Objects of Desire

Chapter 12 - Into The Labyrinth

By Azrael Geffen

Hermione opened her eyes to the half-light of New Year's morning and frowned slightly at the unfamiliar ceiling above her. Her muscles ached with a dull throb, as though she had run a mile, or put herself through one of the cardio-kick classes her mother was always trying to drag her to in the summer. She felt sore and damp between her thighs and the room positively reeked of a musky, sexual scent. She felt the bed move beneath her back as her companion shifted in his sleep and rolled onto his back.

Hermione's eyes widened, suddenly completely aware of exactly where she was and just who her companion was. She jerked her head sideways and found herself face to face with Severus, who was snoring softly, lost in a deep sleep.

She sat bolt upright in the bed and stared down at him, barely daring to breathe. The heady sensations of the previous night swept over her, and she stared down at him, her own Pleasure Master. Severus was sprawled on his backing a tangle of dark sheets and pale limbs. She found herself smiling, although she couldn't remember the muscles in her face ever moving to put the smile there. Perhaps she had woken up with it and had only just realized she wore it. The sheets had managed to wind themselves around one long leg and over one boney hip; otherwise he was laid bare before her. If she had caught only a fleeting glimpse last night, she was left with nothing to the imagination this morning.

Hermione allowed her eyes to take him in, not sure if she should touch him lest she wake him from his sleep. Tall and thin and pale, his muscles were lean and sinewy, she noticed that around his middle he was a little soft but it did not look out of place, in fact it served to give a little more substance to his form. In his youth he would probably have been considered weedy. He was certainly strong, he had carried her to this room, but to look at him naked, she would never have thought it possible. His hair was spread over the pillow, inky and black, the same color as the hair that dusted his pubis and armpits. He was deeply asleep, lips slightly parted, his face turned towards her. He looked not so much fearsome now as peaceful. His sleep was content.

She moved her gaze from his face and surveyed his body again, wondering how on earth she was going to sit in a classroom and not think about this moment. She knew this body now; she knew the feel of it. She knew the feel of his boney shoulder beneath her hand, the way his spine moved as he arced his back, how it felt to have that sharp hill of a hip bone slam into the lean flesh of her inner thigh as he buried himself inside her.

She tentatively reached between her legs and pressed the sore area of flesh and winced. She had no doubt that he had bruised her with that sharp hip bone, but she couldn't imagine a more delicious pain. Slowly she ran the very tips of her fingers over his sharp collar bone and watched as gooseflesh shivered across his chest, hardening small nipples to tiny points. Smiling, she traced her fingers lower, watching the goose flesh that trailed in her wake. She wanted nothing more than to touch him all over, to wake him and demand that he return the touch, demand a repeat of last night's efforts. She skirted her fingers down his body, barely touching his skin, allowing her fingers to linger in the cup of his navel for a moment before delving into the dark curls of his pubic hair. She lightly touched his soft penis and hesitantly drew her fingertips over the sac of his balls. She felt awkward and inexpert, not sure how much pressure she could apply without hurting him.

To her amazement, his cock grew hard under the lightest of touches, and she looked about the empty room, wondering exactly what to do about it. Did all men become aroused so easily? In their sleep? She wondered if she should do something to relieve it, put it in her mouth perhaps. Lavender had given her a book that told her how to do it well; Hermione could have kicked herself for not reading it. In all honesty she had never considered fellatio an option. The very idea of putting any mans penis in her mouth repulsed her somehow. Then she discovered it was actually a fairly common practice. Harry and Draco seemed to do it all the time. Not that she had ever seen them, but they were pretty filthy in some of their conversations with each other, she got the gist. Then again, Harry and Draco seemed to have an inordinate amount of difficulty keeping their hands off each other. She could only wonder how they had managed for all those months at school without someone noticing.

They would be going back to school soon, back into hiding their affection. It must be hard for them, and she had a feeling that she was about to discover that particular difficulty. Being with Severus at Hogwarts was not going to be easily accomplished. They would sort it out. They had to sort it out.

Severus' penis was growing harder and she chewed her lip. She was going to have to ask Lavender how to do this, or maybe even Harry. Harry was a man after all, and he surely knew what men liked. Severus was just going to have to wait until she was certain she wouldn't make an idiot out of herself. Instead of taking him into her mouth, she moved herself up his body and lightly brushed her lips against his.

“Good morning, Professor,” she whispered. “Happy New Year.”

He did not reply, but startled her by caressing her hip with one hand and pulling her head back down towards his face with the other hand. Hermione found her lips being crushed against his with possessive greed. She sucked his tongue into her mouth, entwined it with her own and she nestled down beside him, allowing the length of her naked body to press hard against him.

 He pulled away, pushed a shank of messy hair back from her face and without opening his eyes, allowed the smallest of smiles to touch his lips. “Good morning, Miss Granger,” he mumbled sleepily and ran his hand over one soft buttock and up to the small of her back. “How long have you been awake?”

She grinned and ran a finger over the line of his jaw, “Not long, I've just been looking at you.”

He snorted softly, perfectly aware of what he must look like; skinny, pale and erect. Slowly he opened his eyes and found her staring back at him, for a moment they couldn't speak, couldn't move. They just held each other's gaze, losing themselves in the depth of the others eyes. Hermione broke the spell first. She had to kiss him. She felt as if she had waited an age for this moment, to be so close to him was intoxicating. To be naked with him, to be loved by him - she  felt a heady wave of desire take her, and she captured his mouth desperately, clawing at him, trying to draw his body into hers. The man she had known was dead to her. The vile Potions Master was gone. She could scarcely believe that she had once dreaded the very sight of him. How could she have ever thought of him as vile, and how could that be possible when kissing him was so very good? To think, had she not been dared to throw water over him, she would never have found this out.

She almost laughed at the absurdity of fates hand.

Had she known he could kiss like this, she would have done it years ago. Now his mouth was on hers, just where it belonged, and his hand was behind her head, holding her still, and she sighed into his throat. Then he moved, no longer content with simply kissing her mouth, but the curve of her neck, his mouth gliding across her soft skin, his tongue flicking out to taste the salty taste of arousal that had gathered in the hollow at the base of her throat. Hermione moaned softly, her body coming to life as his hands slid up her back. It felt so good. She felt more alive than she could have ever imagined she would, considering just how incredible the previous night had been. If this was sex, then sex was the greatest thing she she'd ever learned! She felt herself becoming lost in the sensations of his mouth on her sensitive flesh, the taste of his spit was still on her tongue and she savored it. She would have him inside her again, very soon, despite the fact that her body was still sore and aching from last night.

“So, Miss Granger,” he smiled an evil smile. “I trust you slept well?”

“Very well Professor, and yourself?”

“Oh yes, I was thoroughly enjoying my sleep until a naughty little minx came and woke me up.”

“Perhaps you should give her detention,” Hermione stifled a giggle and gasped as he pressed his cock harder into her thigh.

“Oh, I think I have a much better idea.” His lips roamed over her shoulder, pausing on the livid bruise that Krum had left there. He kissed it gently, murmuring soft words she couldn't understand to the discolored flesh and it lightened a little.

Hermione arched her body up to greet his intimately, offering her breasts to him, and he chuckled softly. Her hands began to stroke the plains of his back, roving the length of him, caressing and kneading and stroking. He sighed and finished murmuring to the bruise and was suddenly back with her, kissing her mouth with such force that it felt like an explosion of lips and tongue and spit. She responded forcefully, her teeth sinking into the soft flesh of his lip, their teeth gnashing together as though trying desperately to devour each other until nothing was left. When one of his hands moved finally to her breast, rolling a hard nipple between long fingers, she almost cried out, her own fingers digging hard into his back. It felt good. It felt divine.

He left her mouth again, and she almost wept for the loss of him, but then he put his lips where his hand had been, and she did cry out, loud and sharp, relishing the glorious heat as his mouth closed over the bare nipple. Her fingers sank into the inky pool of his hair and for a few heart beats she was convinced she had died and gone to heaven. Then a moment later his hand pressed between her thighs and slid over her swollen clitoris and Hermione's eyes flew open and she whimpered. This was too good. Sinfully good. Delightfully, sinfully, good.

Snape was bolder than Hermione. Now he had given in, he would deny himself nothing. He would not hesitate in fear of getting something wrong. He had a simple philosophy. If it feels good, do it. If Hermione didn't like something, she was free to tell him so. He wanted nothing more than to pleasure her, he could live for that. He slipped a deft finger inside her and smiled as he watched sensations sweep over Hermione like a tidal flood.

Gasping at the intensity of the wet heat inside her, he insinuated another finger. He could hear her heart beating, she was whimpering, crying and writhing around his hand, and he worked his fingers in and out of the wetness, first circling her clitoris and then pushing back into her depths.

“Do you think this an adequate punishment for a minx who disturbs my sleep, Miss Granger?”

Hermione tried to say yes, but it came out as a sobbing moan. She was lost now, unable to speak coherently, unable to move or respond to anything but the aching need to have him buried in her again. He shifted, mounting her and settling into the sturdy cradle of her thighs. He pushed her knees back and he gently pushed against her. She felt the hill of his hip bone push against her bruised thighs and a shudder passed through her, it hurt, but it was a delicious pain. The probing head of his penis was smooth as silk, but as hard as the polished statues in the hall. She clung to his shoulders and felt him shudder at the effort to remain gentle with her, and not to simply do as he wished and plunge into her. But she wanted him to do that; she wanted to be fucked as much as he wanted to fuck her. Hermione pressed against his hardness and opened herself up to him, as she felt him slide into her heat she tensed and strained at just how much he filled her and then she relaxed, experimenting with lifting her hips to meet him, letting him sink a little deeper inside.

“What does it feel like?” she gasped and wondered at the absurdity of her own question. She wanted to know, she wanted to know what he was feeling, and she wanted to hear his voice in her ear as he answered. “W-what does it feel like to be inside me?”

Snape frowned and moved, just a fraction of an inch – it was enough to make her cry out loud. How did it feel? Amazing? Fucking incredible? He doubted that was what she wanted to hear. “It feels…” he moved again and hissed through his teeth at the heat of her, “it feels hot, hot…and wet…” he moaned softly, “and tight.”

Hermione smiled, pressing her cheek to his and relishing the feel of his unshaven face against her soft skin. His hair fell against her face, and she pushed it back, pressing a kiss to his cheekbone. Severus moved slowly within her and all the glorious sensations from the previous night washed over her. She clung to him, her fingers digging into the flesh of his shoulders as he began to thrust himself deeper into her, gently at first, restraining himself and then, hearing her appreciative gasps, with mounting urgency.

Hermione’s hips rose to meet her lovers, her need for release soon approaching the imperativeness of his. Severus was murmuring things to her again, words that in the heat of passion, she could not understand. He seized her hands and pinned them to the bed above her head, becoming rougher now that he knew she could take him. It was an action that may once have frightened her, but at that moment felt so perfect that she felt her body liquefy.

“You feel so good,” she whimpered, “I can feel you in me…I can feel you fucking me…”

He didn’t answer; he could do little more than moan and increase the depth and rhythm of his thrusts. Hermione closed her eyes, her head tilted back as she gasped for breath. Her entire being felt focused on Severus, on his ragged breathing, the coarseness of the stubble on his chin as it raked across her soft cheek and on the force behind each thrust as he plunged so deeply into her that she feared the bed would collapse.

Her climax, when it came, shattered her. It seemed as if for one moment every nerve and fiber in her body was taut and held captive, the next she was released and her body became like liquid fire, flowing and spreading around him, devouring him and drawing him into her form. She shuddered from the top of her head to the tips of her toes and although she did not know it, the cry that came from within her throat was as much a sob as a scream. Hearing it, Severus lost all semblance of control, he thrust himself deeply into her, no longer conscious of whether or not he hurt her, only able to seek pleasure in her body, he sort only release.

It came, washing over him in torrents, powerful spasms of relief that caused him to roar his pleasure so loud that Hermione was certain McGonagall would come running.

He collapsed on top of her and for a moment Hermione was conscious of the pounding rhythm of his racing heart and the heavy weight of his body on hers. She wrapped her arms around him, kissing his throat, his shoulder, and his face. Licking the salty sweat from his flesh.

When he could, he slid from her and pulled her into his arms and kissed the top of her head as she curled into the curve of his body, nestling her head into the hollow of his shoulder.

“Severus?”

“Mmm?”

“If you like, I can steal from your stores and you could punish me all over again.”

He chuckled softly, “Honey, I think I’ll just give you the key.”

