after all, like Father, like Son.”

“The war is over Alastor.”

“Tell that to all the people the Malfoy’s destroyed. They should have executed the lot of them.”

”Draco did nothing wrong!”

“There’s no harm in taking precautions.”

Minerva slid her arm firmly around Draco’s waist and turned him away. Whispering quietly, “Come along dear, don’t listen to him,” she lead him away from the dance floor and out of the ballroom. There was a small sitting room, hidden behind the paneled walls, which was quiet and once she got a fire going, it was cozy and warm. Draco stood in the centre of the room, silent and still whilst Minerva watched him for a moment, trying to reconcile the young man in front of her with the over confident young brat that had walked into Hogwarts more than seven years before.

He did look like his Father. Like Draco, she had heard the comments, and she had been questioned on her decision to invite him. She now began to wonder if it had been a good idea. She had gone looking for him because she had been told that someone had spat on him – only to find him being threatened by Moody, someone she was sure scared him half to death, and with good reason. Still, she had to agree, he was like Lucius. Or at least what Lucius would have been like if he’d had a couple of hard knocks in his life. As a student, Lucius had been clever and smart, but certainly more sure of his abilities than his talent warranted. As a person he was good looking, sharp, popular and mean. Minerva would have said that Draco was just like him. Had the war gone the other way, she had no doubt that Draco Malfoy would currently be living the high life and occasionally dancing a jig on Harry Potter’s grave.

But the war hadn’t gone that way, and Draco was here, trying to fit in with a group of people who would never accept him in the role he had taken on. The lover of Harry Potter. Most people thought Draco Malfoy had gotten off too lightly – most people didn’t know the half of it.

“What’s going on?” Harry burst through the door, red faced and out of breath. “Dumbledore said something had happened to Draco.”

“I’m fine Harry,” Draco muttered irritably, “go back to your friends.”

“What happened? Dumbledore said Moody upset you or something.”

“It’s nothing, it’s fine.”

Minerva looked from one boy to the other and spoke before she could stop herself. “He doesn’t know?” she said to Draco.

“Leave it!” Draco snapped, he began to pace, “just leave it alone, it doesn’t matter.”

“What don’t I know?”

“Nothing,” Draco hissed angrily, “don’t worry about it, go back to the party and dance with all those fucking people.”

“Draco, what’s going on?” Harry frowned, unable to comprehend what could be so bad that he’d be in this mood.

“Nothing is going on, I’m going home. I’m tired, I feel sick, and I just want to go home.”

“But,” Harry pushed his damp hair off his face, “Don’t go! It won’t be the same if you’re not here.”

“Why?” Draco turned on him, his face had colored a dark shade of pink. “Why should I stay, why won’t it be the same if I’m not here? You’re not talking to me. No one is talking to me. Oh, they’re spitting on me, and I get the occasional death threat and oh, yes, let’s not forget the little intimidation bit that made me want to wet my pants. That would have been really fucking hilarious wouldn’t it? Then again, who can blame them? I mean, what right do I have to expect anything better? I’m Lucius Malfoy’s son – I may as well be Lucius because fuck, look at me, I look just like him, so I must be just like him! I mean, I should have been executed as a precaution because I am bound to do something bad – just give me a couple of years and I’ll be as bad as Voldemort himself, right? I deserve all this, I deserve everything I get. I deserve to be spat at, I deserve to have people hiss at me, I deserved to be tied down and have that…stuff… poured all over me. It’s just a shame he didn’t cover me in it totally and then we wouldn’t be having this conversation and you’d be out there dancing up a storm and having a great old time!” He stopped and sank down into the couch, red faced and exhausted. He buried his face in his hands. “I just want to go home.”

Harry and Minerva stared at him, stunned into silence. Draco didn’t lift his head, he didn’t look at either of them. He just wanted this miserable year to end. Minerva patted Harry gently on the shoulder and left the room, closing the door gently behind her.

Outside in the ballroom, the countdown began to midnight.

~ ~ ~

“Lupin!” Snape tried desperately to make his voice sound calm, “what are you doing in this part of the house.”

“I got lost, what are you doing to Hermione?”

“I...I…um…I…we…”

“We were about to make love Remus,” Hermione said crisply, sitting up in the bed, “so if you could just close the door for us, we would be most grateful.”

Lupin felt his eyes open so wide that they must have been goggling at the unlikely couple. Snape and Hermione? Impossible! Certainly not if he had anything to do with it. “Severus, can I see you out here for one moment please?”

Snape sighed and looked regretfully at Hermione. “One minute, sweetheart,” he whispered, and turned to follow Lupin into the hall.