~ ~ ~

Daily Prophet – Sunday December 27, 1998.

Security Breach on Traveling Dark Arts Exhibition.

After a brazen attack by person’s unknown, Death Eater Lucius Malfoy has been removed from the “Death Eaters and the Dark Arts” exhibition currently touring England.

Fanatics had taken the opportunity of the post Christmas quiet to stage an attack. Fortunately the exhibitions Curator, Mr. Archibald Semeuse was on hand to foil the plan. The attack has brought about speculation of the validity of sending the exhibition on tour. Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, has defended the decision, stating that the Auror's assigned to the museum were adequately capable of protecting the exhibition and that aside from some superficial cuts and bruises, Mr. Malfoy had been unharmed. Minister Fudge also added that for the Death Eaters own safety he was being returned to the Museum’s vaults in London.

Minister Fudge received strong opposition when first suggesting the exhibition, most notably, from opposition leader Mr. Arthur Weasley, who suggested that such a display harkened back to the age of the inquisition. After the attack on the temporary Museum, Mr. Weasley has reiterated his position, stating that if the safety of the exhibition could not be guaranteed, it should be dispensed with immediately.

“Death Eaters and the Dark Arts” will reach Derbyshire early in the New Year. For a complete schedule of travel dates, please see Entertainment on page 20.

~ ~ ~

Semeuse had not read the Daily Prophet for several days and when he finally did, it served only to anger him further and forced his resolve never to read the Daily Prophet again. After Boxing Day he had gone into damage control. He told his story with conviction and had even gone along with Fudge’s suggestion about removing Lucius until the exhibition returned to London. As much as it pained him to be removed from that which he now held so very dear, he knew that London was the safest place for Lucius to be. The Museum was ancient, the wards impressive. The boy, should he decide to try and get his Father out, would not even get close.

So Semeuse had returned to London with his precious cargo. He was not a stupid man; he knew full well that Lucius had somehow managed to break that case. It could not have been the boy. Draco Malfoy had been to deeply entranced to have said his own name when the glass shattered. Oh no, Lucius had done it. The question Semeuse was asking himself with alarming regularity was ‘how?’

Of course, the boy wasn’t stupid either, so the boy would also know and the boy would be asking the same question himself – and that meant that it was only a matter of time before the boy came back to find out. And Semeuse planned to be ready for him.

The exhibition was closed until after New Year, a decision Semeuse had been able to put down the ‘attack.’ In reality, the Curator wanted to spend some time in London with Lucius. There were things he had to discover. Once back in the surrounds of the building he had called home for over half a century, Semeuse installed Lucius in his own chambers and set about researching all possible explanations for the Angels apparent use of magic. Occasionally he would turn and stare at the Angel lying pale and passive under the sheets. There was only one explanation that he could come up with – that the kiss had not worked, and if that was the case, how was it that Lucius was in his current state? Then he would sit on the edge of the bed and push blond hair away from the increasingly gaunt face. Stroking the sharply defined cheek bone, he stared into the grey eyes; “Are you there Lucius?” he asked softly, a smile creeping into his voice, “are you hiding in there?”

The idea of it thrilled him. Just how Lucius had managed to do it was unimportant compared with the idea that he had. That inside that body, inside that head, his mind was still in tact, functioning, aware. The very idea that Lucius knew what was happening to him, knew Semeuse’s touch, could feel and understand the experience. It was too delicious to dare contemplate. Once the idea was in his head, the next logical step was to try and prove that it was possible – and that was where he came undone. Semeuse had no idea of just how to test his theory. For the time being he would have to content himself with the idea that it was true – and find out for certain later on.

He made love to Lucius with more passion than usual over the next week. The feel of the invisible hands pushing at him now held even more significance. He wondered what Lucius was thinking, what kind of sounds he would make if he was able to. Would he cry or scream? Would he whimper and secretly enjoy Semeuse’s ministrations? What did this man sound like in the throes of passion? What did he feel like? Did Lucius know the secrets of abandonment, had he writhed and enjoyed all the pleasures of the flesh?

But Lucius remained obstinately silent, his only movement caused by Semeuse’s hard thrusts into his body, his arms splayed out across the bed. Semeuse spent his week alternately fucking his silent lover and plotting just how to discover his secrets. Lucius never spoke; even when he had been stimulated into an orgasm of his own his face never registered a change. He was as still and impassive as a corpse. In the early hours of New Years morning, after a week with little sleep, Semeuse crawled into his bed and pulled his Angel into his arms. He briefly passed his tongue between those perfect lips and then settled down beside the Angel, desperate to fade into sleep.

~ ~ ~

Harry and Draco slept, holding each other, wrapped into the curves of each others naked bodies like twins bound together in the womb. The horror of the party was past, they had danced and left and come back to this place. To their room, their bed - and it was theirs now, Draco would never look on it as his own any more.  They had come back to their bed and made desperate love to each other; Draco had stroked, tasted and probed Harry’s body, unrelenting until Harry came with a shameful cry. Draco would wipe every derogatory word, every nasty whisper, andevery sideways glance, from Harry’s mind. Then the fever they had held at bay for the night had taken hold and they slept bathed in a fevered sweat, holding each other tight.

In the darkness that came just before the dawn, a slow shimmering began near the ceiling, above the bed itself. It deepened and began to swirl creating a vague whirlpool of light in the air, shimmering like waves of heat in a desert. Then, tiny pin pricks of light began to fall, appearing like fiery little tears in the air and see-sawing down. The lights swirled and changed as they neared the bed, sweeping over the tangle of Draco’s legs, hip and arm, swirling and forming something that could have been human in shape.

Harry and Draco slept on, not knowing, not caring. The light swept along the floor, under the bed, around the walls and finally over the boys sweaty fevered bodies. A voice whispered from within the lights, murmuring softly into the shadows of sleep.

“I love you too Daddy,” Draco mumbled and the lights caressed him, trailing up his flesh, hot from fever, and whispered again.

“I won’t leave you there, I promise, I won’t let him keep you.”

The lights caressed Draco’s brow and seemed to pause in mid air, hesitating, thinking, and finally they swept down over Harry’s sleeping form. The pressure of the lights physically manipulated Harry’s flesh, causing it to ripple and leaving gooseflesh in their wake. In his sleep Harry became aroused and sighed as a voice whispered into his ear. Harry frowned and murmured “alright” quietly.

Dawn found them still locked tightly together, Harry’s face buried into the back of Draco’s neck and his arms clamped across Draco’s chest. Draco clutched Harry’s hand so tightly that Harry would later find the indentations of Draco’s nails in his palm.

The lights swirled around them for one last time, drawing a sheet over their entwined forms, and then returned to the ceiling. A breeze drifted across them, cooling fevered flesh, soothing their sleep and the voice was replaced with the steady beating of wings.

~ ~ ~

Harry was not looking forward to returning to Hogwarts, an irony that was not lost on him. For years he had considered Hogwarts his home, a place he could escape the cruelty of his Aunt and Uncle, and now he was dreading the very thought of the castle. Flying instead of Apparating seemed the best way to return and Harry recognized his own attempt at prolonging the inevitable.

Draco, on the other hand, was desperate to get back to school. Harry had found himself pleading, prepared to get on his knees and beg if he had to but Draco was insistent. While he begrudgingly was forced to admit that he did want to test out his new broom over a long distance, the idea of flying from Wilshire to Scotland was not what he had in mind. He also had business with Snape that he insisted could not wait. On this point, a fight had ensued that had sent House Elves scattering in all directions.

“He’s been next door for over a week, why didn’t you just go and see him before?”

“I did. He said I had to wait until I got back, all his notes are at Hogwarts.” Draco sounded a little bitter, as though he had been resenting this for a while.

The argument had occurred over breakfast on New Year’s morning and had become so heated that Draco had thrown a plate of bacon across the table at Harry who had retaliated by knocking Draco over with a particularly vicious hex. That had been the last of it because Harry had heard the resounding crack as Draco’s head hit the stone floor. He’d rounded the table and picked Draco up from the floor and hugged him tight. They had then made love on the floor of the dining room surrounded by the ruins of breakfast.

Later, with Harry wrapped in one of Draco’s old Slytherin robes and eyeliner still smudged around his eyes from the previous night, Draco had agreed to fly back to school. Non served them coffee in the conservatory and Harry had almost ruined it all over again.

“I had the weirdest dream last night.”

Draco had raised an eyebrow; his own sleep hadn’t exactly been dream free.

“I dreamed your father was speaking to me.” Harry laughed and shook his head at the absurdity of it.

Draco almost dropped the coffee. “W-what?”

“I dreamed your father was speaking to me. He was next to the bed I think, and he was speaking to me. It was really creepy.”

Draco became agitated. “What did he say?” he asked quickly.

“Nothing really,” Harry shrugged, “it was just a dream Draco.”

“But what did he say?” Draco was shaking, agitated.

Harry frowned and pursed his lips a little in a way that reminded him of Aunt Petunia. “He told me I had to protect you, something like that anyway. Someone wants you for themselves, and I’m not allowed to let them have you. I think he said I have to protect you at all costs.”

Draco stood up and wandered to the glass wall of the conservatory. He stared down at the Fenn and wished he was back at school so he could discuss this with the only other person who might understand.

“It was only a dream Draco.”

Draco nodded curtly.

“You know I would, don’t you?”

“You would what?”

“Protect you,” said Harry seriously, “at all costs.”

Draco forced a smile, forced a smirk. “Oh Potter,” he drawled, “You’re my hero.”

~ ~ ~

Ron had returned to Hogwarts at the earliest opportunity. He was packed and ready to go by six on Saturday morning, something that infuriated Ginny, as she was desperate for him to catch the train with her later that morning. She was hoping to talk to him about Harry, and perhaps convince him not to humiliate his friend out of spite. She need not have worried; one look at the Saturday morning Daily Prophet proved that the humiliation was well and truly underway. Rita Skeeter had, it appeared, managed to find a source inside the party itself who was only too pleased to tell all.  The Prophet was screaming the news to anyone who picked it up. Ron had read the article and declared that it was Harry’s own fault before throwing the paper aside and hauling his trunk downstairs.

Angelina had come to say good bye of course. Ron would have been surprised if she hadn’t. He’d lain perfectly still and kept his eyes closed while she rode him to orgasm. He’d found himself simply going along with her attentions, as though resigned to a fate that he was unsure was heaven or hell. She had given him a package containing what he knew would be her drug. He told her he didn’t want it and she had smiled with smug self assurance.

“Trust me Ronnie, you’ll need it.”

He didn’t know what she had meant, but it didn’t seem to matter, he threw the package in his trunk and locked it, bade goodbye to his family and set off. Once he’d reached Scotland and with several hundred miles between himself and his sister in law, he felt himself physically uncoil. If only the other problems in his life were so easily disposed of. Not that this problem was going to leave him easily. There was still the fact that he had betrayed his brother in the worst possible way, and the sneaking suspicion that Angelina was definitely up to something. Ron knew he was so thick in the middle of it that when the shit hit the fan he was going to be first in the firing line, and he was probably a drug addict to boot. The final realization came when mid morning he had started to shake and crave and need the drug and he’d opened the package to find a note saying, “I told you you’d need it.”

Still, he was away from her and that was all that really mattered for a moment. He could relax in the silence of the Common Room and pretend the past week or so had never happened.

In his room he had to face the problem of Harry. He sat and looked across the short stretch of room to Harry’s neatly made bed. The traitor’s bed. Harry had left things behind when he’d gone to Malfoy’s for Christmas.

Malfoy’s for Christmas – the very idea sickened Ron beyond measure. Yet Harry had gone willingly. Harry had more than gone there, Harry had lain in the Ferret's bed, kissed him, tasted him, and explored Malfoy intimately. Ron could see it in his minds eye, although he never wanted to. The intimate tangle of limbs, the sound their mouths made when they kissed, and the warm tone of voice they used when they spoke to each other. Harry had taken a lover, and that lover was Malfoy.

Ron stared with silent regret at seven years of Gryffindor pennants tacked to the wall above Harry’s bed. A photograph of Harry’s parents sat framed on the bed side table and Ron could only wonder what they would think of their son’s choice of partner. Another photograph of Harry, Hermione and himself, was framed beside Harry’s parents. It had been taken over the summer and they were laughing. Voldemort was dead, and they were free. He remembered the day the photograph was taken. It had been the day Lucius Malfoy was sentenced, and they had laughed about it, laughter of relief. They had no idea then that the coming year would tear their friendship apart.

Although Harry and Hermione were still close, Ron had no doubt that Hermione knew all about Malfoy. They had taken a stand against him; they hadn’t even tried to tell him what was going on. They left him to discover it in such a way.

Ron sighed and stared wistfully at the bed. How many nights had Harry come back there in the early hours of the morning, a new rosebud on the contract and a smile on his face? Too many to count. Ron had contemplated burning the Contract; they had all completed the task they had set themselves. Who Hermione had been with Ron did not know, and he doubted she would tell him. He had burned his bridges with Hermione months ago, and he couldn’t help blaming Harry for that. Hermione’s rose had bloomed full and pink as glorious as a summer’s morning. Harry’s had been the darkest seductive red and Ron’s had been yellow, with the touches of apricot close to it’s heart. He had feared it would be brown but it seemed the Contract did not discriminate when the task had been completed. They each had a rose, and that was all that mattered. Ron hadn’t burned it though, instead he rolled it and placed it under the bed and hoped he could forget about it.

Later in the day, an hour or so before the others arrived back; he went to the kitchens and found a box. Returning to his room he silently began pulling the pennants from the wall and throwing them inside it.

~ ~ ~

Harry was astonished that Draco wasn’t complaining yet, because if it had been Draco’s idea to fly, Harry would have been whining like an injured dog by now. To say that it was freezing vastly understated the cold, and the further north they flew, the colder it got. It had entered Harry’s mind that the reason Draco hadn’t complained could well be because his mouth had frozen shut and he sent a worried glance Draco’s way. The edges of Draco’s black woolen cloak were tinged white with ice, his usually pale face was painfully red, and his lips looked a little blue. Harry was grateful now that Draco had forced him to wear Lucius Malfoy’s fur lined travel cloak and gloves. He’d argued against it, but now could only wonder how in hell he would have managed without it. Despite the insulation of the fur, Harry felt frozen to the broom – and they hadn’t even reached Cumbria yet.

Harry flew close to Draco and leaned over the broom to yell in his ear. “Do you want to go down for a bit? Get a coffee?”

Draco turned his shivering and not amused face to Harry and tried to speak through chattering teeth, “W-w-w-whiskey?”

“Whatever.” Harry spoke the word to empty air. Draco had already gone into a dive and Harry followed him towards the ground, scanning the landscape for a reasonable patch of lights that would signify a village or town that would still be open for business. It was only twilight, but Harry knew full well that country England shut down early, especially in the winter – still, if Draco wanted Whiskey they would be looking for a pub, and that wouldn’t be hard to find. Draco seemed to know where he was going, which surprised Harry. They were heading for a darker patch of ground, possibly a park or a green, when they got closer he realized they would touch down in a thick clump of trees.

Draco was standing at the edge of the trees, looking out over the small green at a row of lights along the lane way. He looked cold and wet and none to happy.

“D-d-do you h-h-ave any idea where we are?” Harry shivered.

Draco grimaced and shivered along with Harry, “Burnley - I think.” He pointed to a sign pointing south that read ‘Hoggarts Cross’ as if that would mean something to Harry. “Dad brought me here as a kid, there’s a big Goblin population here.”

They wandered off the green and made their way down a cobbled lane. In the twilight people still ambled about the streets, rugged up warm against the cold, walking dogs, pushing children in prams and even riding bicycles. Draco was shaking his head and muttering about the insanity of Muggles. Not that Harry and Draco were being particularly sane, flying north in mid winter was not the wisest idea Harry had ever had. A few people turned to stare at the two young men in long dark cloaks holding broomsticks and walking calmly into town, most thought them a couple of misplaced Goths come up from London and left them well alone.

“Pub.” Draco pointed at the end of the lane and hurried towards it. Harry followed, wondering for the first time if they had any Muggle money. He searched his pockets for his wallet. He had a number of Galleons, some Knuts and sickles and, he sighed with relief, a twenty pound note in the billfold. Enough to get them a few drinks.

The pub was old and dark and warm. A fire blazed in the hearth and Draco stopped in front of it, removing his gloves from his frozen hands and warming them gently. Harry slid the wet cloak off his shoulders and did the same for Draco; he then removed his own gloves and copied Draco’s actions with the fire. The heat felt good, stinging a little as his hands defrosted. He hung the cloaks on a peg and pushed Draco towards a booth while he went to the bar.

“Triple whiskey, no ice and a pint of Carlsberg.” Harry glanced back to where Draco, having stashed the brooms in the corner, was making himself comfortable and looking about the pub with wonder at all the Muggles out drinking. He and wondered if he should get him something to go with the Whiskey. Probably not – and drinking a pint of lager probably wasn’t the best thing to do before he got back on the broom for another few hours. He knew what was going to happen. Draco would suggest Apparating due to the extreme cold and Harry, still not wanting to get back, would say no and they would no doubt end up fighting about it. Harry paid for the drinks and carried them over to the table, deciding that the best form of defense was to not mention it and hope Draco didn’t either.

“I have a proposition for you.” Draco downed the whiskey in once gulp, grimaced and looked well satisfied. He pushed the glass towards Harry.

Here it comes, Harry sighed and prepared himself for a fight. “Do you want another drink?”

“Yep.” Draco stared rummaging through his pockets.

“I’ve got it,” Harry sighed again and headed back to the bar. When he returned Draco repeated the process with the Whiskey.

“They have rooms here,” Draco grinned, “I saw a sign.”

Harry slumped back to the bar, counted out change to get Draco another drink and enquired about the cost of rooms. Returning to Draco he held the drink back, “Slow down,” he ordered before handing it to him and Draco reluctantly swirled the liquid around the glass. “Rooms are thirty pounds for the night – and they don’t rent on an hourly basis, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Harry had no idea why he was irritated, possibly because he was prepared for a fight and Draco was suggesting stopping for a quick shag – no doubt his way of easing into the Apparating suggestion.

Draco shrugged and sipped his drink, resisting the urge to down it. “What I was going to say, before your mind sunk into the gutter, was that we stay the night. It’s too cold to keep flying, by the time we get to school we’ll be half dead with frostbite, and we don’t need to get there until tomorrow anyway.”

Harry flushed and felt himself relax a little. “I thought you were desperate to get back.” He watched as Draco gave in to temptation and downed the whiskey, had it been Harry drinking it he would have been drunk by now. “Besides, we don’t have enough money.”

Draco returned to rummaging through his pockets.

“They don’t take Wizard money,” Harry heard his voice become a little shrill, his head was aching and he didn’t feel like explaining to a Wizard why Muggles use paper instead of gold for financial transactions.

Draco frowned a little and threw six crumpled twenty pound notes onto the table. “Is that worth anything?” he asked genuinely confused as to the notes worth.

“Yeah,” Harry said quietly. He picked the notes up and smoothed them out absently, “that’s heaps of money.” He suddenly knew why he was so irritated. He just plain didn’t want to go back to Hogwarts. He wanted to stay with Draco and be able to do things like go to the pub together without raising eyebrows. He didn’t want to have to sneak around the South West Tower just to spend a few precious moments of time with his lover.

“So are you going to get us a room?”

“What about Snape?” Harry asked dubiously.

Draco looked disconcerted for a moment, “I figure he probably won’t get back until tomorrow anyway. I mean, he’s got Hermione with him and from what I can see, they really like each other, so he isn’t going to hurry back.” He paused and smiled at Harry, “And it’s warm here…with drinks…and I wouldn’t mind one more night where we could just sleep and not have to worry about you getting back to your own bed.”

Harry smiled, grateful and sickeningly in love.

“And all that broom riding has made me really fucking horny.” Draco smiled his dazzling smile and Harry spluttered into his beer.

“I’ll get a room.”

“Good,” Draco pushed his empty glass across the table, “and get us another drink while you’re up.”

~ ~ ~

Semeuse was quite astonished that it was a Muggle that had given him the solution to his problem. He had now idea how the conversation had happened. He had been in Covent Garden, purchasing something to try and tempt Lucius from the Bakery in Neal’s yard. The conversation had been about human instinct, base human instinct. The way someone will do anything to try and save themselves, the way drowning people cling to anything that could possibly save them.

And then the answer came to him. It had been so obvious that he berated himself for not realizing the potential before.

He returned to the Museum and made his way to the depths of the cellars, there he opened the doors that lead to the large swimming pool that had lain dormant for over a century. It was build in an ornate style, almost Greco-roman as was the fashion in the Seventeenth Century when it has been installed. Semeuse’s own teacher, the Curator Sharn, had discontinued it’s use, reasoning that the Museum was a place of learning, the Curator had no need for luxuries such as this. Semeuse had found it one night when he was younger and prowling about his domain, but had closed the doors, not seeking to restore it to it’s former glory. Not so now. He had the House Elves clean it and fill it with water. He looked at the pool and decided that it was perfect to carry out his experiment.

The day after New Years he took Lucius to the room and leaned him against a large marble column. He looked pale and luminous in this cavernous room, even with all the lights blazing. It was the first time Semeuse had removed him from his own chambers since Boxing Day.

“I thought you might like a little swim.” He smiled thinly at Lucius who stared blankly ahead. He removed the cotton shift, pulling it over the Angels head and leaving him naked. The room was cold and Semeuse thrilled when a shiver rushed across the pale flesh. He was going to get colder yet.

Semeuse lifted Lucius from the floor and carried him to the pool. With the greatest care he placed him into the water on his back and watched was Lucius floated effortlessly, blond hair fanning out in all directions like tendrils of light. He then removed his own clothes and waded out to the floating Angel. The water came up to his chest and was quite warm, just as he required it to be. For Lucius, however, the case was different. Semeuse was particularly good at charms and this one had been one of his greater accomplishments. While the water for him was warm and the depth reasonable, for Lucius it was as cold as a mountain river and as deep as the ocean. Lucius could sink for hours and never reach the bottom, but as he floated safely at the top, Semeuse doubted that he knew it.

He allowed Lucius to float for a while, enjoying the sight of the splayed limbs, the pale chest with pink nipples, even the curve of his arm-pit was a treasure for Semeuse, the hair there was golden, the same color as the thatch of pubic hair surrounding his flaccid penis. Semeuse doubted that there would ever be a moment that he would ever tire of looking at that body.

It came as Semeuse counted forty, and Lucius inhaled, filling his lungs with water. The reaction was instantaneous. Lucius began to thrash wildly about in the water, forcing Semeuse to strengthen his hold on Lucius’ head. The Curator held Lucius under the water with a strength no one would have considered possible in a man of his years. He had expected this reaction. This was base human instinct and that was something that anyone who had received the kiss would still have. The need to survive was the bodies base calling, a primal urge. It was what happened after Lucius knew he was safe that would interest Semeuse. When the survival instinct was no longer required, would Lucius step up and take over?

He kept Lucius under through another attempted breath, ensuring that the body was convinced it would drown and had begun to thrash harder – and then he released him, and he popped to the surface like a cork. Lucius coughed and choked, bringing a smile to Semeuse’s face. It was the first sound he had ever heard from the Angels lips. A thin stream of water and bile ran from Lucius’ mouth and over his chin, but it wasn’t enough, he couldn’t get his breath and he sank back under the water, thrashing, trying to stay afloat in a body that had forgotten the movements required to swim. Semeuse pulled him to the surface again and listened to him cough, fearing for a moment that he may well have to resuscitate him.

Lucius’ fingers closed around Semeuse’s arms as he found something stable to keep him above the water. Semeuse felt tears well in his eyes, how long had he wanted this very thing? To feel Lucius cling to him, to feel that body move against him. Now here he was, moving as a primal instinct to survive, clinging to what would keep him alive. Lucius’ legs wrapped around the Curators body and the fingers dug hard into his shoulders, Semeuse felt his cock harden against the Angels thigh and he slid his own arms around Lucius, supporting him, holding him up.

Gently he slid his hands down under the curve of Lucius’ boney hip, stroking between Lucius’ small buttocks until he found his entrance and gently, he pushed a finger into the tight opening.

Lucius tensed, uncoiled and let go of Semeuse. The Curator watched in amazement as Lucius physically pushed away from him – and began to sink again. The thrashing resumed in earnest until Semeuse dragged him back to the surface and felt arms and legs clamor up the length of his body, once again holding tight. Even the Angels face had changed. He was cold and shivering, his mouth open, and his eyes wide. He looked terrified. Semeuse slid his hands onto the Angel again, penetrated him with his finger again, and Lucius pushed away, sinking back into the depths of the water.

On the third time Lucius realized he couldn’t win. If he pushed away he would sink, and his body wasn’t going to let him simply drown. He clung to Semeuse while the Curator pushed first one, then another finger deep into his body. Then he removed his fingers and replaced them with the length of his cock.