Hermione fell back onto the bed in frustration. This was too much. She was laced into this too tight corset that she was itching to get out of. If she didn’t have Severus soon, she was almost certain her body would explode. Remus Lupin could go to hell at that moment for all she cared!

She sat up and watched the closed door for what seemed an eternity. She could hear nothing from outside and the only sound was that of the gentle breeze around her.

They had been out there for too long. Were they arguing?  She lay down again and stared into the fathomless night, trying to make out the edges of the ceiling through the charm and beginning to feel cold.

The door opened and closed again and Hermione felt her heart begin to race again. Severus walked across the room, she could barely hear his footsteps on the rug as he rounded the bed and stared down at her.

Her heart twisted and she knew there was something wrong. She could sense it. He had stepped into the shadows and was little more than a silhouette beside the bed, but she knew the expression that he wore, despite not being able to see his face. He was staring at her in the still way he got sometimes in class, his face in animate, emotionless. He didn’t move to touch her or come to her, he simply stood there, looking down on her.

He had changed his mind. Something had been said in the course of his conversation with Lupin that had changed his mind. He did not want her anymore, he would send her away, cold and frustrated. She felt a hollowness form and expand in her belly and she forced herself to sit up. What was she supposed to do now? She had no idea!

“Severus?” she asked quietly. “Are you alright?” She focused on his hands which she could see hanging loosely at his sides. He should be on the bed touching her with this hands, not standing there like a statue.

“I’m fine.” He could have been teaching a class for all the emotion in his voice.

”Well,” she smiled and pushed her slippers off with her feet, “are you going to come to bed?” She waited, mentally coaxing him to lay down beside her. Now was the time for him to come to her and teach her all of the things she longed to learn. Instead, he turned from her and went to the fireplace. Sitting on his heels, he began throwing logs into the grate. He pointed his wand and ignited the fire with a vicious jab. She figured that at least that movement had something of a passion in it, even if it was the wrong sort.

Something plagued his mind, something in what Lupin had said to him troubled him far more deeply than she first realized. He stared into the fire, unmoving, allowing the light to flicker across his face. It was not a handsome face. The fire created shadows and hollows that reflected the harshness of the man, and the word gargoyle sprang unbidden to her mind. He could have been carved of stone, ungentle, unloving.

He looked angry and bitter. Something burned inside of him and it wasn’t passion for her. This was all wrong. They were past this. They were supposed to be loving each other now, not sinking into melancholy.

She struggled off the bed, “What’s wrong?” she demanded. “Why have you suddenly become so cold?”

He jabbed at the fire, and she had to wonder if he even heard her. She walked to the fire place and resisted the urge to kick him. He did not look away from the fire and at that moment he looked far older than his thirty eight years. He was struggling with something, mulling it over in his head. She swallowed and suddenly understood. He was a dangerous man, used to power, comfortable only when he was in control. He was feeding these thoughts to her. They came to her with his voice. She frowned. If he was dangerous, then it only served to heighten her desire for him.

“I love you,” she said, touching his shoulder lightly, “you know that…and I know you love me. We have been through this, remember? I know you have any number of personal demons to deal with, but the thought that has brought me through everything is that I have you. That I could see your face again.”

She struggled with the front of the corset, unclipping hard metal clasps. It sprang open and she dropped it to the floor beside her bare feet. Half naked she removed the pins from her hair and shook it so that it fell in wild tangled curls around her shoulders and back. She felt wanton, her breasts felt sensuous, naked in the night air. Her nipples hardened with desire, in the fire light they took on the color of dark roses.

He looked up at her, his lips parted and he swallowed into his dry throat. He kneeled before her and wrapped his arms around her hips, burying his face into the velvet of her skirt.

~ ~ ~

Angelina had discarded her belly dancers costume, and she lay back on the blanket, pulling Ron on top of her. He looked uncertain, a little frightened, something she attributed to the very nature of fucking her. She was taboo, strictly forbidden, and this was going to happen.

Ron lay awkwardly between her thighs. There had been a time he had really wanted to do this, but that time seemed so long ago now. Now all he felt was guilt and the shame of desire. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was supposed to do and he wondered if he should tell her that he was still a virgin.

She caressed his cheek and drew his face to hers to kiss him. Ron responded to the touch, tangling his tongue around hers, enjoying the feeling of their lips pressed together. Angelina’s hand slid down the length of their bodies, reaching between them and squeezing his cock lightly, smearing its head with seminal fluid and bringing a gasp from his throat. He wondered if he should touch her, if he should perhaps put his fingers inside her. In truth he did not want to, he was mounted on George’s wife, and it felt to wrong to touch her, despite the obvious fact that he was about to have sex with her. For a lamentable moment he wished he could call it making love, but he knew full well it wasn’t. She had used her fingers, mouth and a drug to coax a universal response from his body.