“D-o-n’t.”

Semeuse froze, still inside the Angel. The voice had been so soft, so hesitant. But it had been there. He pulled back and looked at the Angel who was staring back at him with perfect comprehension, a tear slicked down Lucius’ cheek.

“P-please…don’t.”

“So you are there, little one?” Semeuse smiled, even as the look of comprehension faded from Lucius’ face and his eyes dulled.

It was clear that the panic had prompted the Angels mind to the surface, but he couldn’t hold it long. He had managed scant words and now he was gone again, back into whatever recesses held him. Semeuse pushed up into him, pulling the Angel down hard and grinding his hips against him. He worked him roughly until the water began to take on a shade of pink from the blood and then he pulled Lucius from the water, wrapped him in a towel and held him tight. He was his, and his mind was intact. Not that it made any difference. Lucius would never leave his current state, not if Semeuse could help it. The fact that he was aware simply added another facet to Semeuse’s pleasure – and if he wanted his affections returned, he could now use the pool.

“You are mine, Lucius. I know you can hear me. You are mine and no one will ever be able to change that. I know, you must miss your son, but don’t fret on that count, I will have him with you soon and we will all be together, as a family. Just the way it should be. I will do anything to protect you Lucius, I love you more than anyone could ever love you and I will not give you up. Not now, not ever.”

~ ~ ~

Draco was drunk, stupidly so, and Harry was glad he’d paid for the room before they started drinking in earnest because there was nothing of the money left. Harry was more than a little drunk himself, but as he slid an arm around Draco’s waist and pulled him towards the stairs, he knew he was far more in control than his lover could possibly be. Draco was slurring sloppy words in Harry’s direction, giggling childishly and snuggling close to Harry’s body, being blatantly sexual in the main bar. Not that a Muggle taking exception to a couple of fags in the pub would be a problem, even drunk they could hex someone into oblivion, and Harry was enjoying it. Drunk and sloppy Draco was certainly something he didn’t mind.

“I love you,” Draco slurred, “you’re my fucking…my fucking…I don’t know what the fuck you are…”

“Boyfriend?” Harry suggested.

“Nah! That sounds fucking stupid.”

Harry chuckled and edged Draco closer to the stairs.

“You’re more than a boyfriend anyway,” Draco said with a sincerity that only a drunk could pull off. “You are my fucking life.”

“Oh I think you’d live without me,” Harry said jovially.

Draco dug his heels in, standing on his own and swaying a little. He stared at Harry, looking a little miserable. “No I wouldn’t. You are my life. I can’t live without my life.”

“It’s time for bed Draco.” Harry smiled and slipped his arm around Draco again. It probably looked a little odd to people in the bar, Harry holding the drunk blond in one hand and two broomsticks in the other. He just wanted to get Draco upstairs before someone said anything that would raise his ire. Harry had no doubt Draco would hex any unfortunate Muggle who deemed to say anything derogatory about them.

Then he heard it, a voice Harry had honestly hoped he would never have to hear again in the entire of his life. A voice that made Harry freeze and chilled him to the bone. He jerked his head in the direction and heard it again.

“Come now Duddikins, we have an early start in the morning and we need a good nights sleep.”

Harry groaned and pulled Draco desperately up the stairs. It wasn’t fair, what the hell were they doing here? In rural England for Gods sake? “Draco, honey, you have to help me here, put your feet on the stairs.”

“Let’s just fucking Apparate, I can’t walk right…”

Harry certainly wasn’t going to risk that, in his current state Draco would probably splinch himself and explaining how Harry had let that happen to the healers at St Mungos wouldn’t be fun. “Just move your fucking feet!”

Draco moved, missed the step, and fell hard, smacking his chin against the heavy wood. Harry swore and swooped down on Draco, attempting to hurl him to his feet. It was too late now, Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon and Duddikins had mounted the stairs, staring with all too apparent disgust at the drunken heap on the stairs, and they didn’t realize exactly who it was at first. Not until Harry stood up and turned around – and came face to face with them.

“Potter!” Vernon Dursley spat. Had he more time to think, a moment to prepare for the confrontation, he would have ignored his nephew as though he was a total stranger. Unfortunately, there had been no time and the sight of the boy he had come to hate with such venom was a complete shock. Thus the word flew out of his mouth before he had a chance to stop himself.

“Hello Uncle Vernon.”

The sharp crack to Draco’s jaw had sobered him somewhat and he was standing unaided behind Harry. Harry cast a look of concern in his direction and discovered that Draco was staring at the Dursley’s with unreserved disdain.

“Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia…Dudley…this is Draco Malfoy, Draco, this is…”

“Your relatives,” Draco finished. He eyes them with a sneer. “Muggles,” he said, as though the word itself was enough to make him dirty.

The Dursley’s were looking at Draco in very much the same way he was looking at them. Finally Petunia, remembering her manners and conscious of the fact that anyone might be watching the exchange, cleared he throat and attempted a tight smile. “Hello, Mr. Malfoy,” she said with forced politeness.

Draco nodded curtly.

Vernon Dursley was not as polite as his wife. He felt an unreasonable outrage as he glared at his unwanted nephew and wondered how it was possible that the boy could just turn up here, in a seemingly innocuous little hamlet where his sort should never be allowed. “What are you doing here Potter?” he hissed, “I thought you and your freaky little friends went and got yourselves killed in that war you were babbling about.”

It really was the wrong choice of words, and Harry couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for his Uncle as Draco’s wand jabbed up under his chin. The again, he had never seen his uncle look quite so terrified and Draco was positively growling. Harry couldn’t suppress a smile and he raised an eyebrow.

“No, Uncle Vernon, I managed to survive it.” He watched a brief look of disappointment flit across his uncle’s face and Draco dug his wand in a little harder. Vernon had begun to sweat, Petunia was looking nervous and Harry feared that Dudley was speculating on whether or not he could possible take Draco out. Draco caught the look as well and flicked his wand around to Harry’s vast cousin.

“Trust me fat boy, I’ve wasted bigger Muggles than you and if you even look like touching me I’ll kill you so fast y…”

“DRACO!”

“They’re fucking Muggles Harry.”

”Leave him alone.”

“I’ve killed worse Harry.” Draco grinned evilly, “and he’s just a lump who made your life a misery, what do you care if he’s gone?”

Harry swallowed and tried to look unsurprised at the recent turn in events. He smiled a tight little smile of his own and turned to his Uncle. “As you can see, Uncle Vernon, we are not children any more – and Draco never was into good magic.”

Petunia decided, for the sake of her darling boy, to play peacemaker. “S-so, Mr. Malfoy,” she hesitated and cleared her throat, “how long have you known Harry?”

Draco lowered his wand reluctantly and straightened. “Seven and a half years,” he said matter of factly, “but I’ve only been shagging him for a few months.”

Oh dear Merlin. Harry felt the blood drain from his face and Aunt Petunia swayed. Draco turned and stormed up the first flight of stairs, leaving Harry with his gaping relatives.

“He’s – he’s a little – drunk.”

Vernon looked around, then leaned in a hissed quietly, “I always knew you were queer, this just proves it.”

“Harry?”

Harry glanced up at Draco who was staring back at him.

“Are you coming to bed or are you going to stay there with the Muggles all night?”

Harry took a deep breath, realizing that Draco was probably only still standing because there were Muggles about and if Harry didn’t get there soon he’d probably fall back down the stairs and hex the Dursley’s because he was embarrassed. Harry shrugged, turned on his heel and took off up the stairs to help Draco the rest of the way.

~ ~ ~

“When he returned I did not react as I had hoped I would. I felt no happiness. I felt no sudden charge of energy that would signal a fulfillment of my desires. Instead I felt a creeping certainty, that this was the end. I feared for my son. I feared for his fate and I wanted only to guard him jealously against the power he so desperately craved. I could only imagine ways to keep him from my Master’s hand and I knew that the struggle to keep him would be futile. Eventually my son would become like me, serving an old man reborn who keeps us in check with fear.

And I do fear him.

I found a book, an ancient one that shows Ragnarok – when all is brought to ruin. A man with a serpent’s heart has devoured Odin and sits upon a throne. Death has come to the gods, to the giants, to the elves and dwarfs, to men and women, the sons and daughters of Ask and Embla. First the moon and the stars will be lost in a dense white fog, then the rivers and the lakes and the sea will freeze over. And finally a wolf named Skoll will open his jaws and eat the sun, sending the world into an everlasting night.

I think I hear the wolf at the door.”

Severus Snape snapped shut the book, his long fingers splayed across the black leather cover. Scowling, Snape pushed himself away from the table and circled the edges of the room. Hermione was reading peacefully in the centre of the library. Resting back on a moth eaten old chaise and surrounded by candles, she looked like something from another world. He liked the fact that she was there. She had not questioned him as to what he was reading and he had not bothered to make a similar request of her. From what he could see she was reading a Transfigurations text book, no doubt studying for NEWTS.

Snape’s own choice of Lucius Malfoy’s journal was the more interesting subject matter, but certainly something to be kept from prying eyes. In it’s pages Snape was hoping to find a clue as to what Lucius had done to save himself, something other than the half finished potion and incantation which gave Snape absolutely nothing to work with. So far he had found only thoughts and tales, sometimes as deep as the ocean and other times startlingly vacant, from Lucius’ butterfly-like mind.

“Something troubling you?”

He turned and forced a smile to his lips, feeling very much as though he had suddenly been caught out. Hermione placed her book on the floor and stretched sinuously on the chaise, and then she slumped ungraciously and chewed at a lock of her hair.

“No, nothing is troubling me.”

“Liar.”

“School, papers. Nothing for you to worry about.”

She smiled indulgently. “Alright,” she said, “keep your secrets.” She sat up and crossed her legs on the lounge. “Watch this.”

He raised a cynical eyebrow and moved towards her.

“No, stay there and watch.”

Snape did as he was told and Hermione closed her eyes and breathed deep – and slowly, she began to change. He felt a smile spread across his face as she seemed to curl in on herself, meld and merge and shrink until finally, she wasn’t Hermione at all, but a small, furry, platypus.

My how my girlfriend is a clever little thing. This sat well with him, for he could never love a stupid woman. “You really are the most dreadful show off, do you know that?”

The platypus looked at him and he could almost discern that it raised an eyebrow – and then it began to shake and Hermione emerged from its form and grinned expectantly. He folded his arms and remained silent.

“Well? Come on! Tell me I’m wonderful; stroke my ego. You know how needy I am for attention. I want to hear Professor Snape praise me for a change.”

“I think you have heard Professor Snape praise you a great deal more than is usual in the last few days.”

“I want to hear it now.”

Snape drew an indulgent breath and told the truth; “That was wonderful.” He felt a sudden surge of emotion fill his throat. Yes, his girlfriend was clever indeed. “Very impressive. Minerva will be thrilled.”

“Actually, Draco taught me how to do it.”

“Draco?” Another clever little thing…well, not so little anymore.

“He wants to duel by changing into animals, and we thought we might try it together.”

Snape felt irrational jealousy seep into his brain. Hermione and Draco, working together on something he had no part of. And couldn’t have any part of. Transfiguration wasn’t his…strongest…subject. In fact, he had been lucky to pass. He curled his lip and said with silky disdain; “I see little point in reviving an ancient form of dueling that no one has the skills to perform. Wands are perfectly adequate. Most transfiguration duels tended to end in one party devouring the other, something which I am sure you will find distasteful – not to mention Mr. Potter’s disappointment should you eat his lover.”

Hermione lowered her eyes; she had really hoped he would be impressed, intrigued by the idea, instead his voice was full of derision. She felt tears come and sting her eyes.

“Are you crying?” Snape’s irrational jealousy was fast being replaced by pure irritation. What was she crying about? He’d told her it was impressive, what more did she want, a parade?

“No!”

But of course she was. Snape sighed and wondered exactly what he should do. In all honesty he would rather just pick up Lucius’ journal and head off to bed with it than spend the next however long trying to work out just why she was crying. Gods how he hated teary women.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

He rolled his eyes. “Have I said something to offend you?”

“No.”

“Can you at least attempt to communicate with me with more than one word to a sentence?”

She buried her face in her hands and sobbed harder.

Oh this is just ridiculous. “If you won’t tell me what is wrong, how am I supposed to fix it?”

You should know what you did wrong you prick!  No answer.

“I am going to bed. Please feel free to come up when you decide to act in a more rational manner.” He picked up the journal from his desk and swept from the room.

~ ~ ~

Harry found Draco at the top of the first flight of stairs and he noted wryly that their room was on the second floor. No sooner had he found Draco than he turned on him. “Killing Muggles?”

Draco’s head was spinning from the whiskey he had consumed and the joint he’d popped off to the bathroom to smoke. Harry had tried to get him to order something to eat, but he was too far gone and when Harry’s own dinner arrived, he wouldn’t attempt to eat what looked like a large pile of extremely tasteless stew. Harry’s reasoning was that, regardless of flavor, it would at least line his stomach. Draco had turned his nose up and was now paying the price. He leaned heavily against the wall. “I didn’t kill anyone; don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

“I don’t like being lied to!”

“Can we talk about this when we get to our room?”

“No, we can talk about it now, as I said, I don’t like being lied to. Who have you killed?”

“No one! Anyway, I wasn’t lying to you, I was lying to them.”

“It’s all the same thing Draco!”

“What? No it’s not!” Draco looked around desperately; he was feeling worse by the minute. “What was I supposed to do? Let that bastard call me a freak and wish you were dead? Let that fat fuck smack me in the head? I’m sorry Harry. I wasn’t raised that way. I won’t take shit from Muggles; I don’t care whose relatives they are! Now, get your arse up the stairs so we can go to bed.”

“Can you even walk?” Harry asked hotly.

“Of course I can fucking walk.” Draco pushed himself off the wall and lost his balance, almost falling headlong over the banister. Harry caught him and he leaned into Harry’s arms, slipping his arms around Harry’s waist. “Don’t be mad at me,” he whispered.

“Are you okay?” Harry asked, obviously still angry.

Draco’s stomach churned. He really shouldn’t have drunk most of two bottles of scotch. He could imagine it sloshing around in his stomach, mingling with the only other possible contents, the semen he had swallowed before they had set out that morning. He got the mental image, deep amber swirling through pearly white and he dry heaved. Only his desire not to vomit all over Harry stopped him.

“I’m fine,” he said, his face pressed into the front of Harry’s jumper and it came out as a slurry muffled word. “I just got a little drunk, that’s all. I’m just being a stupid shit.”

Harry was not going to argue with that. He didn’t consider Muggle killing, even in jest and even if it was the Dursley’s, as something to be used as a threat. And he wasn’t so happy that Draco was this drunk – again.

“I love you,” Draco mumbled into Harry’s jumper.

Now that just wasn’t fair.

“I love you too,” Harry whispered, just as the Dursley’s came around the corner.

They glared, Petunia hurrying off to find their room, dragging Vernon with her. Dudley stopped, ascertained that Draco was in no fit state to hex him and hissed, “fucking little fairies.”

Harry didn’t think, didn’t even consider that maybe Draco couldn’t stand up at all. He turned to confront his cousin. Draco tumbled forward, fell against Dudley and caught the whiff of some foul Muggle aftershave. He felt his stomach give way. He heaved dry and painful once, twice and on the third the entire contents of his stomach streamed out covering Dudley Dursley from head to toe.

Harry felt a slow smile spread across his face and as he moved forward quickly to pull Draco off his cousin who was looking murderous, he began to laugh.

~ ~ ~ 

“This place is not how I imagined. It is said that a man will go mad in here, given long enough. For some it could take days, others weeks, months or even years. It is said that one can forget the rudimentary pleasures of life. Sunlight on ones face, grass beneath ones feet, the smells of a summers day, the sound of a breeze rustling through leaves. It is dark here to be sure – but I have been in darker places than this, and as hard as it is to fathom, I feel safe here.

I know that the Dark Lord will come and spirit us away. I think the only ones who don’t know this are the Ministry themselves. They put such great stock in their fortress and in the ones they pay in souls tokeep guard. But the Dementors are leaving and stone walls will not keep the Dark Lord from his servants, not when he has to punish them for their failure. He will remove me from this place and I will kneel before him and thank him for it, even as he screams Crucio and fills my body with fire.

It is the way of things and I cannot help but curse the hour the green-eyed brat was born.

But in my darkest dreams, in my shadow self whose hand I now indulge, in these places I dare to pray that the boy wins…”

Snape let the book fall onto his lap and shook his head. Lucius always did have a flair for dramatics. Still, it did raise certain questions; had he gone into battle secretly hoping to lose? Or had this entry simply been the result of a momentary melancholy brought on by sitting in a cell in Azkaban? When it came to Lucius’ mind, Snape never could tell what was going on. It would have been easier if he could think of Lucius in the same way that most of the Wizard world did, a two dimensional villain, hungry for power. Of course Snape knew differently. Lucius was a loving father, and he was even a good husband. He knew his way around a joke and was generous to a fault. But Lucius’ capacity for love contrasted so blatantly with his cold ability to kill other people’s children that it chilled Snape to the core. Did it make him more of a monster, because he could love?

Then again, Snape himself had a capacity for love, something he was getting a crash course in at the moment, and he had been able to kill without thinking. He probably still could, when it came down to it. So perhaps he was a monster too.

A quiet knock on the door drew him from his thoughts and he closed the book as Hermione slipped into the room. She really didn’t need to knock, but he could see from the red eyes and well chewed lip that she was suitably cowed. He felt a guilty pang at the fact that he had made her cry, a sensation that did not sit well with him, especially since he had made her cry any number of times in the past. Still, this was not the classroom, this was his house – and here she was not his student but his lover. He had to learn to curb his natural tendencies when it came to her, or else he might find himself alone and miserable – again.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione sniffled, “I just thought you’d be more impressed than that…and I always get a bit emotional when my period is due.”

Snape had been about to respond, to say something loving and gentle that he knew she would want to hear, like ‘I was impressed darling,’ or something of that nature. Instead his mouth fell open. She had thrown the subject of her period into the sentence so casually that he’d almost missed it. Of course he knew she would have one, he just didn’t think he’d have to hear about it in terms other than “I can’t tonight dear, it’s that time of the month.”

And she got ‘emotional’ like this each month? Merlin’s Balls!

“I…” he swallowed. When was the damn thing due? Did she have everything she needed to deal with it? They had been shopping in Diagon Ally the previous day, to get her new robes and a new travel cloak, she could hardly return to Hogwarts in Potters old cut offs or the red velvet ball gown she had worn for New Years. Had she surreptitiously gone to get what she needed then? He decided to avoid the subject and focus on what he did understand. “I was impressed, Hermione, very impressed. You have to forgive me, I am sure that you know enough of me to know that I have great difficulty appointing praise on anyone. I will try and do better in the future.”

“I don’t want you to,” she said quickly, moving to the bed and hesitating only a moment before climbing up and sliding over the covers to him. “I don’t want to change you, I like you just as you are.”

Now that was going a little far, no one liked him as he was…except maybe Minerva. It was too late anyway; she had already changed him.

“I’m sorry I made you cry,” he said uncomfortably.

“I’m sorry I cried.”

“So we are both sorry,” he scowled and muttered; “Pathetic couple that we are.”

Hermione grinned and slowly pulled her robes over her head, bringing a wry smile to Snape’s face.

He reached for a small breast, “Well, perhaps not entirely pathetic.”

~ ~ ~

Harry stared helplessly at the mess in the middle of the Common Room and felt his stomach plummet. He had hoped for a better return to Hogwarts than this. His day had, after all, started well enough. Draco, being a veritable medicine chest, had plenty of hangover potions, brewed by the Potions Master himself and so they had woken and felt just fine. Then Draco’s smooth cock had slid easily between Harry’s lips and he’d brought his lover to orgasm with his mouth and consequently was able to convince him to travel the remainder of their journey by broom with little argument. Harry had long since made a mental note to himself that asking Draco to do something when he was post orgasmic usually yielded a positive result. He’d even managed to get Draco to eat something; no small task considering what was on offer. He had learned over the holiday that Draco ate little and was notoriously picky. He preferred yogurt at breakfast, plain, and no fruit - though occasionally he would eat toast. Today was a day when he wouldn’t eat toast, but Harry had managed to force a bowl of cornflakes down his throat without too much trouble…even though Draco thought the product highly dubious…Cornflakes, it seemed, had never quite captured the Wizard market. So they had flown, with full bellies, through the freezing Scottish winter, and returned to this.

What had started out as a neat collection of packed boxes had ended in everything that Harry owned and possibly ever touched, being heaped in the middle of the South West Tower Common Room. Ron had obviously started calmly and let his anger build as his self imposed task progressed. Harry stood in front of the pile, still in his wet cloak, staring at his life piled there on the floor; it didn’t take long to register that every gift he had ever given Ron was included in the junk. He felt a little sick and his lip curled in shock and disbelief. Ron was throwing him out of their room! Where was he going to sleep? He turned and looked at Draco helplessly and Draco shrugged, looking at the pile of clothes and books and other belongings and wondering if Harry had always possessed such low brow tastes. As far as he was concerned, the whole lot could go in the incinerator and Harry could just start afresh.

As if on cue the door to the Tower opened and their classmates began to filter into the room, all a little lazy from having eaten a large dinner and really not looking forward to starting back tomorrow. Their last six months would be the hardest, and the NEWTS were not far off. Upon seeing Harry and Draco, many stopped dead in their tracks, gaping openly at them. They had all seen the paper or at least heard something of what was being said. Ron was, of course, only too happy to fill in some details. He had seen it with his own eyes after all. When the pair had not returned the previous night there had been speculation that they would not return at all – too embarrassed to show their faces. It would have appalled Ron, but plenty of his friends were pleased to see Harry standing there. It didn’t gel with what they knew of him. Harry Potter would never run away and hide.

Eyes began to focus on Draco with renewed interest. Over the last few months he had gathered a few people who had begrudgingly liked him. He was generous with his money, always able to procure alcohol from somewhere, or provide a feast in the early hours. Of course, many knew that it was his efforts at bribing people to be good to him. He was a Malfoy after all and he was politically astute. This may be school, but he knew if he was to survive his final year he would need to have some good will thrown his way. Now it turned out he had taken his efforts that one step further and was buggering their hero. Opinion on this front was mixed. Over the holidays many had listened to discussions in Diagon Alley, or around their own dinner tables. Everyone in the Wizard world had an opinion it seemed. The foremost being that Malfoy had bewitched Harry somehow – or used Harry’s own innocence as a tool to get what he wanted. Either way, a Malfoy was once again in the spotlight. There had even been talk of having him questioned by the Ministry about his actions.

When Ron finally entered the room and saw Harry, he hardened the lines of his face and rounded the room quickly, avoiding Harry’s eye and aiming to storm to his room without comment to wait until Harry had removed his belongings and slunk off in shame.

“I think those socks are yours,” Harry said, breaking the silence and stopping Ron dead in his tracks.

“I’m pretty sure you wore them last,” Ron replied defensively.

“Oh? Well, they’re yours, you should take them back.”

“I don’t want anything that’s had your fagot feet in them.”

Harry flushed pink and he ground his teeth together in an effort to stop himself hexing Ron on the spot. “Then leave them for the House Elves because I don’t want them.”

Ron marched forward and swiftly hurled the offensive socks across the room, “There, gone.”

Harry sighed and slumped. “Can’t we just talk about this?”

“There is nothing to talk about. You made your bed,” he glared at Draco, “shitty fucking thing that it is; now you can lie in it.”

What kind of idiotic reasoning was that? “Ron…where am I supposed to sleep?”

Ron smirked, “How about outside in Hagrid’s old hog house? You should be used to sharing your bed with pigs by now”

Harry made to answer but was stopped when Draco snorted impatiently and pushed past him, grabbing armfuls of Harry’s things and storming to his room with them.

“Oh well,” Ron sneered, “looks like the hogs won’t have a new buddy after all, and it looks like you’re staying with lover boy.” Ron watched as Draco returned, “You never know, we might all be lucky and he’ll prove he’s his father's murderous little shit after all, maybe you should learn to sleep with one eye open.”

“Trust me Weasel,” Draco grabbed more of Harry’s things, ignoring his lover who was standing there in stunned silence, “he sleeps a damn sight better with me than he ever did in that shitty fucking room with you. The noises you make when you jerk off would be enough to keep anyone awake.”

 “Oh yeah, Malfoy, and all he has to worry about with you is an unwelcome cock up his arse…”

“Actually Weasel, my cock up his arse is never unwelcome.”

Ron curled his lip in disgust; “You sick fuck,” he hissed at Harry. “You let him do that?”

Harry shook for a moment, he didn’t know what to say and Ron had turned from him, still sneering, shaking his head. “What is so sick about it?” Harry asked finally, bringing Ron back with an incredulous look on his face.