And he wanted it. Deep down, he truly wanted it.

Angelina wrapped her legs around Ron’s narrow hips and he closed his eyes, bowing his head to her shoulder as she reached down and eased his cock into her.

Ron gasped, a strangled cry came from within him and he pushed cautiously deeper into her, causing Angelina’s breath to catch and his own reason to cease. The heat of her body seemed to surround the very fiber of his being. Her body was tight but giving, and using her hands she urged him to move in and out of her in a slow, steady rhythm, so that he withdrew almost the entire length of his cock and then plunged, deep and hard back into her.

Angelina gasped. Ron was bigger than her other lovers had been, and he filled her in a way that she would have found satisfying had a lover been what she was seeking. She carefully shut her mind off, pushing the feeling of fullness away and the fact that she knew they would have been compatible lovers. He was unsure, but she could have taught him everything he needed to know. But that was not the object of this game.

A sob wrenched its way from him. He never imagined it would be quite so hot or quite so wet inside her. Angelina arched her body up to him and he took a nipple into his mouth inexpertly and sucked it. He was cresting, he could feel it, it was too good inside her, his entire body felt like alive, as though he had tapped into some cosmic energy source and he could only burn this brightly for a limited time. His orgasm crashed into him like a wave crashes into a beach. From somewhere he could hear people yelling “Happy New Year” and a burst of light seemed to illuminate the garden – and he came, crying out as he rammed hard into her body, filling her with his cum and sobbing with guilty pleasure.

They stilled and he lay on top of her, spent, his face buried into the hollow beneath her shoulder, half panting, half sobbing. Angelina shifted, struggled out from under him and sitting up. She stared at him in disgust.

“Wow,” she wrinkled her nose, “that was…short.” She reconsidered her position and shook her head. “Actually Ronnie, that was fucking crap. You’re a fucking hopeless lay!”

Ron flushed with shame. He pulled his robes awkwardly to him and drew them up against his body, bringing his boney knees to his chest and staring at her, his blue eyes huge. A slick tear slid down his cheek and he wiped it angrily away. He clutched his robes to him in much the same way he had carried his security blanket as a child, rocking back and forth with them, his eyes never leaving her as she dressed herself. She bitterly told him just how awful he was for a few minutes longer before finally glaring at him.

“What’s wrong with you? No one ever actually told you how crap you are in bed before?”

He said nothing, just stared at her. She could have been talking to a child for all the response she got. Then she realized, and had to cover her mouth to stifle her laugh.

“Don’t tell me,” a slow smile spread across her face, “that was your first time?”

He said nothing, but kept hugging his knees, rocking soundlessly.

“Fuck, no wonder it wasn’t worth getting undressed for. If I’d have known you were a pathetic virgin I would never have bothered with you.”

She turned and stalked back through the garden and back to the party. Ron pushed himself further into the alcove, willing himself to disappear into the stone work. Slowly he pulled his robes over his head, wanting nothing more than to cover his body. He never wanted to see his naked form again. He looked back at the house and the lights in the distance that represented people and life and laughter and he turned his face away from it. Resting his cheek against cold stone, he dissolved into tears.

~ ~ ~

“Happy New Year Draco.”

Draco lifted his head, “Happy New Year Potter.”

“Are you going to tell me what happened with Moody?”

“No.”

Harry sighed heavily, he seemed a little impatient. “I would rather if you would just tell me.”

“It’s nothing, just forget about it.”

“NO!” Harry felt anger build sharp in him, “It does matter and I won’t forget about it. I am fucking sick and tired of all this bull shit. I can’t even go to a fucking party and enjoy myself for one fucking night without arguing with you.”

“Well, I’m sorry I ruined your night,” Draco drawled sarcastically, “I’ll be off and you can go back to the fucking party to fucking enjoy yourself.”

“JUST TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED!”

“NOTHING HAPPENED!”

Harry pulled his wand out and shook it to full size. He pointed it at Draco’s face. Draco looked shocked, but he smirked uncertainly. “Going to hex me Harry?”

“No,” Harry tried to smile but it came out as a grimace. “I’m really sorry Draco.”

“For what?” Draco suddenly looked fearful.

“Legelimens.”

“Protego!” Draco glared at him, “Don’t try that shit with me Potter, you never like what you see.”

“Then just tell me what is going on. I am sick to death of coming running every time you break down.”

“Every time I break down?” Draco glared hard at him. “You come running every time I break down?”

“That,” Harry frowned, “that’s not what I meant to say.”

“Yes it is, don’t fucking cover it up now that you’ve said it. That’s exactly what you think.”