“If you don’t know what is sick about letting that…cunt…stick his cock in you, then you have more problems than I thought.”

Harry glared at the boy in front of him and suddenly couldn’t remember what it felt like to be his friend. He looked around the room and felt like a specimen in a zoo, being looked at with ill disguised curiosity. They had all made up their own minds, none of them cared that Harry was a living, feeling being. What they cared about was the fact that he had killed Voldemort, he was famous, and there was a statue of him in the foyer of the Ministry of Magic. How could he have allowed himself to be caught up in this? How could he have allowed Malfoy’s heir to defile him? He was supposed to marry a nice girl, have children to carry on the family name, raise a future hero to live up to him.

“There is nothing sick about it,” Harry said, he couldn’t yell, he knew there was a shrillness in his voice that he didn’t want to hear if he yelled. “There is nothing sick in what we do. I love him…”

“Oh please!” Ron rolled his eyes, “You’re too fucking dazed to see the truth. He’s a lying little prick, and there is nothing left in his family line but murder and lies. He’s got you bewitched. You were a virgin and he sucked your cock and now you think you love him. “

“I pursued him!”

Ron fell silent and worked a muscle in his cheek as he absorbed that news, and Harry grinned, triumphant for a moment.

“That’s right,” Harry declared, knowing he was talking to more than just Ron as he made his statement. “I wanted him, I’ve always wanted him. I can't recall a moment when I didn't want him - and now I have him and I don't care what you think. I am not going to give him up because you and a few small minds think it is wrong. Draco is right; his cock in my arse feels good. I like it. I like it when he fucks me, and I like it when he touches me, sucks me, and kisses me. I like it when I do all of those things to him - and none of that is going to change, no matter how dirty you think it is, so get used to it." Harry's eyes narrowed and his voice lowered to a dangerous whisper for Ron and Ron alone to hear, "And if you touch so much as a hair on his head I will kill you, don't think that I won't.”

Ron stepped back, visibly paled but with his sneer still fixed in place. He turned, glaring around at the people who had watched the altercation, and swept off to his room. Harry released a breath he didn’t know he was holding and bowed his head sadly to his chest. Draco stood awkwardly behind him, his arms still full of Harry’s things.

“Come on,” Draco said quietly, “let’s just get this stuff to our room.”

Harry nodded, still shaking.

“And look on the bright side,” Draco tried to smile, but the result was unconvincing, he sounded a little shaken himself, “at least there will be no more sneaking around.”

~ ~ ~

Ron closed the door to his room and pressed his back against the solid wood. So it was done. He had just shut his best friend out, and created a rift he was unlikely to ever repair. Not that he wanted to repair it. Not while Harry chose to be with Malfoy anyway.

There was a letter sitting in the middle of his bed and he wondered how it had got there. The door had been closed and it was far too late for post. He picked it up and turned it over, revealing his own family seal. The hand was familiar, belonging to George and Ron felt his heart begin to race.

Dear God he knows.

Ron sank to the edge of the bed and fumbled with the letter, his trembling fingers tearing the paper instead of the seal at first, before finally getting it open.

“Dear Ron (Ron flinched at the affection of the dear, but his mind was immediately put to rest, this was not a letter to condemn him for sleeping with Georges wife)

Fred and I have been given the opportunity to purchase Zonko’s Joke Shop in Hogsmeade. As you can imagine, this is an opportunity far too good to pass up, especially with Hogwarts being so close. Zonko has placed a large number of clauses into the sale and as such I am wary of just how well the shop is doing. I know that we took a lot of his business with our mail order system and he wants to keep a lot of his own product on the shelves. As such, I am sending Angelina to do the books on the shop for the next month. She will be staying at the Three Broomsticks and as you have more freedom this year, I’ve told her that you will go and see her a few nights a week for dinner and drinks and keep her company.

I would be really grateful if you could do this, as I’d hate to think she was sitting in her room all alone with no one to talk to. You both get along so well, and I’m sure having your sister in law around won’t cramp your style.

Ange will arrive next weekend, I will owl you with the time.

Thanks

George.”

Ron sat for a long while, holding the letter loosely in his hand and wondering how she had managed to do this. It had to have been Angelina’s idea – and she had made it seem to George that he had thought of it. Not that it really mattered how she did it. The point was that she had.

And she was coming to torment him again, and bring fresh supplies of her drug – something that warmed him somewhat. He was living in terror of it running out. The situation confused him and for a moment he contemplated running back out to the Common Room, bursting into Malfoy’s room and begging Harry to forgive him, to help him with this, to give him solace. It was something he would never do. He knew that his only recourse was to continue to play his part in whatever game Angelina had planned, and pray that he would make it through to the end with his convoluted self-intact.

~ ~ ~

Draco looked at the mess his room had become. He was tidy by nature, not something that had been drummed into him, but more a habit he had picked up from parents who were almost fastidiously clean. Common misconception would have it that Draco simply dropped things and left them for the House Elves to deal with, but this was quite simply not true. More often the person picking up things behind him would be either Father or Mother who would give him a disapproving glare and he wouldn’t do it again. Harry, on the other hand, had spent his life having tidiness thrust upon him and once he was away from his Aunt and Uncle, he had dispensed with such niceties. He dumped the last of his things on the floor and threw himself on the bed. Draco turned to stare at him.

“Don’t you think we should try and put some of this stuff away?”

“Leave it, it’ll still be there in the morning.” Harry pulled his robes over his head, and then the jumper and t-shirt he wore under them, he patted the bed. “Come here Roomie.”

“I think the point is that it will still be there in the morning. Don’t you think we should put some of it away? Or better yet, hurl the whole lot out?”

Harry sat up and frowned. “Throw it out? Why?”

Draco cast a disparaging glance at Harry’s belongings. “Well, most of it is junk. The clothes are what, four years old at least? The only reason they still fit you is because they belonged to the fat arsed cousin of yours.”

“And what am I supposed to wear?”

“Umm, here’s a suggestion, pull your wallet out of your arse and buy some new ones.”

“Are you saying I’m cheap?”

Draco sighed and shook his head, “No, I’m just suggesting that perhaps you should spend your money on something more than basic school supplies, sweets, the occasional night out, and owl food.”

“You think I look bad?” Harry lay back in the bed, dressed in little more than a pair of old cargo pants.

Draco grinned, “Well, not when you do that.”

Harry patted the bed again, “Come here.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I keep thinking you’re wearing that fat lumps old pants.”

Harry looked down at the cargo pants, “actually, these are mine…sort of. I got them from Oxfam.”

“Oxfam?”

“Charity shop, Kilburn High Road.”

“You got pants from a Muggle Charity Shop?”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“You’re not poor you know.”

“I know…” Harry blushed. “I…I’m not so good with clothes.”

Draco grinned again and climbed onto the bed, crawling over Harry’s supine body and staring down at him. He really was too irresistible. “I think we need to go shopping this weekend.”

“You’re going to dress me?”

“Right now I’m going to undress you.”

Harry laughed throatily and drew Draco’s head down to him, capturing his mouth in a kiss. Draco’s eyes closed slowly and he felt himself melt into Harry’s arms, his lips and tongue becoming liquid as his mouth was nudged open by a soft tongue that flicked along his inner lip, between his teeth and explored the roof of his mouth. The kiss became soft and slippery with spit as they tried desperately to draw as much of each other into their mouths as they could. Harry’s hands buried themselves in Draco’s moonlight colored hair, Draco’s hands clawed and pulled at Harry’s shoulders, neck and back, trying to pull Harry up to his body, to devour him. They both began to whimper, becoming desperate and the gentleness of the kiss dissolved and became something harder, more urgent, and more passionate.

The door burst open with a suddenness that caused them both to almost leap from their skins. Hermione stood framed in the doorway, her hair wildly about her shoulders, looking concerned.

”Are you okay Harry?”

Both boys gaped at her, had they been too loud? Had the whole Tower heard them? Surely not!

Hermione blinked and saw exactly what she had walked in on and ascertained fairly quickly that they were more than okay. “Oh shit, sorry.”

“S’alright” Draco grinned, trailed a hand down Harry’s chest and pushed himself up.

“I heard Ron kicked Harry out, I came to make sure he was…”

Okay?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m fine,” Harry sat up and shrugged, feeling suddenly cold without Draco covering him. “I think I was more shocked than anything. I thought once he’d had time to calm down he might talk about it or something.”

“Have you guys seen the Daily Prophet the last few days?”

They both shook their heads.

“Well, probably not a good idea to look now.”

“It’s in the paper?” Harry whispered, horrified.

“It’s all over the paper. Severus said that Dumbledore had to intercept all of Draco’s post to make sure there were no curses in any of them.”

Draco’s eyes widened. “Me? What did I do?”

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

“And Ron told the papers?” Harry asked. He couldn’t quite believe that Ron would do this to him.

“I don’t know. I’d like to think that he didn’t. The whole party was there when Ron found out though, so it could have been anyone.”

“When did Ron turn into such an evil little prick?”

Draco snorted, “Since forever. Weasel was born a prick.”

“Shut up Draco.”

Draco turned on him, “The guy outed you to the whole of our world, and he just humiliated you in front of all of your friends! Why are you telling me to shut up? I’m the one getting hate mail!”

“I…” Harry frowned, “I don’t know. He’s…he’s Ron.”

“He’s a wanker.”

“I think he’s got problems,” Hermione sat on the edge of the bed, “I really think there’s something going on with him. I mean, he is being completely irrational and that’s not like him at all.”

“Well,” Harry grumbled defensively, “he’s not talking to me, so there’s nothing I can do about it.”

Hermione tried to smile. “He’s not talking to me either. I don’t know what to do about it.”

Draco threw his hands up in the air; exasperated at the direction the conversation was taking. “Fuck! Shit happened to everyone, if he can’t deal with it let the miserable fucker drown.”

Harry gave Draco a withering glare. “You can be a real fucking shit, you know that?”

“Yes dear,” Draco retorted nastily, “but I’m your real fucking shit.” He climbed off the bed and began pulling his robes on, seeing no real point in continuing if they were going to sit here discussing the Weasel’s problems.

“Where are you going?” Harry asked, confused for a moment.

“Well, Snape’s back, right?”

Hermione nodded, blushing for a moment in pleasure.

“So, I’m going to see him. I have business to discuss with him, remember?”

“Yeah, but now?” Harry shivered. He wanted Draco back on the bed and Hermione out of the room, so why the hell was Draco leaving him now?

“Better now than later.”

“For fucks sake Draco!”

“What? I have to see him, and I’d rather do it now than leave it another day. At least I know he isn’t grading papers or something like that, and I know he’ll be able to get it out of the way quickly and I’ll be back.”

Harry flung himself down on the bed with a frustrated growl.

“Don’t worry, I won’t be long.” Draco grinned devilishly, “and I’ll make the wait worth your while.”

Harry still didn’t look happy about it.

Draco moved forward and gently kissed Harry’s swollen mouth; “I won’t be long baby.”

Harry grumbled.

Hermione patted his knee and laughed. “Come to my room, Lavender’s come back with a case of Champagne.”

Harry flushed and shook his head violently. “Uh, no, I…”

“Why?”

“I…I don’t think…”

Hermione sighed and smiled gently. “She doesn’t care you know, she doesn’t care about you two being lovers – actually I think it turns her on a bit.”

“Lav always was a bit of a dirty girl,” Draco laughed.

Hermione laughed and nodded her agreement. “The point is that Ron doesn’t speak for the whole school, Harry.”

“He’d speak for plenty of people though,” Harry muttered.

“Come and have a drink,” Hermione pressed gently, “for me. Lavender wants you to come; she told me to invite you. Draco can come later.”

“Go on,” Draco urged, “you can’t hide in here forever.”

I can if I try hard enough. Harry shifted uncomfortably, not bothering to hide the pout on his mouth. Slowly he nodded, ”Alright, I’ll come for a drink.”

“Good.”

“But just one.”

~ ~ ~

Severus Snape was not looking forward to Draco coming to the Dungeons that night. He knew Draco would come. He knew enough of the Malfoy’s to know that they rarely, if ever, let up on something once they got it into their heads to pursue it – and Draco would never give up on his Father. Hell could freeze over and Draco would put on skies and keep going. He knew it was Draco as soon as he heard the knock at the door. The boy had probably been waiting impatiently for Snape’s return.