“Well,” Harry clenched his hands into fists by his side, “this is ridiculous. You can’t even be in a room with my friends without picking a fight with one of them. Tonks said Moody had his wand out!”

“And that’s my fault? You think I provoked him?”

“Why else would he do that?”

“Because he’s a fucking psychopath who hates the sight of me!”

“Now you’re just being paranoid.”

“Why? Because Moody is such a noble soul? Because Moody wouldn’t hurt a fly?”

“He is a great man.” Harry said defensively.

“HE DID THIS TO ME! YOU WANTED TO KNOW, NOW YOU DO. YOUR FRIEND, YOUR ‘GREAT MAN,’ TIED ME TO A FUCKING TABLE AND POURED ACID ALL OVER ME BECAUSE HE WANTED TO FORCE MY FATHER TO TELL HIM THINGS HE DIDN’T KNOW. HE CUT VINCENT CRABBES HANDS OFF AND LET HIM BLEED TO DEATH IN FRONT OF HIS MOTHER. HE…HE…” Draco stopped, stared at Harry in horror, he’d said too much, he’d told Harry things he didn’t ever want to know.

Harry paled, his mouth opened and closed silently. “That’s not possible,” Harry whispered, “you’re, you’re lying.”

“Yeah,” Draco said quiet, defeated, “I’m lying.”

“He…he was a hero…he…was my friend…”

“He still is all of those things. I’m the one who isn’t anything good. I wouldn’t know the truth if I fell over it.”

“He hurt you.” Harry stared at Draco and his heart began to ache.

Draco lifted his eyes to Harry’s. “Go back to the party Harry, I’ll go home and keep the bed warm for you.”

Harry knew he would never go back to that party; he knew he couldn’t. He went to Draco instead and kissed him, crawled onto the couch beside him and licked at his mouth, chin and throat, trying to take in as much of Draco’s slender body as he could, overwhelming him, wanting to take every word back, every pain away. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry…I love you so much.”

“I know,” Draco closed his eyes and moaned as Harry kissed his way down his body, “I love you too.”

Harry slid from the couch and knelt between Draco’s thighs, pushing his legs open and kissing Draco’s balls through the leather of his pants. Draco couldn’t help himself, he laughed.

“What are you doing Potty?”

“I want to suck your cock.”

Draco considered this and reached down to stroke Harry’s jaw and slowly a smiled spread across his face. Harry could get horny in the most inappropriate of situations. “Well,” he said quietly, “don’t let me stop you.”

~ ~ ~

Hermione closed her eyes, she untied the ribbon holding his pony tail in place and let fall unkept around his head. She buried her hands in his hair and looked down at him, so still, hugging her there on his knees. He could be crying into her skirt for all she knew. She was trembling, certain that he could hear the pounding of her heart in her chest. A twig snapped in the grate, and the noise was sharp in the silence. He looked up at her, their eyes meeting and trying to fathom each other’s souls. Then he seemed climbed the length of her body, pulling her hard against him, overwhelming her. His lips burned a trail up her throat; an arm as tight and strong as iron, wrapped around her waist, pinning her to a hard body. His hand cupped her small breast, rolling the hard nipple against his palm.

The hollowness inside her filled with heat. She curved herself against him, pressing her mouth to his hair, his face, his lips in a kiss so violent that they smacked teeth together, bit each other’s soft mouths, and drew blood. She wanted to press herself into him until the very curves of her body had been absorbed by his, so that neither could exist without the touch of the other. She was aching to experience the multitude of sensations that he aroused in her and never suffer another coherent thought ever again. He had been her teacher for so many years. Teaching her how to be a better Witch, how to stay alive, and now he had to teach her the most satisfying lesson of all.

She began clawing at his clothes. She wanted to see him, ached to see him. He had always stayed so infuriatingly clothed. His embrace eased and she cried out, thinking he was pulling away from her; instead he tore his coat and shirt off, baring himself to the waist, as she stood bared before him.

“Oh,” she gasped. Oh yes, this was what she wanted. He was slender, the muscles in his arms and torso were lean and sinewy. He was as pale as porcelain. The corrugated hollows of his ribcage were full of shadows and Hermione watched as his chest rose and fell, over and over again.

He pulled her back into his embrace, her breasts pressed against his bare flesh and their mouths found each other’s. The caress of their tongues grew languid and wet. She licked at his lips and whimpered as his hands trailed down her back. Pulling away from his mouth, she kissed a path down his jaw and throat, finding her way to his chest. She flicked her tongue over the salty flesh, circling a small hard nipple. She was going on instinct, doing to him what she like him to do to her, yet still uncertain. She had never touched a man before, never licked his skin, never experienced the salty sweat of arousal nor the heady scent that was part sweat, part herbs and flowers. His flesh felt primal to her, hard yet soft at the same time and was so hot that it could have been on fire.

She returned her mouth to his, pressing her bare flesh against him and a rumbling built in his body that escaped him as an explosive sigh.

“You driving me insane,” he gasped.

“Good.”

He plunged his hands into her hair, tracing her inner lips with his tongue. He smiled against her mouth. “Where did you come from?” he whispered against her parted lips. “You make me think only of you.” He gently circled her nipple with his fingertip, and she swayed a little.

“I want you,” he murmured.

“I want you in me,” she whispered, “I want you to touch me…everywhere.”

He undressed her, taking what was left of her clothing and tossing it aside. He drew the skirt and the petticoats down with ease. Then he hooked his fingers into her panties and slid them down her thighs, giving her no chance to be shy. He sat on his haunches, allowing her to step out of her panties before he threw them aside. He pressed his lips to her pubis, his tongue flicking into her curls and eliciting a startled gasp of pleasure as it passed over her clitoris. He kissed his way back up her body, burning kisses into her hips, her belly, her ribs, her breasts, shoulders, throat and finally, back to her mouth. His hand pressed gently between her legs, a long finger gently slid over her clit, sliding easily over aroused flesh, and then sinking into her wet vagina.

Hermione cried out and gasped again. “Do…do I please you?”

“You have no idea how much.”

Dear Gods he knew what he was doing with his fingers. He was kissing her again, two of his fingers working in and out of her and her legs began to tremble, aware that she was about to be swept away on a wave of pleasure.

“I want to see you,” she panted, “take your clothes off for me.”

He hesitated. It had been bad enough taking his shirt off. Hermione saw him flush and couldn’t believe he was embarrassed.

“I’ll turn around if you like, if you’re afraid.” She turned, offering the sweet curve of her back to him and heard a shuffling and then a sigh.

Snape smiled, appreciating the sight of her soft curved buttocks. The glamour on her shoulder was fading and he felt a sick pang as he was confronted with evidence of Krum’s attack. Still she was here, and she wanted him and she wanted this.

His boots fell to the floor and she felt her heart pounding in her chest as the rustling of clothes drowned out the crackle of the fire. He came to her and embraced her from behind, and she felt his hard cock rest between her buttocks. His hands wandered over her body. One found her breast and squeezed a taut nipple between thumb and fore finger, whilst the other strayed over her abdomen and then slid into the delicate wet heat between her thighs.

“You are in serious danger of being taken from behind,” he murmured in her ear.

“Ohhhh,” Hermione felt her legs give way and she dropped. He held her upright, walked her to the bed and heaved her onto the covers. She rolled onto her back, pushing herself into a more secure place on the bed and he was quickly beside her, pulling her into his arms and they lay face to face. She got no more than a quick glimpse of his long lean body – his pale legs with their dark hair, his flat abdomen and his hard cock, before he lifted her chin and burned his gaze into hers.

“I…” he kissed her, gently, lovingly, “I love you.”

“I love you t…”

The words died and became a deep moan as he licked her nipples, taking one deep into her mouth and sucking noisily. He kissed his way down her body, his tongue flicking out, licking her smooth flesh, probing into her navel, her abdomen and then delved lower.

“Open your legs for me,” he whispered and she whimpered, suddenly afraid. Her slender thighs parted and he bent his head down, pushing his face between them. She felt his tongue gently flick over her clitoris. It was a little touch, yet so intimate and raw and more incredible than anything she had ever felt. He legs began to shake as one finger, then another, slid into her wetness and his tongue swirled around her clitoris again. Her hips bucked up and she whimpered and moaned at the same time. He smiled against her body, kissing her and moving his mouth so that his tongue could join his fingers in entering her, lapping at her, drinking her.

“You taste so good,” he gasped, breathing hard and flicking his tongue over the hard bud again, “I want to drink you Hermione, I want to eat you.”

Hermione moaned and writhed and panted, sobbing incoherent words as his tongue intimately probed her body. Severus sucked at her, licking and drinking her juices, and they tasted to him like the finest wine. Her scent was musky with arousal, and she ground her hips hard against the fingers he was working in and out of her. She was cresting, he could feel her body tensing all too soon and he stopped, lifted his head and moved up the length of her, rubbing his body against hers as he did so. He thrust his tongue between her lips, kissing her passionately.

“Can you taste yourself?” he asked huskily. “Does it taste as good to you?”

He gave her no chance to do more than return his kiss, to tease her own tongue against his until he sucked her tongue deep into his throat, and she tasted his spit mingled with her own juices, a dark taste of desire.