After the incident on Boxing Day, Draco had wanted to return to Hogwarts with Severus and get to work on finding out what had happened to his father. It had taken Snape hours to convince him that he should stay at the Manor and act as though nothing had happened. Snape had to admit that it was a selfish whim. He was so close to having Hermione, so close he could taste her, and returning to Hogwarts would have destroyed everything. He had reasoned with Draco that Potter had to be kept in the dark, and Draco returning to school hours after seeing his father, was instantly going to arouse suspicion. Potter was good at putting two and two together, and he could make connections from the smallest fragments of evidence. How else had Harry Potter survived Voldemort?

In retrospect, it probably would have been better to bring his Godson back to Hogwarts early. Minerva had assured him that Potter and Draco being outed in front of hundreds of people had been quite spectacular, not to mention the fact that Moody had accosted the boy and threatened him – and some bastard had spat at him. Snape felt a raw surge of guilt. He’d promised Lucius that he would look after his son, and since Snape had made the promise, the boy had been tortured, almost died and then been ridiculed and threatened in Snape’s own house. Some Godparent he’d turned out to be. And while Snape did not doubt that Potter knew about the Madragora Acid, he did doubt that Draco had revealed the true extent of the damage done. It had been Dumbledore, not Severus Snape who had saved Draco Malfoy after that little episode.

So all he could do now was try and protect him as best he could from any future harm.

Draco slipped into the room after Snape called him to enter. He looked pale and a little tired. Minerva had told him that he and Potter had actually flown from Wiltshire, which was madness – but he didn’t put it past the pair.

“It’s late Draco,” he said bluntly. The boy clearly needed sleep and to own the truth, Snape needed it himself; Hermione was rather…active…at night. “We can discuss this tomorrow, after classes are finished.”

“We can start now.” Draco said, raising an eyebrow and trailing his fingers over a dusty copy of ‘Daemonicus’. Snape bit back a sneer at the demeaning tone in Draco’s voice. So much like Lucius that it wasn’t funny. Draco leaned against the back of the chair and picked up the book. “So, what do you know?”

Snape sighed. He really thought he was rid of them. Not that he wanted to be rid of the Malfoy’s; he loved them in his own way, but they were a demanding lot. His brain switched on and he knew he had to protect Draco. It was plainly obvious that if he didn’t help him with this, Draco would attempt it alone and Merlin only knew what would happen.

“Sit down,” Snape ordered, as he was, after all, the elder here and he wasn’t going to stand for a jumped up, spoiled little brat ordering him around his own chambers, “do you want some tea?”

“Vodka,” came the insolent reply.

“Tea.”

“Anything with alcohol in it?”

“Tea.”

“Hot Toddy?”

“Tea.”

Draco pouted and threw himself into the chair, “Coffee?” he sneered caustically.

“Tea.”

“Fine. Tea would be lovely…Uncle Severus.”

Snape busied himself putting the kettle on and making the tea while Draco flicked through Daemonicus. Searching through the large roll top desk near his bed he found Lucius’ journal and handed it to Draco. “Do you recognize this?”

Draco frowned, “Yes, it’s Dad's.” He put Daemonicus back on the pile and opened his Fathers book. “How did you get it?

Snape felt another surge of guilt. “The Curator of that Museum gave it to me by accident when I went to get Narcissa. I would have given it to you, but I had reason to believe that I may need it.”

“Why, what happened?”

Snape quickly explained the sensations he’d experienced when drawing close to Lucius in the Museum. The feeling of that mind beating itself to dust, the rush of wings, something like the steady beat of a heart, and the scream in his head. Draco listened and stared unseeing at the pages of the book. His Fathers careful hand wrought words Draco could not read at that moment because he didn’t want to read. He didn’t want memories; he was sick of them. He needed to plan his future – and he needed to know if his Father was part of that future.

“At the back,” Snape finished, handing Draco his tea, “there is an incantation and a recipe of sorts for a potion that may or may not have preserved his soul. Hiding it from the Dementors.”

Draco coughed into his tea.

“The problem,” Snape continued, “is that that I have tried the incantation, and I cannot make it work. As for the Potion, it calls for things that are not part of this world. I have no idea how you Father could have possibly managed to procure them. So I have no idea if what he has written is at all possible.”

“But it must be!” Draco’s eyes were wide, like a small child who had just been told the ultimate bedtime story. “It has to be possible. He spoke to me, he broke that case and he spoke to me!”

Snape nodded and placed a calming hand on Draco’s shoulder, forcing him to still. “Yes, “ Shape conceded, “there is that.” He sighed. “What Lucius has written down can’t be complete. I have spent the last two months trying to work this out and I have come up with nothing. It is beyond anything I have ever seen.”

Draco slumped back into the chair, disappointed. He had long held the opinion, no matter how ridiculous it was, that Snape held the answers to just about any magical conundrum. If Snape didn’t know the answers then only one other person did…and Draco wasn’t going to Albus Dumbledore with this. “There has to be some way,” he insisted, “an antidote?”

Snape made an impatient noise in his throat, and fought back his temper. “Have I managed to teach you precisely nothing in seven years?” he asked silkily, “in order to create and antidote, you need to know what the potion is.”

Draco shrugged and folded his arms, scowling. “So what can we do?”

Now there was a problem. Snape had no idea what to do. He sat down opposite Draco and watched him for a moment, speculating just how to approach this without upsetting the boy too much. “We don’t even know his state of mind Draco.” He watched Draco’s face change, twist some how, and become pained. “He could have lost all sense of reason for all we know. We don’t know what effect the Kiss has had on him.”

“But…” Tears seemed to burst out of Draco like and explosion and he gulped air noisily. “He…but he spoke to me.”

“I know that Draco, I do realize that. It could mean nothing at all. It could have been residual magic, a reflex of some kind, hell, it could have been wind!”

“IT WASN’T FUCKING WIND! HE SPOKE TO ME, HE SAVED ME!”

“What?” Snape scowled, “saved you from what?”

Draco swore softly and turned away. “Nothing. It was nothing.”

“Did something happen? Something other than the case breaking?”

Draco swallowed, knowing full well he was walking a dangerous road if he was going to lie to Snape. If he revealed what happened, would Snape risk everything and report the Curator to the Ministry? Or would he go after the Curator? Draco had heard rumors about the state Krum had been in when he’d arrived at Azkaban. At the party, he’d heard Arthur Weasley saying that someone had taken the skin clean off him. Draco doubted Snape would do any such thing to the Curator; Draco was, after all, the son of his enemy. And Lucius was Snape’s enemy – they just hadn’t known it until the end.

If Snape went to the Ministry, the Curator might say something about Lucius in an attempt to get himself off, or simply out of spite. If the Ministry had an inkling that Lucius may have survived the kiss, they could well execute him – and that couldn’t happen.

“It was nothing, the Curator was just a little…odd.”

“Odd? How?”

“Just odd, I told you, it was nothing. Forget I mentioned it.”

Of course, Severus Snape was not going to forget it. He bore down on Draco and jerked the boys pointed chin to face him. Holding him tight he looked into his eyes, ignoring the fact that the boy was trembling under his grip. Draco felt the familiar sensations as fingers delved into his mind, and he began to wonder if, between Snape and Potter, any part of his mind would be held sacred.

“Don’t do that,” Draco hissed, but Snape wasn’t Harry. Harry would retreat guiltily as soon as he was caught, and Snape had a purpose, he knew Draco stood little chance of resisting. Legelimency was not part of the current school curriculum, something Snape would have changed if he was teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts. For the time being, Draco’s lack of skill in this area would serve its purpose and Snape reached into Draco’s mind with searching fingers. It didn’t take long, the visions raced to him. Draco was making love to Harry and Harry was sobbing into his shoulder as he came, Snape felt Draco try and push him back, not wanting anyone to see that moment and Snape tried to calm him. Draco need not worry, Snape was not looking to fulfill some voyeuristic pleasure and he pushed past the intimate vision looking for something specific and he soon found it. The Curator touching Draco, speaking to him in a voice full of alluring lies, kissing him…and then the case broke.

Snape pulled back and glared at his Godson.

“Good Gods Draco! Why didn’t you tell me this?”

“I…” Draco was red in the face, his eyes squinted in fury, “I didn’t want to risk anything jeopardizing Dad, now just forget it!”

“Jeopardizing Lucius? What makes you think I would do any such thing?”

“Because you hate him,” Draco spat.

Snape grabbed him again, as furious as Draco himself. “I never hated him. I loved him more than you could ever imagine and I would never risk him. Now drink your fucking tea and tell me about the Curator.”

Draco trembled and slumped back in the chair again. He looked too pale and for a moment Snape thought he had pushed it too far. Draco picked his tea up from the pile of books beside him and took a mouthful and Snape relaxed. Draco quietly told him everything and at the end Snape curled his lip and paced the room.

“You are not to go back there.”

“What? But how can I help Dad if I can’t go back?”

“What exactly were you planning to do? Walk in and take him?”

Well, something like that. Draco shrugged, looking disgruntled and Snape knew that was exactly what he had planned to do.

“And how did you propose to explain the sudden appearance of your Father to Potter?”

Draco cursed Snape silently for all his infernal questions, “Harry won’t be a problem.”

~ ~ ~

“I cannot believe that you didn’t just try it.” Lavender shook her head in disgust.

Hermione blushed furiously and found herself fighting to maintain her dignity as two of her friends stared at her in amused shock. “I didn’t want to do it wrong.”

“How can you do it wrong? Put it in your mouth and suck on it.”

“And watch your teeth…” Harry was caught somewhere between amusement at Hermione’s concern for being perfect at everything, and horror at the fact that they were discussing the sucking of Snape’s cock. He held out his glass for Lavender to refill and decided he should think himself lucky that they weren’t discussing his sex life. One glass had quickly become five and he was tipsy and relaxed…and talking about Snape’s cock…he shuddered.

“There has to be more to it than that,” Hermione said matter of factly, “some kind of technique. I don’t want to look like I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Like Snape would notice!” Harry began to laugh, “No offense ‘Mione, but I doubt he’s had a line up of people wanting to blow him.”

“Hey!” Hermione sounded indignant. “I’ll have you know, he’s an excellent lover.”

“Oh Gods, don’t!” Harry stuck out his tongue and pretended to vomit, “I don’t know how you do it, I mean, who’d have him?”

Hermione glared at him and contemplated hexing him with brewers droop for a week. Her malice was drawn away when Lavender giggled and almost spilled her drink.

“I would have loved to have tried,” Lavender laughed, “any day.”

“Touch him,” Hermione warned drunkenly, “and I’ll kill you.”

Lavender laughed her pretty laugh and shoved Hermione affectionately. “Oh ‘Mione, like I would go after your lover! Besides, he wouldn’t have me anyway…not in a million years.”

“Don’t sell yourself short Lav,” Harry grinned, “you’re a beautiful woman.”

Lavender gave Harry a grateful smile. “Actually, I think in this particular case, looks don’t matter. Professor Snape thinks I’m an idiot, and Professor Snape wouldn’t deem to do anything intimate with an idiot.” She turned to Hermione, ”Mione, he doesn’t care if your technique isn’t perfect, what he cares about is that it is you doing it…just try it. If he doesn’t like it I have no doubt he’ll tell you.”

”And probably take house points from Gryffindor…”

Lavender looked at Harry and burst into hysterical laughter.

“You are both pissed!” Hermione declared, “You’re no help at all!”

“Well,” Harry began to recover, “firstly, you’re pissed too, and second, what do you want us to help you with? You want us to tell you how to give a blow job?”

“Well, basically, yes.”

Harry frowned, how the fuck were they supposed to do that? “How?”

Lavender cocked an eyebrow and grinned. “I could think of a couple of ways.”

Harry followed her line of vision to his crotch and shook his head. “Sorry Lav, it doesn’t work for girls.”

“Aww,” Lavender fluttered her eyelashes, “Well, it was worth a try.”

Harry chuckled.

Ok, option B.” Lavender sat back, still eyeing Harry’s crotch. “Ice cream – and hot chocolate fudge.”

~ ~ ~

“Potter won’t be a problem?” Snape almost laughed, over the course of his schooling life, Potter had proved to be just the opposite. “I beg to differ. Potter may have a hero complex, but saving Lucius Malfoy would most likely not fall into the realms of things he would willingly do.”

“Harry won’t have anything to do with it.”

“Then you plan to hide it from him? Draco, as much as it pains me to say this, he isn’t as stupid as he looks, he will work it out.”

Not if I hurt him so much he doesn’t care what I do. “Not if he isn’t around.” Draco’s face hardened and suddenly it wasn’t Draco sitting in that chair, it was Lucius. Hard as a diamond, not a weakness to be found. Snape wondered if Draco could hold it for as long as his father could. “I’ll end it with Harry.”