~ ~ ~

Draco watched through heavy lidded eyes as Harry unbuttoned his pants and he lifted his hips so that Harry could slide them down his legs to his ankles. He watched Harry’s movements, the way Harry’s hands caressed Draco’s thighs, roaming over smooth flesh, fingers registering the fine hairs and the contours of Draco’s lean muscles. Harry kissed his hip bone, passed his lips over the concavity of Draco’s stomach and gently kissed the tip of Draco’s penis.

Harry licked his tongue up the underside of Draco’s cock causing Draco to draw a sharp breath through his teeth. Draco stroked Harry’s hair, tangling his fingers in the silky mess, damp with sweat from dancing all night long. Harry took Draco’s cock into his mouth, sliding his lips down over it and taking it full into the back of the soft pallet in the roof of his mouth. Draco sighed and closed his eyes, resting his head on the back of the couch as everything began to melt away until nothing mattered anymore and he felt nothing but the hot wet tunnel of Harry’s mouth surrounding him and the smooth glide of saliva, fingers and tongue.

“That’s nice baby,” he whispered and Harry mumbled something unintelligible in reply. Draco chuckled and gasped. “Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

~ ~ ~

Ron threaded his way carefully across the lawn. He felt sick and he wanted desperately avoid being seen from inside. He needed somewhere quiet, somewhere warm and away from his family. He couldn’t face them yet, he couldn’t stand there and pretend that all was well. He had proved himself, shown his worth – and it was very little.

There was a small door off to the darkened side of the house and while he reasoned that Snape probably didn’t want anyone prowling around his house, Ron didn’t plan on staying there long and he wouldn’t go exploring. He just needed a place to hide, perhaps sleep. He just needed a place to be alone. He slipped through the door and found himself in a dark, narrow corridor. He whispered for light and wandered down the passage. For a while he speculated that it was probably a secret one, hidden behind the walls for quick escapes or for doing what he himself was doing, hiding. This seemed to be proved when he reached the end of the passageway and found himself on the wrong side of a door. He pushed it tentatively and he slipped into a parlor by way of a book case that moved silently to admit him.

The room he entered was quiet and warm. He could hear the party, but it sounded distant. A fire burned in the grate and the room was filled with a deep yellow glow. Ron realized immediately that he wasn’t alone and that the room was indeed occupied. He felt a little disappointed, it was a comfortable room and he would have liked to have stayed there for a while. He hesitantly opened his mouth to make his apologies quickly and leave.

No sound came out, no sound needed to. He realized quickly that he had not been noticed, indeed, the occupant of the room had his back to him and Ron was hidden away in the shadows and at that moment, wild Thestrals would not have dragged Ron from his spot.

Draco Malfoy had his head thrown back on the lounge, his eyes were closed, his mouth open. His breaths were coming short and fast, small noises came from his throat. Someone was obviously pleasuring him, really pleasuring him because he was whispering deliriously and whimpering and Ron was willing to bet that person was Hermione. The chance to catch her at it, it foil her persistent lie, was too great a chance for Ron to pass up. He stood still, watching with a mixture of horror and anticipation as his enemy moaned in pleasure.

“That’s good baby,” Malfoy said huskily and opened his eyes, bowing his head to look down at his lover, “keep doing that baby, keep doing that.”

She obviously did something right because Malfoy gasped and hissed and cried out, he moved his hand from the back rest of the lounge, obviously making to stroke her hair, or hold her head, or something.

“Fuck,” Malfoy gasped, “Oh fuck you’re the best, you do that so good you wouldn’t believe it.”

Ron smirked, she must be pretty fucking good. A hidden talent perhaps, either that or Malfoy was lying, which was entirely possible. Still Ron doubted it, because Malfoy was gasping harder now, his orgasm obviously taking him by surprise. He cried and whimpered and whispered soft words to his lover. Words Ron could not hear or understand. Then suddenly, hew came, crying out loud and clear; “Oh, oh, Ohhhhh, OH! Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry , HARRY, HARR….AHHHH!”

Ron froze, as still as a statue as he watched Malfoy dissolve into pleasure, his orgasm wringing cries from his body. Cries not of Hermione’s name, not the name he was supposed to say, not the name that would give Ron triumphant pleasure. No, he did not cry that name out into the night. Malfoy cried Harry’s name. For one dumbfounded moment Ron thought, ‘Wow, Hermione’s going to be pretty pissed at him for that,’ but then the purveyor of Malfoy’s pleasure rose into view, climbing up Malfoy’s body, lips stained with traces of semen and his green eyes glowing with arousal.

“I did tell you I loved you didn’t I?” Malfoy drawled, exhausted.

“Yes you did,” Harry covered Malfoy’s mouth with his, kissing him deeply and Ron watched as Malfoy’s tongue flicked out, licking his own seed from the corners of Harry’s mouth. “You can tell me again,” Harry whispered, “you can tell me all night ‘cause I’m never going to get tired of hearing it.”

“I love you.”

Harry kissed him again, smothering the words in Malfoy’s throat. Harry pulled back and looked down at Malfoy, he must’ve been kneeling on the couch because Malfoy was still sitting upright. “Do you still want to go home?”

“Yeah,” Malfoy smiled, “Don’t worry, I promised to keep the bed warm for you.”

“I think I’d rather come with you now,” Harry was grinning, tracing Malfoy’s jaw with his fingers, “I figure we can be there in about five minutes and I can have my cock up your arse in about ten.”

“Promises, promises Potty, every time you say that you end up on your back with your feet in the air and me fucking you senseless.”

Harry laughed, “Is that such a bad thing?”

“Not at all,” Malfoy kissed Harry lightly. “I just like you to know your place.”

“What? Beneath you with my feet in the air?”

”Exactly.”

Harry laughed affectionately, and they were kissing again, passionately and noisily. Ron felt a hot surge of anger race through him, coupled with something akin to jealousy. He watched them, watched the easy way they were with each other, how passionate – how loving. He felt his mouth twist with disgust. They had said words of love to each other. Ron felt sick at the thought. Harry loved Malfoy, and Malfoy was the giver of rosebuds, the giver of roses no less. Malfoy knew the intimacies of Harry’s body – and had known them for many months. From the first rosebud. It had never been Hermione. Hermione’s lover was a mystery.

And Harry had let Ron believe it. Harry had let Ron think Hermione had been the betrayer, when he had the one. Harry had sucked Malfoy’s cock one minute and listened to Ron condemn Hermione the next. Harry was nothing but a fucking liar.

Anger clouded his vision, made it impossible for him to stay silent. He stepped from the shadows and stared at Harry who could see him but had not registered that it was him yet. “So you never had a girlfriend then?” Ron asked blankly and with more calm than he felt. He allowed himself some satisfaction at the look on Harry’s face. Malfoy had moved to look over the back of the couch, to see who exactly had caught them. “It’s been Malfoy all along then. You let me hate Hermione. You let me destroy any friendship I had with her, just to cover your own arse.”

“Ron I…” Harry scrambled off Malfoy and rounded the lounge. He smelled musky, the pants he was wearing did little to hide his erection, even though the erection was fading as he tried to work out exactly what he could say to make this right. “Ron, I…I can explain.”

“What is there to explain? You’re a faggot and you let Malfoy stick his cock in your arse. That’s pretty much it, isn’t it?”

Harry stared at him. What was he to say to that? Put in such a way it sounded sordid and perverse – which it wasn’t. He doubted that Ron was going to listen to him as tried to explain about how much he loved Draco. He doubted Ron would sit through the full story, from the first moment to the present. He doubted Ron would understand the sheer joy he had felt when he realized that Draco had wanted him too, after two years of aching for him. Ron didn’t care about these things, Ron’s hate was too old and too deep.

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered and he meant it. “I should have told you. I should have told you a long time ago.”

Malfoy came around the couch. He’d pulled his pants up and he slid in behind Harry, wrapping his arms around Harry’s body defensively and dug his sharp chin into Harry’s shoulder. “You got a problem Weasel?” he drawled.

“Not at all, “Ron grinned maliciously, “I’m just realizing what a fucking couple of queers you are. Fuck, I should have noticed it before eh? I wonder what they are all going to think when they find out that the new Lord Malfoy is buggering their special little hero?”

Harry paled and felt Draco hold him a little tighter.

“Why don’t you just fuck off Weasel?” Draco spat, “you just can’t stand it because he didn’t choose you. You’d get slops at best and you’ll never get him, so take your filthy little mind and fuck off.”

“Oh Malfoy,” Ron laughed nastily, “I wouldn’t be too fucking confident if I were you, they might actually castrate you for this one.”

“Ron!” Harry said desperately, “Please, can we just talk about this, just for five minutes?” He took a step towards Ron and Ron took a step back.

“Don’t you fucking come near me, you filthy little faggot.”

Harry stopped in his tracks and swallowed and watched as Ron walked out the door.

“I guess that could have gone a little better,” Draco said quietly. Harry could only agree.

~ ~ ~

Severus was cradled between her thighs, his erection pressed hard against her stomach. Hermione slid her hand down his smooth back and stroked his small, tight buttocks. He moved her knees, pushed them back and lifted her hips a little. She stiffened involuntarily, as if he would hurt her and she squeezed her eyes shut. She did not want him to stop, but she could not control the sudden fear.

“Don’t be afraid. I meant what I said. I will never hurt you,” he whispered, brushing a stray hair away from her face.