“You’re going to leave him?”

“Yes, it is the only thing that can be done.” Draco was still, hard for a moment longer before the façade slipped and he turned his face balefully to Snape who was staring back at him. “What?” he demanded, “I thought you’d be happy about it!”

Snape raised an eyebrow, truly unable to believe what he was about to say. “Draco, you may not believe this, but my main concern is your welfare. And I consider your happiness to be part of that. Do you realize what Potter has actually risked to be with you? Did you see the paper at all over the weekend? It made the front page! Professor Dumbledore has had all mail to the both of you sent via Professor McGonagall’s office due to the influx of hate mail that started coming in on Saturday – and it looks as though it is going to get worse now that you are actually back at school.”

“I know, Hermione told us.”

“Besides all that…” Snape shifted uncomfortably, “I would say he is in love with you.” That’s it Severus, throw in some ridiculous sentimentality, that will really work – you bloody git.

“He’s an inconvenience at the moment,” Draco replied, returning to the hard Lucius shell he had pulled on before, “it was doomed from the beginning; you above all people should know that.”

It was on the tip of Snape’s tongue to suggest that Lucius was the inconvenience at that moment, but he doubted such a comment would help, in fact, it might make this end in an all out brawl. “And I think you are in love with him.” Actually, I know you’re in love with him, of all people for you to fall for…stupid boy.

“I love my father more,” Draco said, forcing his voice to remain passive. “Are you going to help me or not?”

“Of course I’m going to help you,” Snape said, irritation creeping back into his voice. “I can hardly refuse you, under the circumstances.”

“If you don’t want to help me then you can always refuse…but I think you would agree that you owe him this much.”

Just when had Draco become so much like his Father? At what moment had it occurred? “Yes, I supposed I do…after a fashion.”

“After a fashion? You gave him to the Ministry!”

“His choices gave him to the Ministry, I was just the instrument used to deliver him.”

Draco hurled the tea across the room.

“Tut tut, Draco, you’re letting your emotions show, and that’s not very controlled of you. Perhaps there isn’t as much of Lucius in you as I thought.” That wasn’t true of course. Lucius lost his temper, and often. Snape simply knew Draco considered his father the optimum control – and it was nice to bring him down a peg or two.

“So, what do we do first?” Draco said, though his voice shook, and he managed to keep himself in check.

“Ideally we would try and find out if his mind is still intact, however, I have to admit that I do not know how to discover that. I went back to exhibition after Boxing Day, but the Curator has removed Lucius from the display. I spoke to Kingsley Shacklebolt at the party and he says that the Curator has taken Lucius to London because he was ‘damaged in the attack’.

“Attack?”

“That is what he called the whole situation. And attack by persons unknown, possibly fanatics. So this Semeuse bastard is covering it up very well, probably because he is terrified that you are going to go to the authorities – which you should, by the way.”

“And if he turns around and tells them who really broke the case, Dad is as good as dead.”

Good point. “So, as I can’t access Lucius just yet, the best I can do is try to work out what it is he has done in order to preserve his soul and hope I can come up with the right answer. Then I can look at how it is possible to release it.”

“And what can I do.”

Snape thought for a moment and raised an eyebrow. “Actually, you can petition the Ministry to have your Father returned home. If he isn’t part of the exhibition, then the Museum has no need for him.”

“And what if that fails?”

”Then we wait for the exhibition to end and you petition again.”

“Wait? For it to end? That is months away!”

“Draco, you can’t just rush in and grab him. You must learn to keep your patience.” Snape paused before adding, “and I think we should perhaps speak to Dumbledore.”

“Dumbledore helped convict him,” Draco spat, “why would you go to him?”

“Because he doesn’t agree with the Kiss or the exhibition and he may be able to help us find a legitimate way to bring your father back.”

“No Dumbledore. Nothing can risk this.”

“If we manage this and he comes back, he will have to live in hiding and if anyone ever found out they would find him and kill him.”

“No Dumbledore.” Draco stood and strode to the door. “You get to work here, and I’ll work on a petition to the Ministry.”

“And Potter?”

Draco paused, his hand on the door handle. “I’ll deal with Harry when we are closer to working this out.”

~ ~ ~

Hermione was grateful that Florean Fortescue super sized bucket of ice cream was almost bottomless, she also made a mental note that Lavender kept it on the outside of the window sill. She had been craving chocolate for two days and now she really was eating far more than was her fair share. Still, it was triple chocolate hot fudge surprise and who could possibly resist that?

“Ok,” Harry reached into the bucket and sought out a vein of hot chocolate fudge, “so we’re drunk and full of food, now what?”

Hermione and Lavender shared a look; men obviously did not understand the chocolate ice cream experience.

“Well,” Lavender swallowed noisily, “it’s triple chocolate hot fudge surprise ice cream, not food, and I was getting us in the mood.”

“For what?” Harry looked dubious and pulled his robes around himself a little tighter.

“Don’t fret dear, we are not going to molest you.” Lavender dipped her spoon into a pool of fudge and pulled it out. “In the mood for this, are you watching ‘Mione?”

Hermione nodded cautiously and then gaped and giggled as Lavender swirled her tongue around the end of the spoon, lapping up the fudge with one luscious slurp. She then took the end of the spoon into her mouth and expertly sucked the remaining fudge away.

“OK, now you try it.”

Hermione blushed bright red. “I…don’t think…”

Harry took the spoon from her, dipped it in the fudge and held it out to her, as they both stared at her expectantly. Oh Gods. Hermione hesitated, more than a little embarrassed, and finally she flicked her tongue out to lap at the fudge, doing her best to imitate Lavenders fluid motion.

“Use your tongue more,” Harry suggested, “you should try and keep your tongue moving all the time.”

“And concentrate on the top,” Lavender urged.

“Maybe suck a bit harder.”

“More tongue.”

“Watch your teeth.”

Hermione jerked her head up in frustration. “How the fuck am I supposed to do all of that at the same time?”

“Oh good grief, it isn’t hard!”

“Well I’m sorry Lavender, I’m not so experienced as you at giving head!”

“What are you trying to say? I’m a slut?”

“Well if…”

“Oh for fucks sake!” Harry wrenched the spoon angrily from Hermione’s hand. “Give me your finger.”

“WHAT?”

“Give me your finger!” He grabbed Hermione’s hand and gently, using the very tip of his tongue, he traced a thin line of spit up the underside of her fore finger.

Oh my god. Hermione felt her insides suddenly liquefy and she felt wetness rush to her groin. Harry licked her finger again, swirling a tiny circle at her finger tip and then his mouth closed over two of her fingers. It was wet and hot and his tongue seemed to swirl around her. Hermione had never thought of her hands as erogenous zones before, but the sensation was incredible. Instinct caused her to move her fingers, plunging them in and out of his mouth, mimicking the movements of a cock, and this movement ensured that her fingers were in constant contact with the tip of his tongue, the tops, then the sides and the underside in turn. He sucked gently, pulling her a little deeper into his mouth, the suction not too hard, but certainly not soft.

She gasped and ached to touch herself, for a moment it didn’t seem to matter that she was in a room with Harry and Lavender, and she felt her free hand flutter to her breast before she remembered herself and forced it away. Harry had closed his eyes, his lips flushed pink with arousal and Hermione cast a glance at Lavender, who was watching, no less aroused than herself, her pupils dilated, he nipples hard through the clinging satin robe she wore.

Harry drew back and Hermione almost cried out as the heat left her fingers and cool air fanned against the wet skin. Harry’s eyes opened slowly, hypnotically green. He held out two fingers to her.

“Now show me what you learned.”

She almost whispered ‘Yes Professor’ to him, but this wasn’t Severus, this was Harry. This was a lesson…and that was all. She hesitated for a moment, leaned forward, and tentatively flicked her tongue out to lick the tip of Harry’s finger. They were kind of sticky; no doubt as her own had been, and tasted of the chocolate fudge they’d been eating. Gently she took the fingers into her mouth.

“Ok,” Harry whispered, “now move your tongue around.”

She slid her tongue down the side of his fingers, taking in the texture of them, knowing a penis would be bigger, would fill her more. She swirled her tongue around Harry’s finger tips and he moaned so softly she almost missed it.

Wow.

“Suck them,” Harry whispered huskily.

Hermione allowed a glance at him, his eyes were closed again and she wondered who he was thinking about. Beside him, Lavender seemed entranced and traced her own nipple with her fingers and Hermione felt the wetness between her thighs increase. She sucked Harry’s fingers and she knew it was too hard.

“Softer,” he whispered and she released him a little, “that’s better, good girl…”

She felt fingers brush her breast, and she didn’t know who’s they were. Harry’s or Lavender’s, but at that moment she didn’t rightly care. Her robes were being unbuttoned, gently pulled aside and one pert breast exposed, she felt Lavenders mouth on her nipple, softer than Severus, a more feminine touch. She moaned. Agile fingers slivered up her leg, and she parted them slightly, allowing Lavender access to the wetness there. They were moving now, moving to lie down, Harry never removing his fingers from her mouth, but moving with them, helping Lavender open Hermione’s robes, exposing her to them both. The fingers returned to delve into the wetness between her thighs, sliding under the elastic of her panties and stroking her swollen clitoris.

Oh Gods, I really shouldn’t be doing this.

She sucked Harry’s fingers deeper into her throat, aching for it to be something more substantial, wishing to the gods that it was Severus’ cock…but she also knew at that moment she’d take Harry’s if he would give it to her. She wondered how it was that lust and passion and desire could override all rational thought. But it wasn’t even that. They were, all three of them, simply aroused and willing. There was nothing more to it, and the very baseness of the sensation amazed her.

Lavender pulled her satin robe over her head, revealing her perfect full breasts and Harry’s fingers were soon removed and replaced with a hard, pinkish brown nipple.

They both reached for Harry at the same moment. It was an absent reaching of hands that found their mark and pulled him to them by his clothes. Hermione’s hand brushed over his hard cock and her inner self raised an eyebrow and muttered; doesn’t work for girls huh? Just how they got his robes off with out breaking contact with each other, the girls would never know, but they were suddenly overwhelmed with the masculine scent of aftershave and clean sweat.

“What the fuck are you three doing?”

Everything seemed to stop as Draco cocked a questioning eyebrow and closed the door behind him.

~ ~ ~

“This is Edrisil,” Semeuse held up a phial to Lucius and smiled, “do you know what Edrisil is?”

Lucius did know what Edrisil was, but did not answer. He sat propped up against the bed head, long hair drying after their evening swim, the salt water on his skin making him smell as though he had just stepped from some clean ocean. Semeuse leaned into his Angels throat and inhaled the scent from the warm skin.

“Edrisil is a marvelous substance. It creates a sort of portal between places.” He had three phials. The largest phial contained the carrier and it was the one he would keep with him when he returned to the traveling exhibition. The second would be left with Lucius so that Semeuse could simply pour the carrier into the Edrisil bowl and gaze upon his lover whenever he so desired it. The third phial was to go to Hogwarts.

“I have decided that the best course of action to get your son is to watch him for a while. As you can imagine, Hogwarts is not the easiest of places to take someone from, and so I’ve decided that I need to watch him, and firmly establish his movements. Where he goes, who he sees, what he eats, if he sleeps…and with whom he sleeps.”

Semeuse smiled a thin smile and lovingly traced a long tendril of damp hair over his Angels shoulder.

“It’s a boy, did you know that? Your son’s lover is a boy. I saw it in his mind.” Semeuse gently licked Lucius’ throat, enjoying the taste of salt and flesh. “Does it shock you? Would you be accepting of such a relationship, or is he going against you. As they say, ‘when the cats away…’” Another seed of thought entered Semeuse’s mind, one that caused him to harden slightly and a smile played at his lips. “Or perhaps you taught him yourself, perhaps you unlocked the secrets of such desires for him?” He could see it in his minds eye, two pale Angels entwined around each other, licking, stroking, and probing pleasure points. How beautiful it would be, the ultimate gift of a Father to a Son. He caressed Lucius’ face, gently sucking his lower lip. He would see them together, and he would have them entwined together always.

“Of course, I will have to get rid of the other boy. It seems a shame, as he looked a pretty young thing – from what I saw of him. But he is little more than a child and I’m sure he will offer little in way of resistance. You will have your Draco soon enough my Angel, and the other will prove to be no trouble, especially to a powerful Wizard such as myself.”

Was he imagining things, or did the shadow of a smile just cross he Angel’s lips?

Chapter 13 >>