“I’m not…” she lied, “I…I just…” She trembled beneath him.

“Shhh, don’t be scared,” she could barely hear him because he was kissing her throat again. Snape wanted desperately to be kind, to be a good man and tell her that they could wait, that they could take their time. He wanted to, but he couldn’t. He wanted this. Want be damned – he needed it. He licked her throat behind her ear, in the place he knew she loved it and then slowly he ran his tongue in a maddening trail to her breasts, sucking each nipple in turn, nibbling lightly and bringing her back to passion.

The throbbing between her thighs had become so intense that the need was almost painful. She felt his hard sex rub against her swollen clitoris and pleasure jolted through her so swiftly that she was sure she could have imagined it. Her whole body tensed and coiled, ready to spring and aching for release. She closed her eyes, arching up into him and she felt her mind begin to dissolve. Hermione’s only coherent thought was that she needed to feel him sliding into her, needed to have all those glorious sensations he elicited focused, and to center the throbbing arousal that was growing stronger and more relentless.

“I need you,” he whispered to her, “I…I can’t wait…I...I’m sorry”

“I want you inside me,” she whimpered. “I want this.”

The pressure she had feared came. It hurt as he pushed against her and then there was a stinging pain as she felt him enter her. She was tight despite the wetness he had created, and as he eased into her, drawing blood, she cried out harshly into his shoulder, clinging to him, tears springing to her eyes. He pushed into her and then slipped free again, and she trembled. This could not be all, and she knew it. She felt stupid for wondering, but she knew this could not be the end of it. Then he was inside her again, deeper than before. He groaned and plunged into her again and again, into the narrow slickness of her body, each penetration following deeper and faster than the one before. 

She lay beneath him, her mouth open in wonder as his hands urged her hips to keep pace with him. The pain was melting, becoming less, and in its place a vague stinging sensation was gradually replaced by the awareness and realization that he was inside her. She could feel his thick penis filling her, pushing deep into her and withdrawing and filling her again with a hard swift stroke.

“Oh, oh Gods, Severus, It feels…it feels…”

A shudder rocked through him and he held her tight, pulling her hips hard against him, plunging deeper into her body as his orgasm began to build. He slid a hand between then and stroked her clit, grinding his cock deeper into her and when she came the narrow passage of her body closed around him, forcing his eyes open wide and he cried out, clutching her to him and sobbing her name over and over again; “’Mione, ‘Mione, ‘Mione.”

A sob rose in her throat and she wrapped her arms around him, holding him as the shudders of his orgasm slowly died. Her own body continued to throb and tingle and she buried her face in the crook of his neck. Her body felt raw. They were both slick with sweat, their hair damp tangled messes. He raised his face to look at her, disheveled beneath him and he had never seen a sight so beautiful in the entire of his life. He kissed her gently, exhausted, happy, relieved. He bowed his head and collapsed into her arms, unwilling and unable to move from his position atop her.

Gradually the thought came to Severus that they should crawl under the covers to hold each other close and sleep, but the effort was too great when they were both happy to lie slick with sweat and tangled intimately in each other’s naked limbs.

~ ~ ~

Harry and Draco opened the door of the parlor and stepped back into the throng of people still swelling the ranks of the party. They clutched each other’s hands, afraid of being separated, afraid of someone saying something to them. As they stepped into the ballroom it was as though everything stopped. For a moment, all eyes turned to stare and Harry felt color rise to his cheeks. He held Draco’s hand a little tighter and stood a little straighter and looked at Draco. Lord Malfoy – beautiful, dangerous, complex and all his. Draco smiled at him and led him across the dance floor towards the door.

The music started again, a Muggle song, a slow one, bluesy, beautiful. So much like Draco it almost made Harry weep. He stopped in his tracks, pulling Draco to a halt.

“Harry?”

“Dance with me.”

“What?”

“Dance with me, I love this song.”

Draco came to him, wrapped his arms around his waist, pulled him close. Harry rested his cheek against Draco’s shoulder and slid his arms around his neck, inhaling Draco’s scent, swaying and stepping in time to the music, singing softly into Draco’s ear. When he ventured to look, he saw that they weren’t alone. For all those that were staring, there were more dancing. Minerva danced past slowly, in Dumbledore’s arms, she smiled at him and nestled her face into Dumbledore’s beard. Harry smiled, he had never considered that there might be something there, and it made him happy to know that there was. He looked up at Draco and found heavy grey eyes staring back at him.

Slowly, tentatively, he reached up and captured Draco’s mouth in a soft kiss.

“Forever?” Harry whispered.

“Forever and always,” Draco replied, and at that moment he meant it.

Chapter 12 >>